Democratization, National Identity and Foreign Policy in Asia 2020041508, 2020041509, 9780367634346, 9780367634339, 9781003119159

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DEMOCRATIZATION, NATIONAL IDENTITY AND FOREIGN POLICY IN ASIA

How can democratization move forward in an era of populist-nationalist backlash? Many countries in Asia, and elsewhere, face the challenge of navigating between China and the United States in a period of intensifying polarization in their policies tied to democracy. East Asia has shown the way to democratization in Asia—with Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan linking national identity to democratization. In other parts of Asia, especially Southeast Asia, nationalist governments have tended to move away from democratization, as happened in Hong Kong at China’s insistence. This book investigates how national identity can both help and hinder democratization, illustrated by a series of examples from across Asia. A valuable guide for students and scholars both of democratization and of Asian politics. Gilbert Rozman is the editor of The Asan Forum and the Emeritus Musgrave Professor of Sociology at Princeton University.

“Apart from economic devastation and a major public health crisis, the global Covid-19 pandemic has also occasioned disquiet about the evident diminution of democracy across the world and prompted concern that we may be on the verge of a wave of authoritarianism that threatens to overturn the progress that democratization has made in various regions, especially in Asia. At the same time, Asia has seen the resurgence of nationalism and identity politics that has added another level of complexity and division, and these dynamics are unravel­ ling against the backdrop of growing anti-globalization sentiments, escalating Sino-US rivalry that appears to have taken a sharp ideological turn, and erosion of trust in international institutions. Unpacking the drivers of these develop­ ments and the nature of the challenges they portend is increasingly urgent in our deeply networked and digitized world. In this timely volume, Gil Rozman has skillfully pulled together an impres­ sive collection of essays to help us in this endeavor. More than mere reference material, these essays provide sophisticated and insightful analyses of how the interaction of democracy, identity, and foreign policy continues to evolve and shape the study of International Relations.” – Joseph Chinyong Liow, Tan Kah Kee Chair Professor of Comparative and International Politics, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore “The three issues of our time are climate change, pandemic, and the crisis of democracy. Democratization, National Identity and Foreign Policy in Asia is a search­ ing look at how each Asian country is waging its particular battle between lib­ eralism and illiberalism, but all as part of a global struggle. The book shows that democracy is being profoundly challenged by sectarianism, corruption, and nationalistic ambitions, but is also surprisingly tenacious. We do not know how the story will end, but Democratization, National Identity and Foreign Policy in Asia is an important guide to understanding how it is developing.” – Mark Tokola, Vice President of the Korea Economic Institute (KEI), USA

DEMOCRATIZATION, NATIONAL IDENTITY AND FOREIGN POLICY IN ASIA

Edited by Gilbert Rozman

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Gilbert Rozman; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Gilbert Rozman to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rozman, Gilbert, editor.

Title: Democratization, national identity and foreign policy in Asia /

edited by Gilbert Rozman.

Description: New York : Routledge, 2021. | Includes bibliographical

references and index. |

Identifiers: LCCN 2020041508 (print) | LCCN 2020041509 (ebook) |

ISBN 9780367634346 (paperback) | ISBN 9780367634339 (hardback) |

ISBN 9781003119159 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Democracy--Asia. | National characteristics--Asia. |

Asia--Commerce. | Asia--Politics and government--21st century.

Classification: LCC JQ36 .D486 2021 (print) | LCC JQ36 (ebook) |

DDC 320.95--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020041508

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020041509

ISBN: 978-0-367-63433-9 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-367-63434-6 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-003-11915-9 (ebk)

Typeset in Bembo

by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

CONTENTS

List of contributors Acknowledgments Introduction Gilbert Rozman

vii ix 1

PART 1

Toward a conceptual framework on democracy, identity, and foreign policy in East Asia 1 Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia Aurel Croissant 2 The mediating role of national identity in democratization and lessons from post–Cold War foreign policy in Northeast Asia Gilbert Rozman 3 The Chinese model of law, China’s agenda in international law, and implications for democracy in Asia and beyond Jacques deLisle 4 Democratization in Asia: Lessons from the Americas Louis W. Goodman

7 9

28

38 60

vi Contents

PART 2

The evolution of democratic governance in East Asia and national identity 5 National identity and democracy: Lessons from the case of Japan Tadashi Anno

75 77

6 Democracy is more than a political system: Lessons from South Korea’s democratic transformation Erik Mobrand

92

7 Linking internal and external enemies: Impact of national identity on Chinese democratization and foreign relations Yinan He

103

8 Analyzing the relationship between identity and democratization in Taiwan and Hong Kong in the shadow of China Syaru Shirley Lin

119

PART 3

Four test cases in the struggle for democratization in East Asia 9 Democratization, national identity, and Indonesia’s foreign policy Ralf Emmers 10 Truce and tales in New Malaysia: Happy first anniversary Sophie Lemière

139 141 155

11 Myanmar’s democratic backsliding in the struggle for national identity and independence Jonathan T. Chow and Leif-Eric Easley

167

12 Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Mongolia in 2019 Mendee Jargalsaikhan

184

Index

197

CONTRIBUTORS

Aurel Croissant is Professor of Political Science and Dean of the Faculty of

Economics and Social Sciences at Heidelberg University, Germany. Gilbert Rozman is the editor of The Asan Forum and the Emeritus Musgrave

Professor of Sociology at Princeton University. Jacques deLisle is the Stephen A. Cozen Professor of Law, Professor of Political Science, and Director of the Center for the Study of Contemporary China at the University of Pennsylvania. Louis W. Goodman is Professor of International Relations and Emeritus Dean at

American University’s School of International Service,Washington, DC. Tadashi Anno is Professor of Political Science and International Relations at

Sophia University. He focuses on how national identities influence foreign policy, primarily in Japan and Russia. Erik Mobrand is Associate Professor in the Graduate School of International Studies at Seoul National University. Yinan He is Associate professor in the Department of International Relations at

Lehigh University. Syaru Shirley Lin is the Compton Visiting Professor of World Affairs in the Miller

Center at the University of Virginia.

viii

Contributors

Ralf Emmers is Dean of S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies and President’s Chair in International Relations, Nanyang Technological University (NTU), Singapore. Sophie Lemière is a political anthropologist, focusing on Malaysian politics since

2006.She was a research affiliate at the Harvard Kennedy School until May 2020 and is currently Associate Researcher at the History Workshop at Wits University in South Africa. She is also the founder of World Wonderers (www.worldwonderers .org), a non-profit social enterprise based in Malaysia. Jonathan T. Chow is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Wheaton College, Massachusetts. His research focuses on regional politics in East and Southeast Asia and the role of religion in international politics. Leif-Eric Easley is an Associate Professor in the Division of International Studies at Ewha University in Seoul. He specializes in U.S. South Korea-Japan trilateral coor­ dination on engaging China and North Korea and is involved in track II diplomacy with the Asan Institute for Policy Studies. Mendee Jargalsaikhan is a post-graduate Research Scholar at the Asia Pacific Foundation of Canada,Vancouver, Canada.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is the culmination of a project launched by the Asan Institute, with the support of a generous grant from the National Endowment for Democracy (NED). I want to thank Carl Gershman, Lynn Lee, and staff at the NED for facilitating this project as well as James Kim for initiating and organizing it at Asan. I also want to thank Sunkyeong Kim and Hong Sanghwa for their assis­ tance at various stages of this project and Eun A Jo for extensive editing and organization. We benefitted from the assistance of Seunghyuk Lee, Hana Jiang, and other members of the External Relations Team at the Asan Institute for Policy Studies. The book brings together articles prepared for The Asan Forum, grouped into three Special Forums corresponding to the three parts of the book. The original introductions to these by me have been replaced by a single, short­ ened introduction. Gilbert Rozman September 2020

INTRODUCTION

Gilbert Rozman

The optimism about democratization that rose sharply in the 1980s and stood strong in the 1990s has fallen to its nadir in 2020. There have been many post­ mortems at each stage of the descent: some have focused on the reversal of devel­ opment in Russia and the lack of transition to democracy in many former Soviet republics; others have dwelt on the Middle East from the shattered illusions of the Iraq War to the disastrous results of the “Arab Spring.” Lately, the COVID-19 pandemic has given rise to a narrative that countries dismissive of civil society and of democracy have been quicker to exert the necessary control to stop the spread of the virus. High hopes for Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong to serve as beacons of democracy failed to materialize. As we show, reversals have been conspicuous in Southeast Asia, where the supporters of the benefits of democratization were disappointed. Covering Northeast as well as Southeast Asia, this book examines how national identities intersect with democratization, while also drawing attention to foreign policy choices critical to this intersection over time, often rooted in history but especially manifest through the 2010s as setbacks occurred. In the Cold War era, analysis of the spread of democracy through East Asia was guided by three main lines of inquiry: a simplistic version of modernization theory; a bifurcated understanding of the ongoing struggle between two blocs and their ideologies; and a surge of interest in what some labeled Confucian liberalism. Following the Cold War, the list expanded to: sweeping belief in the impact of economic globalization; naïve faith in the purportedly uncontrollable force of the information revolution; and excessive trust in US leadership using carrots and sticks to steer states in this direction. Few recognized the national identity challenges ahead and the absence of any foreign policy consensus.

2

Gilbert Rozman

Modernization theory often neglected deep-seated identity narratives affect­ ing the unfolding political dynamics. Assumptions about the Cold War rested on dichotomies, when other forces were primed for release once polarization had abated. Confucian liberalism, it turned out, could only be activated by a pow­ erful dose of international political integration and was vulnerable to Chinese communist usurpation of Confucian authoritarianism. Globalization is a driving force in economic behavior, but the spillover beyond economics can be tightly restricted. Firewalls and targeted propaganda both undermine openness once presumed to f low from the information revolution. Finally, the United States proved to be not only a seriously f lawed model but an oft-misguided global leader. The jury is out on whether in the post-pandemic world, democracy will revive. During the 1990s, expectations were high for how Northeast Asia, Southeast Asia, and South Asia would benefit from ongoing democratization. It would open borders to Japan and South Korea, each of which was prepared to offer generous terms for integrating with parts of Northeast Asia. And it would dem­ onstrate the advantages of both Taiwan and Hong Kong as they set an attractive example for Greater China. ASEAN would find it easier to solidify as a regional organization because of the strengthening democratization among its members. Australia and New Zealand would become less marginalized as they pursued closer ties in Asia. Finally, by the early 2000s, there was growing talk of India’s linkages to the East as it rose as the anchor of a democratic network connecting the Indo-Pacific. Lessons can be drawn from the setbacks to these high hopes and from what has been revealed about conceptualizing democratization without clear awareness of national identities as well as of the advancing realities of great power rivalries in the 21st century. By the 2010s, the prospects of democratization had become embroiled with at least three worries: uncertainty about the US priority for this and the US capacity to project a model; alarm that China was succeeding in derailing the forces of democratization; and concern about backtracking away from democ­ racy or a sense of shared values on that foundation. Barack Obama’s image as the embodiment of democracy in action was undermined by the dysfunction­ ality of congressional politics, and then Donald Trump’s contempt for liberal values interfered with the promotion of US leadership in values across Asia as elsewhere. Meanwhile, triumphal claims about China’s model of development without democracy were being newly tested by the loss of confidence in US leadership in values and China’s own narratives. Finally, as seen in the deepen­ ing acrimony between US allies Japan and South Korea, both identity obsessions rooted in history and clashing conceptions of the most pressing security dangers left issues of democratization on the margins. Unlike Cold War polarization, when one side was seen as the “free world” and the other as communist totali­ tarianism, there was scant concern about polarized value disputes enmeshed in a superpower rivalry until the end of the 2010s, when Sino-US relations abruptly declined.

Introduction

3

Part 1 The chapters in Part 1 explore conceptual frameworks. Four threads intersect to inform the analysis. First, there is a growing awareness of the messiness of sustaining democratization even if it has partly taken hold. Conceptual rigor requires it to be treated as a continuum with clarity about its interlocking nature and vulnerabilities. Second, the study of national identities has evolved in shedding light on how various dimensions can be disputed and recon­ structed with far-reaching implications for democratization. Comparisons of these identities and contestation over them have built a foundation for closer analysis of the forces shaping democratization. Third, attention has risen to various ways of undermining democracies, especially “sharp power,” as well as to the weight of economic dependency on political decision-making. This exposes links between contested elements of national identity and rhetoric on social media and elsewhere that can be manipulated to call shared values into question. These potentially subversive forces can be analyzed in relation to their intent and their impact. As our fourth thread, we turn to the struggle between two clashing models of values, development, and international order. During the Cold War, democratization could not be divorced from the strug­ gle between two camps, and, once more, we have entered a period when one country is using its model of organization and development in stark opposition to democratization, in this case, bolstered by considerable economic clout, while a US-led coalition has struggled to build tight-knit ties among demo­ cratic states due to inconsistency in pursuit of objectives or other priorities, whether balance of power, trade, narrow interests, or the most recent presiden­ tial idiosyncrasies. The 1990s brought an upsurge in confidence about spreading democratiza­ tion amid a sharp divide on the extent of convergence. Often missing, however, was a clear sense of how to keep democratization moving forward in light of the backlash linked to national identities. Simplistic notions of democracy misjudged how its elements fit together; crude approaches to identity did not account for lingering challenges to democratization in its multiple dimensions; and foreign policy was blurred by exaggerated faith in globalization rather than the persist­ ing rivalries that shaped the prospects for democratization. Only, in stages, has a comprehensive framework encompassing all of these factors come into view. The United States and China hover in the background as indigenous forces battle over the checks and balances as well as identities that could deepen democ­ racy. Globalization struggles to win the trust of populations fixated on nar­ rower identities, gaining ground when corruption rises to unfathomable levels, as in Malaysia, or when neighbors appear threatening, as in Mongolia. In China, any possibility of deeper democratization is unwelcome as it interferes with Sinocentric hopes for regionalism; undercuts corrupt networks for economic and political inf luence; and gives people mechanisms for judging great power competition for what it is. Playing on identity gaps with the United States and

4

Gilbert Rozman

Japan is deemed conducive to averting a feared “color revolution.” Other states have been reacting to China’s moves, as in the mid-2020 Hong Kong National Security Law.

Part 2 Five case studies in Part 2 ref lect differences in democratization in Northeast Asia. Japan has the longest record and a robust democracy, but civil society is relatively inactive as the legacy of an authoritarian state proves still to be conten­ tious. South Korea’s authoritarian state legacy is more deeply rooted, but civil society is vibrant. Taiwan consolidated democracy most rapidly, differing from Hong Kong in enjoying the space to do so, as the gap widens sharply due to China’s 2020 National Security Law for Hong Kong. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) democratized least of all following brief forays in that direction that proved abortive. The evolution of democracy in each case has been heavily shaped by swings in national identity: from narrow traditionalism to a broader embrace of the nation-state in a global context, from ethnic exclusivity to civic internationalism, from deep distrust of ethnic minorities and cosmopolitan types to true acceptance of the entire populace as the “people,” and from demoniza­ tion of the international community to the embrace of it. In the ups and downs of reconstructing national identity, we observe important shifts driving foreign relations as well as powerful forces for propelling democratization ahead or halt­ ing its advance. The history of East Asian democratization has been cast in terms of nega­ tive Confucian heritage, postwar US encouragement to allies, and the positive spillover of economic “miracles.” Focused on national identities distinct from Confucian heritage and nuanced in coverage of the impact of the United States, the chapters in Part 2 direct attention at forces, positive and negative, in the evolution of democratic governance in Japan, South Korea, Taiwan and Hong Kong, and China from the Qing dynasty to today’s PRC. All offer insights into struggles over democratization over extended periods leading to 2020. Assessing the experiences of these areas with democratization, these chapters provide lessons on the implications for other Asian countries due to national identity causation and the foreign policy environment. East Asia has shown the way to democratization in Asia—Japan with prewar roots and a national identity push that put it on the cutting edge in this region, South Korea and Taiwan with a surge in the 1980s that gave a powerful boost to the global boom in democ­ ratization that followed, and Hong Kong in its abortive struggle to forestall the PRC’s imposition of authoritarianism. These cases are instructive in how they linked national identity to democratization and dealt with foreign relations, as others in Asia now face the challenge of navigating between China and the United States in a period of intensifying polarization. The case of China, histori­ cally, is worth close attention, too; it diverted opportunities for democratization on several occasions.

Introduction

5

We recognize a two-way relationship between a “mature” national identity that allows for more full-f ledged democratization and democratic institutions that open the way to this type of identity. These two forces are reinforcing; setbacks in one often lead to setbacks in the other. Democracy enables open discussion of “who we are” as a community, but distortions in democracy are frequently tied to reversions in popular thinking about the nature of the existing and the ideal community. Conclusions address: (1) the historical legacy; (2) the construction of otherness in national identity; and (3) the dimension of identity focused on state-society relations. The chapters of Part 2 provide a sweeping chronology of East Asian cases in search of enduring lessons for the current period.

Part 3 The fate of democratization in Asia in the post–Cold War era has been closely identified with four cases: Mongolia, the exemplar in inner Asia of establishing—in the shadow of Russia and China—a bona fide democratic system; Indonesia, the principal test case of a major, Moslem-majority coun­ try switching to the path of democratization; Malaysia, proof that democracy can weather the excesses of vast corruption; and Myanmar, the poster-boy of intense international pressure causing a military regime to agree to some democratization. Of these cases, however, not one offers unqualified optimism that democratization is on a trajectory of inevitability or even sustainability in our trying times. Mongolia could be squeezed by its two strong neighbors, casting doubt on its “third neighbor” strategy of balancing great power rela­ tions. For Indonesia’s vaunted tolerance of diversity, fundamentalism is rapidly posing a grave risk to human rights. Myanmar has seen one of the most f lagrant cases of ethnic cleansing, which has been enabled by democratic leadership unable to buck the power of the military. Finally, while Malaysia escaped from a close call in 2018, problems related to manipulation of its ethnic sensitivities, which have been used to distort the democratization process, are not being addressed or resolved. As democratization hangs perilously on the cliff ’s edge, these cases warrant particular attention. Conditions in each case were not ripe for deepening. Barriers to democratization in the four cases are recounted in Part 3. National identities matter, including religious obstructions to secularism. In Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, religious barriers were much less. Foreign rela­ tions matter, too. Allies of the United States have an incentive to democratize not found elsewhere in Asia. Increasingly, the impact of China is also apparent. It has pushed Mongolia to refrain from symbolic acts of human rights support and makes democratization more difficult. It backs the military in Myanmar. Corruption associated with China has complicated democracy in Malaysia. Indonesia is the chief prize in Southeast Asia, and its democracy remains fragile. The Sino-US competition is heating up, and these cases will be among the key battlefields.

6

Gilbert Rozman

The United States Whereas China has set a long-term course with Xi Jinping, who is expected to remain at the helm and the Communist Party to brook no opposition, the United States is poised to reinvent itself after Donald Trump launched the most sweeping rejection of presidential precedent in modern times and Democrats responded by promising reconstruction not only to rid the country of Trump’s legacy but to renew the reform thrust of the 1930s and 1960s. Viewed from East Asia, a democratic renewal would have far-reaching implications for the cause of democracy and its place in foreign policy. Across East Asia, it would contrast China’s attack on democracy, symbolized in 2020 by the crackdown in Hong Kong, with active, values-oriented leadership. A Biden-Harris administration would recommit the United States to the legacy of the civil rights movement as a beacon for inclusiveness and tolerance. Rallied by US multilateralism, Japan, Australia, and other US allies and partners would be drawn into an ideological agenda in response to China’s challenges. This is the alternative being contem­ plated in 2020 at a time democratization has fallen to its low point in recent times. The lesson of recent years is that democracies need to be nourished or they can be set back if not shift toward authoritarianism. The United States stumbled from the 1990s before becoming the prime case of democratization in reverse. It lost a model, a champion, and a multilateral institution builder. The Trump administration saw the nadir to date, as audiences wondered whether a new democratic government could regain the former stature. Three things work in its favor. First, US politics became so polarized that Democrats were not implicated in the worst abuses. Second, China has moved so far to the authoritarian pole with an alarming impact that many hungered for US resumption of active lead­ ership of the liberal democratic order. Finally, the United States did not need to stand alone, since its allies and many partners kept the cause alive. Even the slo­ gan advertised by Trump of a Free and Open Indo-Pacific offered the barebones framework on which a movement for democratization could be reinvigorated.

PART 1

Toward a conceptual framework on democracy, identity, and foreign policy in East Asia

1 DEMOCRATIZATION, NATIONAL IDENTITY, AND FOREIGN POLICY IN SOUTHEAST ASIA Aurel Croissant

Southeast Asia presents social scientists with a laboratory for the analysis of the relationship between democratization, national identities, and the consequences for foreign policy behavior. Types of nationalism, modes of nation-building, eth­ nic makeup, colonial heritage, the structure of governing coalitions, the shape and extent of interest, and civil society organizations as well as regime types and their levels of democracy differ widely. Since the 1970s, the common wisdom in democratization studies has been that a consensus about national identity is a prerequisite for democratization.1 Recently this issue has drawn further discus­ sion. Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan see a widely shared sense of national identity as a requirement for successful democratic consolidation, confirming Rustow’s sequentialist view (national identity formation first, democratization later).2 For Southeast Asia, James Putzel used national identity to explain why democratiza­ tion is more difficult in Indonesia and Malaysia than in the Philippines.3 In con­ trast, democratization scholars have rarely analyzed the consequences of political liberalization and democratic transition for foreign policy behavior, and there are few works on the interface of international relations and comparative politics for Southeast Asia. Below I suggest that the implementation of democratic procedures and prac­ tices in Southeast Asia has helped to manage national identity problems, while the levels and quality of democracy have also been affected by issues of national identity. Thus, the transition from authoritarian rule to electoral democracy (first transition) has often opened up political space for democratizing national identities in Southeast Asia, whereas the lack of progress in the second transition, from democratically elected governments to liberal and fully consolidated demo­ cratic regimes, has complicated mutually shared agreement about identity with consequences in conf licts about their content and comprehensiveness as well as their impact on domestic and foreign policies.

10

Aurel Croissant

Democracy, democratization, and national identity The age-old political science debate on what democracy is or should mean fills more than one library.4 In empirical democratization studies, democracy is typi­ cally understood in procedural terms. The minimalist standard definition (“pol­ yarchy”)5 is that citizens have regular opportunities to participate in the selection and replacement of political leaders through, primarily, free elections; electoral competition is robust, and basic political rights and civil liberties are protected. Yet there is a productive contemporary debate about whether a minimal and essentially electoral understanding of democracy is sufficient or if democracy should also include the presence of a substantial rule of law and constitutionalism.6 This chapter adopts the model of “embedded democracy,” which puts forward a procedural definition that goes beyond a minimalist (or “electoralist”) under­ standing of democracy.7 At its core lies the assumption that democracy is a set of rules and institutions that can be analytically disaggregated into different partial regimes, with each fulfilling specialized tasks for the functioning of a democratic political system based on the rule of law and constitutionalism (that is, liberal democracy). Embedded democracy “consists of five partial regimes: a demo­ cratic electoral regime, political rights of participation, civil rights, horizontal accountability, and the guarantee that the effective power to govern lies in the hands of democratically elected representatives.”8 If the rules and practices in any of the partial regimes are insufficiently established or cannot fulfill their func­ tions appropriately, the political system deteriorates into some form of “defective democracy”—or even authoritarianism. While democracy is a particular type of political regime, democratization is a process of continual adjustment over rights and relationships in a political regime.9 In transitions from authoritarian rule to a political democracy, there are two transitions:10 first, from autocratic governance to the installation of a democratic government, and only then, second, from democratic government toward the effective functioning of a democratic regime, i.e., democratic deep­ ening and consolidation. Accomplishing the first transition, as in Myanmar in 2015 and Malaysia in 2018, is no guarantee for a successful second transition. Democratization is neither a linear nor a teleological process. The consolidation of democracy in a particular country does not preclude the possibility that this process can slow down, come to a halt, or be reversed. There is no consensus on national identity.11 “Modernists” such as Ernest Gellner and Benedict Anderson consider nations’ modern constructs and that states use a broad repertoire to promote “national identity,” such as language pol­ icy, symbols, f lags, coats of arms, national anthems, public celebrations, and com­ memorative and national holidays.12 In contrast, “perennialists” such as Anthony Smith claim a larger role for primordial identities in shaping modern nations.13 They posit that ethnic identities predated modern nations and shaped the for­ mation of national communities. Overlapping with this is the debate between primordialists and constructivists, particularly relevant in research on ethnic

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 11

politics, ethnic identities, and ethnic conf licts.14 The primordial view argues that the backbone of national identity is composed of a feeling of common blood, biological linkage, or a subjective belief in the citizenry’s common descent, his­ tory, and collective destiny. Constructivists stand in opposition by claiming that national identity cannot be taken as merely inherent and permanent: nations are not something natural, but are social constructs (“imagined communities”) closely interwoven with emotions and difficult to objectify.15 National identities are not fixed solidarities but ongoing constitutive processes. This contribution is based on a definition of national identity, which from a territorial point of view has the state dimension in mind, but which includes both individual and collective aspects of identity. In this sense, it follows Rozman’s definition of national identity “as beliefs about what makes one’s state unique in the past, present, and future,”16 and the constructivist (or “modernist”) view that nations and national identity are modern concepts that have been introduced to Southeast Asia as a consequence of Western colonialism and the emergence of anti-colonial forms of political mass mobilization. While state and non-state elites in Southeast Asia regularly tried to “historicize” their conceptions of the nation and national identity, I treat national identities as empirical constructs: they are essentially imagined communities (and beliefs about what characterizes such communities and makes them “unique”). In contrast to certain strands in IR and foreign policy research, national iden­ tity is not a key concept in democratization studies. Despite the global rise of national identity issues in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union and the triple transformation (economic, political, and national) in East Central Europe,17 democratization research has rarely explored the contents of national identities or how they change. Rustow was, perhaps, the first to provide a sys­ tematic theoretical discussion of the relationship between national identity and democratization.18 He saw national unity as necessary for successful democrati­ zation; it can only work if the great majority of citizens accept the boundaries of the political community as legitimate.19 For Rustow, the agreement about national identity meant that “the vast majority of citizens in a democracy-to-be must have no doubt or mental reservations as to which political community they belong to,”20 while political systems failing to meet the precondition of national identity should not proceed with democratization.21 In the 1990s, Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan recalled the problem of lack of national unity and identity for the successful establishment and functioning of democracy, arguing that democracy as a form of government presupposes the existence of a political community recognized as legitimate by those affected by power. A democratization process is facilitated if it does not have to be pursued in parallel with a process of nationbuilding and if only one nation exists within the state borders. When national identity is at issue, democracy cannot resolve contestation over the identity or borders of the polis or demos.22 Yet, these works are silent about what happens to national identity once democratization has occurred. They can explain why ethnically or nationally

12

Aurel Croissant

divided societies struggle with the institutionalization of a stable and work­ ing democracy, and how national identity problems affect democratization, but cannot say much about the impact of democratization on national identities. They focus on nationalism or national identity as the independent variable and democratization the dependent variable but neglect how democratization affects national identities. Another, even smaller, strand of literature examines the relationship between democratization, national identity problems, and foreign policy. Mansfield and Snyder turn the “democratic peace theorem”—essentially arguing that democ­ racies do not fight each other—on its head and argue that transitions from authoritarian to democratic governments often lead to weak, unconsolidated democratic institutions.23 The combination of increasing mass political participa­ tion and weak political institutions creates the motive and the opportunity for both rising and declining elites to play the nationalist card to rally popular sup­ port against domestic and foreign rivals.24 As a result, incomplete democratizers with weak institutions become more belligerent, not less. However, Narang and Nelson find that “the … statistical relationship between incomplete democra­ tization and war is entirely dependent on the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire prior to WWI.”25 Finally, some qualitative works such as Il Hyun Cho’s analysis of national identity, democratic consolidation, and security dynamics in Taiwan and South Korea find that countries in which national identity is contested and politicized under incomplete democratic consolidation are more likely to initiate belligerent foreign policy behavior. The very democratic process, which involves regular electoral cycles and a heated political environment, provides a key channel by which nationalist discourse is framed and amplified. Insufficiently consolidated democracies are particularly vulnerable to this dynamic because effective insti­ tutional checks and balances are often replaced with “nationalist outbidding” among domestic political actors, making foreign policy concessions virtually impossible.26 However, Jennifer Lind’s study of democratic transitions and for­ eign policy behavior contradicts Cho’s argument that xenophobic nationalism in East Asia contributed to bellicose foreign policies during democratic transitions.27

The origins of national identities in Southeast Asia While it might be argued that Cambodia, Vietnam, Burma, and Thailand have been developing into nations over several centuries and contemporary national identities are conditioned by preexisting identities, it was essentially Western colonialism that created modern nations in Southeast Asia by, first, “impos­ ing centralized and unified territorial states” and then “reactively generating the anti-colonial nationalist movements which imbued the populations of these states with stronger national loyalties.”28 Western powers—first Portugal and Spain, then the Netherlands, Great Britain, and France and, finally, the United States—embarked on a series of colonial missions between the 16th and 19th

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 13

centuries, establishing empires typically in a piecemeal fashion, but by 1910, all of Southeast Asia except Siam (since 1939: Thailand) was firmly under colonial rule. Colonial powers introduced the idea of clearly demarcated national borders to the region and separated Southeast Asia into clearly delineated “homogenous” political entities, which masked the many internal differences that existed in their colonies. Yet, somewhat ironically, the consolidation of colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries kindled the f lame of nationalism in the region. There had been resistance against colonialism in the past, but nationalist movements as a form of modern mass politics emerged in the 1880s, first in Spanish-Philippines and then in the rest of Southeast Asia.29 They developed generally from four his­ torical sources:30 first, religious and cultural movements, for instance, the Young Man’s Buddhist Association in Burma (1906) and the Sarekat Islam in Indonesia (1912). Second, secular nationalist movements, often led by Western-educated students and intellectuals, such as the “illustrados” in Spanish-Philippines; stu­ dents from the University of Rangoon that formed the Dobayma Asiyone (“We Burman”) society in 1935; and Dutch-educated Indonesians who formed the Indonesian Nationalist Party (PNI) in 1927, popularized the idea of one Indonesia with the slogan “One People, one language, one country.” In response espe­ cially to religious-nationalist groups, movements of ethnic minorities emerged, demanding a sovereign state for their own ethnic group but remaining outside the mainstream nationalist movements. Fourth, social radicals and communist movements in many areas of Southeast Asia, particularly in Burma, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, and Indochina. Colonialism and anti-colonial struggle became the formative movements of nationalism in Southeast Asia. While state elites in Burma, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand engaged in ethnic majority nation-building, defining nationhood by language, religion, customs, and traditions of an “ethnic core group,” they often continued to use colonial constructs of identity.31 Even when the name of the new country did not refer to an ethnic core, state policies nevertheless were biased in favor of “ethnic core groups,” for example, Javanese in Indonesia, Khmer in Cambodia, Kinh in Vietnam, or Tagalog-speakers in the Philippines.32 Still, some authoritarian government also adopted elements of a “civic” national vision, defining the nation as an association of people with equal and shared political rights, irrespective of ethnic attributes, e.g., Indonesia, where the ideology of Pancasila translated Javanese ethnic values into a universalis­ tic civic language, and Malaysia, where the government began in the 1980s to modify its Malay-centric, ethno-cultural vision of Malaysia (Bangsa Melayu) that had connoted the potent symbol of mono-ethnic Bumiputera 33 communal solidarity since independence by articulating the new national identity of Bangsa Malaysia, or multiethnic “united Malaysia,” in which Malays and non-Malays were developing a sense of “we-feeling.”34 In communist Laos and Vietnam, the communist-cum-nationalist parties propagandized an authoritarian nationalism in which communist elites claimed that they themselves were the objects of

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patriotic loyalty and that it was they who articulated the true will of the collec­ tive nation. Even more than in most other Southeast Asian countries, national identity is defined through the anti-colonial and anti-imperialist struggle against France, the United States, and (in the case of Vietnam) China. In the case of Thailand, which was never colonized, “national identity was constructed and reconstructed differently from other Southeast Asian countries.”35 Nationalism was a powerful instrument for traditional rulers to consolidate their rule since at least the 1900s. King Vajiravudh (1910–1925) in particular created the slogan “Nation, Religion, King,” which centered on ethnic Thai structures, to define national unity.36 Such forms of identity politics contrast with the state’s conception of national identity in ethnically diverse Singapore, where ethnic Chinese make up 74.3% of the population (Malays: 13.4%; Indians: 9.1%). Since independence in 1965, the government has promoted “citizen multi-culturalism,”37 a culturally neutral concept of citizenship, which acknowledged the legitimacy of each of the diverse ethnic identities within the city. Policies favored particularistic cultural elements of the Chinese majority group—the “Speak Mandarin” campaign (1979), the promotion of “Religious Knowledge” education in public and private schools, or the promotion of “Asian values” and “shared values” in the 1990s.38 Nonetheless, the ruling People’s Action Party has fostered a high level of acceptance for a Singaporean national identity and nation-state. Finally, in Timor-Leste, which achieved independence in 2002, a non-eth­ nical conception of national identity was primarily defined against Indonesian rule of the territory from 1975 to 1999. Despite the diversity of the ideas of nation, different attitudes toward Indonesia as the new colonizer, and the lin­ gering bitterness of the 1975 civil war between revolutionary, moderate, and conservative parties, Timorese leaders (some in hiding or imprisoned by the government of Indonesia) were able to forge a unifying vision of the nation. As Leach argues, crucial was the decision from the 1980s to promote a vision of the nation as one underpinned by national unity across ethnic lines (there are more than 30 languages and dialects and at least 14 ethnic groups), the strug­ gle for self-determination, and a distinct identity based on Catholicism, which became a symbol of cultural identity and faith-based resistance to Indonesian assimilation.39

Democratization and democracy in Southeast Asia In the mid-1980s, almost no state in Southeast Asia had successfully solved its “national identity problem” in a way that scholars such as Rustow, Linz, and Stepan consider a necessary condition for (successful) democratization. Nonetheless, authoritarian regimes were replaced with democracies in the Philippines (1986), Thailand (1992), and Cambodia (1993). In the wake of the 1997 Asian financial crisis, Indonesia (1999) and then Timor-Leste (2002) also joined the regional wave of democratization.40 Some of the remaining autocracies in the region have

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 15

also undergone important changes. In 2010, the military in Myanmar initiated a process of gradual disengagement from day-to-day politics that led to the elec­ tion of a democratic government in 2015. In Malaysia, opposition parties won a historic election victory in May 2018 and toppled the Barisan Nasional coalition, which had been in power since 1957. Even though there has been no single mode of transition in Southeast Asia, a key feature of democratization in the region was the ability of the elites of the ancient regime to dominate the transition or, at least, negotiate significant political concessions.41 Most importantly, in all cases except East Timor, democratic change coexisted with continuity in the military, civil ser­ vice, and the judiciary. Therefore, old power structures and established pat­ terns of interaction between state apparatus and society often remained to a large extent unchanged. However, there is considerable variation in the out­ comes of these processes of democratization, as revealed in the Bertelsmann Transformation Index (BTI), which excludes all countries that were members of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) by the year 1989 or with a population of less than 2 million.42 Since 2006, the BTI has been evaluating the quality of democracy, market economy, and govern­ ance in 137 countries. It provides qualitative expert assessments and numeri­ cal measures for 17 criteria and a total of 49 individual indicators, which are published every two years. All indicator values are based on expert surveys and assign scores ranging from 1 (lowest) to 10 (highest). Its democracy index is based on the model of embedded democracy (as described above), although the project also provides scores for other indicators, including “state identity” (see below), party system and civil society, and social cohesion. Table 1.1 compares democracy scores for each of the five partial regimes of the embedded democ­ racy for each Southeast Asian country. In the Philippines, Indonesia, and East Timor, the first transition from authoritarian to democratic governments was successful, whereas in Cambodia (in 1997) and Thailand (in 2006 and 2014), the backsliding of democracy after the first transition culminated in coup d’états and the resurrection of authori­ tarianism. Table 1.1 shows that democracies perform better on indicators of “free elections” (partial regime A) and “effective governance” (partial regime E), as well as “freedom of association and assembly” and “freedom of expression” (par­ tial regime B), than on those indicators that measure the enforcement of civil liberties or the independence of the judiciary (partial regime C) and on ensur­ ing horizontal accountability (partial regime D). The gap between the elec­ toral components of embedded democracy in partial regimes A and B—or what Robert A. Dahl terms “polyarchy”—on the one hand, and partial regimes C and D (the “liberal” in liberal democracy), on the other hand, correlates with the findings of other studies.43 A comparison of the BTI 2006 and BTI 2018 score shows that in spite of long-term positive advances of democracy (compared to the decades from 1950 to 1990), Southeast Asian democracies remain weakly institutionalized, “illiberal,” and vulnerable to political polarization.

BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020 BTI 2006 BTI 2020

9 8 7 7 7 1 n/a 9 5 2 1 1 5 6 1 7 5 5 1 1

7.5 6 9 6 6.5 2 n/a 8.5 5 2 1 1 5 5 1 4 4 3 2 2.5

6 5.5 5.5 5 7 3.5 n/a 7.5 3.5 2 2.5 2.5 5.5 5.5 1 2.5 5.5 5.5 2 2

5 6.5 6.5 4.5 6 3 n/a 6.5 2.5 2 2 2 5 5.5 1 3 6.5 6 2.5 2.5

6 6 7 6 7 1 n/a 8 5 1 1 1 2 5 1 3 2 3 1 2

Source: Authors’ calculations based on data from www.bti-project.org/en/data/.

Note: Partial regime A: BTI indicator 2.1 (free and fair elections). Partial regime B: BTI indicators 2.3 (association/assembly rights) and 2.4 (freedom of expression). Partial regime C: BTI indicators 3.2 (independent judiciary) and 3.4 (civil rights ensured). Partial regime D: BTI indicators 3.1 (separation of powers) and 3.3 (pros­ ecution of office abuse). Partial regime E: BTI indicator 2.2 (democratically elected political representative’s effective power to govern). The BTI 2020 includes East Timor for the first time. The data for Timor-Leste are preliminary.

Vietnam

Singapore

Myanmar

Malaysia

Laos

Cambodia

Timor-Leste

Thailand

Philippines

Indonesia

Effective Power to Govern (E)

Electoral Regime (A)

Horizontal Accountability (D)

TABLE 1.1 BTI scores for the partial regimes of the embedded democracy in Southeast Asia

Civil Liberties (C)

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Political Rights (B)

16

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 17

Democratization and national identity in Southeast Asia The qualitative (expert) assessments in the BTI also provide hints at a poten­ tial relationship between democratization/democracy and national identity in Southeast Asia. One of the 49 indicators is “state identity,” which asks: “To what extent do all relevant groups in society agree about citizenship and accept the nation-state as legitimate?” This indicator captures well what Rustow called “national unity” and approximates the concept of national identity generally used in democratization studies.44 Figure 1.1 compares the scores of the BTI 2006 and BTI 2018 for ten Southeast Asian countries. In most countries, a large majority accept the legitimacy of the nation-state, according to the expert assess­ ments. But it is only in Singapore that there is no relevant social group that does not accept the nation-state as legitimate and “all individuals and groups enjoy the right to acquire citizenship without discrimination.”45 In contrast, Myanmar is the only country in which the legitimacy of the nation-state is “frequently challenged” and citizenship rights are “withheld from entire population groups.” According to the BTI expert survey, a majority of Indonesians share a strong sense of nationalism and support the nation-state, though there are important exceptions (i.e., Papua). Unlike the authoritarian regime, the current demo­ cratic regime does not deny any particular groups (i.e., ethnic Chinese) access to citizenship. As a state with around 87% Muslim inhabitants, Indonesia has traditionally struggled to maintain a balance between promoting Islamic val­ ues and the rights of non-Muslim minorities. In recent years, Islamist organiza­ tions that insist that Islamic scripture is of higher value than the constitution have been able to inject their view into the national mainstream. The more liberal media environment, inter-party competition, and the formation of new 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Myanmar Indonesia Philippines Thailand

Vietnam Cambodia BTI 2006

FIGURE 1.1

Laos

Timor Leste

Malaysia Singapore

BTI 2018

Level of state identity in Southeast Asia. Note:“To what extent do all rel­ evant groups in society agree about citizenship and accept the nation-state as legitimate?” Higher scores indicate stronger consensus on state identity. Source: Authors’ calculations based on data from www.bti-project.org/ en/data/.

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“identity coalitions” comprising religious, nongovernment, security, and party elites helped drive this development.46 The Indonesian experiences support both the assumption that the transition from authoritarian rule to electoral democ­ racy is possible without prior agreement on what national identity specifically means to different people and that democratization creates new political and societal spaces for renegotiating national identity. However, it also shows that the ongoing sociopolitical struggle over the relationship between Islam and national identity creates tensions between Islamists and the political leadership with the potential to destabilize the democratic process. As Ziegenhain notes, all Islamic parties together have received only between 20% and 30% of the votes in parlia­ mentary elections since 1999.47 Despite their rather limited appeal with voters, Islamist actors have been fairly successful in penetrating nationalist and secular political parties. However, the future role of Islam for the country has yet to be decided. Similarly, a large majority of Malaysian citizens accept the nation-state as legitimate, though Malay-Muslim identity strongly shapes the procedures and policies of the state. Bumiputera and, especially, ethnic Malays dominate the key political institutions, civilian service, and SOEs. This Malay predominance draws criticism from Indians and Chinese, approximately 30% of the population, who report feeling like second-class citizens. The clash between more conserva­ tive, Islamist understanding of Malaysia as a nation and liberal, civic visions for Malaysia inside the ruling Barisan Nasional led to a number of factional splits and the reconfiguration of elite and party alliances in the 2000s. Together with a successful strategy of externalizing def lecting anti-Chinese sentiments—a classic trope of Malay-Muslim politics—away from the ethnic Chinese in Malaysia and toward China, these developments drove Malaysia toward an opposition victory in 2018. Yet, similar to Indonesia, Islamist movements are also gaining ground in Malaysia.48 In the case of Timor-Leste, the limits of anti-colonial visions of the nation were exposed after independence in 2002 as new fissures and tensions devel­ oped.49 However, some of these developments, for example, the 2006 political crisis which began when a section of the East Timorese armed forces claimed they had been treated less favorably than those soldiers and officers from the eastern part of the country, turned out to be temporary. The 2006 crisis, but also the tensions between the western districts (Loro Munu) and the eastern part (Loro Sae) of the country, has more to do with rivalries between dominant political leaders, or ref lected a general weakness of “stateness,” than with the failure of national identity formation. This could not only have a negative impact on the future development of Timorese democracy but also on the relationship between Timor-Leste and its two neighbors, Indonesia and Australia. Despite its multiethnic and multilingual composition, the large majority of citizens in the Philippines identify with the Filipino nation, though many Muslims in Mindanao see themselves more as Moro (the Spanish word for Moor, the Reconquista-period term used for Muslims) than as Filipino and adhere to

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 19

the idea of Bangsamoro (Moro nation). Following the transition to democracy in 1986/87, the government has made concessions in a multiculturalist direc­ tion, so as to offer significant autonomy both to indigenous cultural communi­ ties, whose rights are explicitly recognized in the 1987 constitution, and to the Mindanao Muslims.50 While several peace agreements between the government of the Philippines and insurgent groups have been settled, implementation has typically been complicated by Philippine politics and political resistance within Congress.51 In Burma, the struggle for national identity, and how 135 officially rec­ ognized ethnic groups should be accommodated, has been a key challenge to state-builders since the inauguration of the union in 1948. It contributed to the rise and persistence of a “praetorian state,” in which the Burmese military (Tatmadaw) had dominated politics, the economy, and society since 1962.52 In spite of the installation of a democratically elected government in 2016, the offi­ cial concept of the nation-state still revolves around Buddhism, the Burman language, and the Burman (or Bamar) ethnic group, which accounts for roughly two-thirds of the population. Many ethnic minorities do not support this con­ cept or even reject it openly and have been fighting for the acknowledgment of their ethno-cultural identities for decades. Following the end of collegial mili­ tary rule in 2012, and especially since 2016, there has been growing mobiliza­ tion by ultra-nationalist Buddhist groups, such as the Patriotic Association of Myanmar (MaBaTha) against the Rohingya.53 Undoubtedly, political liberaliza­ tion since the end of military rule has allowed extremist groups to gain traction with their anti-Muslim platform. The case supports the hypothesis that political liberalization and democratization empower ethno-nationalist movements, reli­ gious extremism, and political entrepreneurs of ethnic violence. Traditionally, Khmer identity manifests itself by separating from Vietnamese inf luences. Most Cambodians are Buddhists, though there are smaller ethnic minorities such as Muslim Cham, ethnic Vietnamese, and Montagnard minorities living in Cambodia’s northeastern provinces. The long-standing enmity between Cambodia and Vietnam, and the Vietnamese occupation from 1979 until 1985, fostered strong anti-Vietnamese resentments among Cambodians. From 1979 to 1991, the ruling CPP was dependent on military and economic patronage by Vietnam, while a strong “anti-Vietnamism” was one of the few things that had held the fragile opposition alliance together. Today, anti-Vietnamese sentiment is omnipresent among opposition politicians and even in civil society. Especially during election times, the competition between the CPP and the opposition, which accuses the government of collusion with Hanoi, fuels hostile sentiments against the “Yuon” (a derogative term used for Vietnamese in general).54 The state-sponsored conception of national identity in Thailand is based on a constructed notion of “Thainess,” which has both assimilated (forcefully) and integrated other minorities into the mono-ethnic state. The biggest challenge to the legitimacy of the Thai nation-state continues to come from the MalayMuslim insurgencies in the four southernmost provinces of Satun, Pattani, Yala,

20 Aurel Croissant

and Narathiwat. While the conf lict had been described as “waning” in the 1990s, it reemerged when, in the early 2000s, the government of Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra tried to impose greater central control over a region tradi­ tionally dominated by his main opponent, the Democratic Party.55 From 2004, when the insurgency had intensified to late 2016, almost 7,000 people were killed and at least 12,000 were wounded due to violence in the region.56 The southern conf lict in Thailand is, perhaps, the most impressive Southeast Asian example of the relationship between incomplete democratization, unsolved national identity problems, and the onset of domestic armed conf lict. The empirical evidence seems to support the view that national identity prob­ lems were and still are an obstacle for successful democratization in Southeast Asia. Indonesia (1998–2000), Thailand (since 2004), Myanmar (especially since 2016), and Timor-Leste (in 2006) experienced a sudden outburst of ethnic violence and armed unrest during or after the (incomplete) transition from authoritarian­ ism to (liberal) democracy. Yet, one can argue that outbursts of armed conf lict in democratizing nations of Southeast Asia are actually not caused by political liberalization and democratization but are triggered by the same set of factors as democratization, that is, destabilization of the “iron-glade” authoritarian order, the failure of old nationalisms, and economic crisis. Obviously, managing the national identity problem is key to the political future of Myanmar. However, neither did this issue prevent Myanmar from completing its first transition nor did it constitute an insurmountable obstacle for democratization in Indonesia (or the Philippines). Furthermore, the escalation of ethnic conf licts does indicate legitimacy deficits of the nation-state and antipathy toward national myths and symbols; however, anti-Chinese pogroms and communal unrest in Indonesia in 1998–2000, ethnic cleansing and genocidal violence against Rohingya since 2016, and the deepening of armed unrest in Southern Thailand have also been a by-product of competition between branches of a state’s security apparatus for power and resources in the emerging regime.57 It could even be argued that democracy in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Timor-Leste has done pretty well in peacefully managing the “national identity problem” (given the contexts).

Belligerent democratizers? From the 1950s to the 1980s, ideology was a primary engine of inter-state con­ f lict in the region, but in the post–Cold War era, there has arisen a new national­ ism in Southeast Asia, centering on issues of national pride, territorial integrity, and national sovereignty. The prime object of nationalist animosity is no longer one’s own government, but governments and elites in other countries, especially China (Malaysia and Vietnam) and the United States (Indonesia, Philippines, and Thailand)58 —indicative of rising tensions, amplified grievances, and wors­ ening prospects for continued peace and prosperity in the wider region.59 As the rise of a new nationalism correlates with the wave of political liberalization and democratization that swept through Southeast Asia, some have asked if there

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia  21

is a relationship between democratization, nationalism, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia, although Tuong Vu sees democratization as a trigger (though, not a “deep cause”) for the rise of nationalism in the region.60 Cross-national survey data such as the World Value Survey (WVS) suggest that Southeast Asian publics in the early 21st century are indeed quite patriotic and share strong feelings of national pride. Figure 1.2 shows WVS results from Wave 5 and Wave 6 in the five Southeast Asian countries for which data are available. Large majorities in all cases derive a sense of dignity from their national identity: the mean of respondents expressing pride was 67.6% (“very proud”) and 27.5% (“quite proud”). The highest was in Vietnam (“very proud”: 80.3%; “quite proud”: 17.9), while the lowest was in Singapore (48.4/40.8) and Indonesia (45.7/45.9), still much higher than in East Asian countries. The lack of time series data, however, makes it impossible to conclude that citizens have become more nationalist in recent years. And even though this chapter does not seek to downplay the menace of “belligerent” democratization and foreign policy in the region, the evidence for the proposition that democratization caused the renewal of nationalisms and more belligerent foreign policies in Southeast Asia is weak. First, the new nationalist movements are not completely new in the sense that their discourse frequently seeks to appeal to traditional patriotism (Vietnam and Cambodia) as well as anti-colonialism and anti-Western sentiments (the Philippines and Indonesia). As Tuong Vu notes, these themes were also “the hallmarks of the old nationalist movements of the early twentieth century.”61 And the shift from authoritarian to democratic regimes in some

100

Very proud

90

Quite proud

80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Indonesia* Singapore

Malaysia

Vietnam*

Southeast Asia

FIGURE 1.2 Levels

Thailand

Philippines

Taiwan

South Korea

Japan

East Asia

of national pride (% of respondents). Note: “How proud are you to be [substitute your own nationality]?” Source: Wave 6 (2010–2014) and * World Value Survey Wave 5 (2005–2009), www​.worldvaluessurvey​.org​/ WVSOnline​.jsp.

22

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countries is one, but not the only important, change in the domestic, regional, and international contexts that shape foreign policy making, e.g., the shift in the international and regional order, especially the economic, political, and military rise of China, which fuels anti-Chinese sentiments in Vietnam and Malaysia, or the US-led war on terrorism that kindled mass mobilization of Indonesian Muslims in solidarity with fellow Muslims viewed as being victims of the United States and asserted the identity of Indonesia as a Muslim nation in opposition to Western domination.62 Modernization, globalization, and transnational migra­ tion are other relevant factors that impact domestic and foreign policy across many countries in the region. Second, it is not only the democratizing nations in the region that have seen “a post-Cold War surge of nationalism.” Vietnam has seen a notable rise of (antiChinese) nationalism in recent years, though the country does not belong to the democratizers in the region. Similarly, authoritarian governments in Thailand (since 2014), Cambodia, and Laos seek to legitimize their rule by intensifying nationalist sentiments and channeling popular anger and animosity into a form of pro-government nationalism.63 One can even argue that nationalism and nationalist foreign policies are more frequent in authoritarian regimes than in the democratization countries. Third, liberalization and democratization undoubtedly created better oppor­ tunities for non-state actors to mobilize support for nationalist causes.64 However, the declining autonomy of the military and other vested interests also provides an opportunity for renegotiating national identities, interests, and foreign policy preferences. For example, Jörn Dosch argues that democratization had actually led to more liberal foreign policies in Southeast Asia and had a positive impact on regional cooperation, because it strengthened “regime accountability” and decreased “state autonomy from civil society and intermediate actors, such as parliaments, that try to exert inf luence over foreign relations.”65 Fourth, there is little empirical evidence which would support the proposition that democratizers in Southeast Asia have adopted more nationalist or belliger­ ent foreign policies vis-à-vis their regional neighbors. The controversy between Cambodia and Thailand over a series of contested temple sites located along their border is, perhaps, the most prominent example for nationalist outbidding centered on a foreign policy agenda in Southeast Asia. Border tensions between the two nations were waning in the 1990s, after the end of the Cambodian civil war, but in the context of the parliamentary elections in Cambodia, anti-Thai riots broke out in Phnom Penh in early 2003. In 2008, the controversy suddenly gained prominence in Thailand primarily as a result of an extra-parliamentary opposition movement that was struggling to find an issue around which it could build a credible campaign against the elected government.66 Thus, the ThaiCambodian conf lict was clearly fueled by political competition and polarization between different social and political groups in both states competing with one another to advance their political inf luence at home.67 Case studies of foreign policy debates in the Indonesian parliament in the 2000s suggest that legislators

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 23

have sought to use their newly gained political clout to implement a neo-nation­ alist agenda that hamstrings the deepening of regional integration.68 Populists such as President Duterte in the Philippines instrumentalize nationalist senti­ ments and anti-Western rhetoric to mobilize political support for their contro­ versial domestic policies. So far, however, this talk has not led to concrete foreign policy actions. Overall, however, it can be argued that for foreign policy making in Southeast Asia, regime type matters less than who occupies the regime.69 As mentioned before, there has been strong elite continuity among Southeast Asian nations, especially at the level of bureaucratic, diplomatic, and economic elites. Shared preferences within and between “ruling coalitions” in democratic and less than democratic countries sustained peace and economic cooperation among the states of ASEAN.70 Based on this reading, the fact that (incomplete) democ­ ratization did not lead to more belligerent foreign policies is explained by the fact that since the inception of ASEAN, a collective identity has been success­ fully constructed among the political elites of her member states through intense interaction and socialization.71

Conclusion The experiences of Southeast Asian societies suggest that, in spite of difficult background conditions and serious challenges for the region’s democracies, most have been fairly successful in peacefully managing identity conf licts within the framework of newly established democratic institutions and procedures. Even though conclusions must be tentative, it seems fair to conclude that the imple­ mentation of democratic procedures and practices in Southeast Asia has helped to manage national identity problems. At the same time, the outcomes of democra­ tization processes in terms of the levels and quality of democracy have also been affected by issues (or problems) of national identity. Of course, it is true that the existence of ethnic or cultural minorities who do not feel that they belong to the national community poses a problem for the quality and stability of new democ­ racies. Democratization, in fact, encouraged the political mobilization of ethnic and national identities among groups competing for power. At the same time, however, the opening of new liberal spaces in several Southeast Asian countries created a window of opportunity for the formation of new identity coalitions. Further, democratization involves the emergence of new visions of national com­ munity, which are articulated in various civil society sites and depict the nation less as a unified collectivity and more as an arena for the exercise of individual, majority, and minority rights and freedoms. Thus, the democratization process can also be understood as the restructuring of national identity away from the authoritarian and collectivist nationalist visions articulated by the previous state elites and toward more democratic and pluralist visions of the nation or, in other words, as the democratization of national identity. Further, there is little empirical evidence to assume that the recent revival of nationalism in Southeast Asia (and the wider Asia-Pacific) is primarily a

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consequence of democratic regime change or that incomplete transitions to a consolidated democratic political regime have kindled a revival of belligerent foreign policy. Weak political institutions and problems of national identity alter the incentives and opportunities of political actors, who may evoke nationalist sentiments for political purposes. Yet, the region is much more stable and demo­ cratic now than it was just 30 years ago. In spite of the gloomy predictions and the potential conf licts looming across the region, regional relations have seen a host of improvements, even if Southeast Asia does have serious problems, some of which are linked to issues of national identity.

Notes 1 D. Rustow, “Transition to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” Comparative Politics 2(3) (1970), pp. 337–63. 2 J.J. Linz and A. Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-communist Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). 3 J. Putzel, “Why Has Democratization Been a Weaker Impulse in Indonesia and Malaysia than in the Philippines?” in D. Potter, D. Goldblatt, M. Kiloh, and P. Lewis, eds., Democratization (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997), pp. 240–63. 4 D. Held, Models of Democracy, third edition (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2006). 5 R.A. Dahl, Democracy and Its Critics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 6 L. Diamond, Developing Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999); W. Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies,” Democratization 11(5) (2004), pp. 33–58. 7 W. Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies”; W. Merkel and A. Croissant, “Formal Institutions and Informal Rules in Defective Democracies,” Central European Political Science Review 1(2) (2000), pp. 31–48. 8 W. Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies,” p. 36. 9 J. Nagata, “Elusive Democracy: Appropriation of ‘Rights’ Ideologies in Malaysian Ethnic and Religious Political Discourse” in S.J. Henders, ed., Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia (Oxford: Lexington Books, 2004), pp. 225–51. 10 G. O’Donnell, “Transitions, Continuities, and Paradoxes” in S. Mainwaring, G. O’Donnell, and J. S. Valenzuela, eds., Issues in Democratic Consolidation: The New South American Democracies in Comparative Perspective (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992), pp. 17–56. 11 T. Vu, “Southeast Asia’s New Nationalism: Causes and Significance,” Trans -Regional and -National Studies of Southeast Asia 1(2) (2013), pp. 259–79. 12 E. Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983); B. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983). 13 A. Smith, Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996). 14 T. Wencker, “Intrastate Conf lict and Social Space in a Critical Realist Perspective. A Quantitative Analysis of the Formation of Non-State Actors and of Profiles of Violence in Asia and Oceania” (Dissertation, Universität Heidelberg, 2018). 15 B. Anderson, Imagined Communities. 16 G. Rozman, “Introduction” in G. Rozman, ed., East Asian National Identities. Common Roots and Chinese Exceptionalism (Washington and Stanford: Woodrow Wilson International Press, and Stanford University Press, 2012), pp. 1–15. 17 C. Offe, “Capitalism by Democratic Design? Democratic Theory Facing the Triple Transition in East Central Europe,” Social Research 58 (1991), pp. 865–92.

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 25

18 D. Rustow, “Transition to Democracy.” 19 Rustow used the term rather loosely to refer to at least five characteristics: (1) national unity, (2) national identity, (3) boundaries must endure, (4) composition of the citi­ zenship must be continuous, and (5) democratization cannot commence until some­ one decides who the people are. He Bao-gang, “The National Identity Problem and Democratization: Rustow’s Theory of Sequence,” Government and Opposition 36(1) (2001), p. 99. 20 D. Rustow, “Transition to Democracy,” p. 350. 21 John Stuart Mill already wrote in the mid-19th century that democracy is “next to impossible in a country made up of different nationalities. Among a people without fellow-feeling, especially if they read and speak different languages, the united pub­ lic opinion, necessary to the working of representative government, cannot exist.” Representative Government. In Three Essays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), p. 382. 22 J.J. Linz and A. Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation, pp. 25–26, 36. 23 E.D. Mansfield and J. Snyder, “Incomplete Democratization and the Outbreak of Military Disputes,” International Studies Quarterly 46(4) (2002), pp. 529–49. 24 E.D. Mansfield, and J. Snyder, “Pathways to War in Democratic Transitions,” International Organization 63(2) (2009), pp. 381–90. 25 V. Narang, and R.M. Nelson, “Who Are These Belligerent Democratizers? Reassessing the Impact of Democratization on War,” International Organization 63(2) (2009), p. 357. 26 I.H. Cho, “Democratic Instability: Democratic Consolidation, National Identity, and Security Dynamics in East Asia,” Foreign Policy Analysis 8 (2012), pp. 191–213. 27 J. Lind, “Democratization and Stability in East Asia,” International Studies Quarterly 55(2) (2011), pp. 409–36. 28 D. Brown, “Contending Nationalism in Southeast Asia,” Asia Research Center Working Paper 117, Murdoch University, 2005, p. 2. 29 T. Vu, “Southeast Asia’s New Nationalism.” 30 P. Kratoska and B. Batson, “Nationalism and Modernist Reform” in N. Tarling, ed., Cambridge History of Southeast Asia: Vol. II, Part 1: From c. 1800 to the 1930s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 253–320. 31 D. Brown, “The Democratization of National Identity” in S.J. Henders, ed., Democratization and Identity (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2004), pp. 43–66. 32 Ibid. 33 The ethnic composition of Malaysia comprises two major constitutional groups and three “races,” namely, Bumiputera (literally “prince of the soil”) and non-Bumi­ putera (ethnic Chinese and ethnic Indians). The Bumiputera category consists of Malays and the non-Malay indigenous peoples of Borneo and Peninsula Malaysia. The special rights of the Bumiputera are established in the Malaysian Constitution. A. Croissant and P. Lorenz, Comparative Politics of Southeast Asia. An Introduction into Government and Politics (Cham: Springer, 2018). 34 I.-w. Hwang, Personalized Politics: The Malaysian State under Mahathir (Singapore: ISEAS, 2003), p. 246. 35 S. Thananithichot, “Understanding Thai Nationalism and Ethnic Identity,” Journal of Asian and African Studies 46(3) (2011), pp. 260–61. 36 D. Brown, “Contending Nationalism in Southeast Asia,” p. 10; P. Chachavalpongpun, “Thailand’s Eternal Flame of Nationalism. Legitimacy and Manipulation” in J. Kingston, ed., Asian Nationalisms Reconsidered (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), pp. 207–17. 37 R.W. Hefner, “Introduction: Multiculturalism and Citizenship in Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia” in R.W. Hefner, ed., The Politics of Multiculturalism: Pluralism and Citizenship in Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), pp. 1–58.

26 Aurel Croissant

38 B.H. Chua, Communitarian Ideology and Democracy in Singapore (London: Routledge, 1995). 39 M. Leach, Nation-Building and National Identity in Timor-Leste (Abingdon and Oxon: Routledge, 2017). 40 A. Croissant, “From Transition to Defective Democracy. Mapping Asian Democratization,” Democratization 11(5) (2004), pp. 156–79. 41 D.C. Shin and R.S. Tusalem, “East Asia” in C.W. Haerpfer, P. Bernhagen, R.F. Inglehart, and C. Welzel, eds., Democratization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 356–76. 42 Bertelsmann Stiftung BTI, Codebook for Country Assessments (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Stiftung, 2018). 43 D.C. Shin and R.S. Tusalem, “East Asia”; A. Croissant and M. Bünte, eds., The Crisis of Democratic Governance in Southeast Asia (Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave, 2011). 44 D. Rustow, “Transition to Democracy.” 45 BTI 2018, p. 16. 46 J. Melchnik, Islam and Democracy in Indonesia: Tolerance without Liberalism (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016). 47 P. Ziegenhain, “Islam and Nation-Building in Indonesia and Malaysia,” ASIEN 146 (2018), pp. 78–95. 48 Ibid. cites a survey from the Merdeka Center for Opinion Research, which finds that 43% of Malays wish for a more Islamic country and only 38% shared the view that all religious groups should be given equal rights. 49 J. Henick, Nation Building in Timor-Leste: National Identity Contests and Crisis (Dissertation, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i, 2014); M. Leach, Nation-Building and National Identity in Timor-Leste. 50 P.N. Abinales and D.J. Amoroso, State and Society in the Philippines (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2005). 51 C.G. Hernandez, “The Philippines in 2015: A House Still not in Order?” Asian Survey 56(1) (2016), pp. 115–22. 52 A. Croissant, Civil-Military Relations in Southeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 53 International Crisis Group, “The Long Haul Ahead for Myanmar’s Rohingya Refugee Crisis,” Report No. 296, ICG, 2018. 54 P. Millar, “Race to the Bottom: How Cambodia’s Opposition Is Targeting Ethnic Vietnamese,” Southeast Asia Globe, October 21, 2016 (http://sea-globe.com/camb odia-opposition-cnrp-vietnamese/). 55 A. Croissant, “Unrest in South Thailand: Contours, Causes, and Consequences Since 2001,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 27(1) (2005), pp. 21–44. 56 International Crisis Group, “Jihadism in Southern Thailand: A Phantom Menace,” Report No. 291, ICG, 2017. 57 J. Gledhill, “Competing for Change: Regime Transition, Intrastate Competition, and Violence,” Security Studies 21(1) (2012), pp. 43–82. 58 T. Vu, “Southeast Asia’s New Nationalism,” p. 266. 59 J. Kingston, “Introduction” in J. Kingston, ed., Asian Nationalisms Reconsidered, p. 1. 60 T. Vu, “Southeast Asia’s New Nationalism.” 61 Ibid., p. 266. 62 Ibid., p. 263. 63 Chachavalpongpun 2016? N.T. Bui, “Managing Anti-China Nationalism in Vietnam: Evidence from the Media during the 2014 Oil Rig Crisis,” The Pacific Review 30(2) (2017), pp. 169–87; P.M. Rattanasengchanh, “The Role of Preah Vihear in Hun Sen’s Nationalism Politics, 2008–2013,” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 36(3) (2017), pp. 63–89; S. Creak and K. Barney, “Conceptualising Party-State Governance and Rule in Laos,” Journal of Contemporary Asia (2018). DOI: 10.1080/00472336.2018.1494849.

Democratization, national identity, and foreign policy in Southeast Asia 27

64 T. Vu, “Southeast Asia’s New Nationalism,” p. 273. 65 J. Dosch, “The Impact of Democratization on the Making of Foreign Policy in Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines,” Südostasien aktuell, No. 5, 2006, p. 48. 66 A. Croissant and P.W. Chambers, “A Contested Site of Memory: The Preah Vihear Temple” in H. Anheier and R.Y. Isar, eds., Cultures and Globalization 4: Heritage, Memory, Identity (Los Angeles: Sage Publication, 2011). 67 S.U. Deth, “Factional Politics and Foreign Policy Choices in Cambodia-Thailand Diplomatic Relations” (Dissertation Humboldt Universität zu Berlin, 2014, https://d -nb.info/1054396450/34). 68 J. Rüland, “Deepening ASEAN Cooperation through Democratization? The Indonesian Legislature and Foreign Policymaking,” International Relations of the AsiaPacific 9(3) (2009), pp. 373–402; J. Rüland, “Democratizing Foreign-Policy Making in Indonesia and the Democratization of ASEAN: A Role Theory Analysis,” TRaNS: Trans-Regional and -National Studies of Southeast Asia 5(1) (2017), pp. 49–73. 69 E. Solingen, “Southeast Asia in a New Era: Domestic Coalitions from Crisis to Recovery,” Asian Survey 44(2) (2004), pp. 189–212; E. Solingen, Regional Orders at Century’s Dawn: Global and Domestic Influences on Grand Strategy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998). 70 L. Jones, “Democratisation and Foreign Policy in Southeast Asia: The Case of the ASEAN Inter-Parliamentary Myanmar Caucus,” Cambridge Review of International Affairs 22(3) (2009). 71 A. Acharya, Regionalism and Multilateralism: Essays on Cooperative Security in the Asia Pacific (Singapore: Times Academic Press, 2002).

2 THE MEDIATING ROLE OF NATIONAL IDENTITY IN DEMOCRATIZATION AND LESSONS FROM POST– COLD WAR FOREIGN POLICY IN NORTHEAST ASIA Gilbert Rozman

Trade wars and security clashes are in the forefront across greater Asia, but we would be remiss to overlook the intensifying struggle over democratization as a factor in international relations. On the one side is China backed by Russia, both intent on foiling not only “color revolutions” but also democratic processes in general. On the other is the United States, despite the recent rhetorical incon­ sistency, encouraged by Japan and other countries in its support of a “Free and Open Indo-Pacific.” To grasp the essence of this battle, we need an updated framework to analyze democratization as a continuum, subject to setbacks, and national identities as forces that form the backdrop for how democratization evolves. We can draw on case studies for lessons about past struggles over democ­ ratization in East Asia and for tests of how foreign relations, especially involving China, are impacting democratization. Great power competition has been more acute in Northeast Asia, our starting point, while it has recently intensified in South and Southeast Asia. This chapter seeks linkages between national identity and democratization, proposes a framework for analyzing how democratization proceeds within today’s foreign policy context, and draws on lessons from aspi­ rations for advancing democracy in Northeast Asia after the Cold War ended. Predictions of democratization in Asia grew more optimistic with the abrupt successes in South Korea and Taiwan and, just a few years later, the collapse of the communist bloc, opening space for Mongolia to turn toward democracy. Yet, optimism that China would follow this path failed to be vindicated, Russia’s Asian regions lost their autonomy to revived authoritarian tendencies, and com­ petition resumed between rival scenarios for other parts of Asia. On the one hand, the Chinese and Russians hold up models of One Belt One Road leading toward a “community of common destiny” or of Greater Eurasia premised on rejection of democratization. On the other, Prime Minister Abe Shinzo became the first leader to press for a coalition of states committed to defend what became

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29

known as a “Free and Open Indo-Pacific.” As external pressure grows to join one or another great power-led coalition, it is timely to examine anew the ongo­ ing challenges of pursuing democratization within the increasingly tightly con­ tested regional context of East Asia. In 1989, in light of the end of the Cold War and the Tiananmen demonstra­ tions, many were optimistic that an irreversible wave of democratization was in progress. In 1992, following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the further dismantlement of communist regimes, optimism soared that the ideological bar­ riers to democratization were falling as economic globalization accelerated and the impending information revolution was giving unprecedented impetus to it. What was often missing in such reasoning was the fact that democracy is rarely an end in itself and usually a means that elites adopt only conditionally. If it is found to be at odds with personal and local interests, elites are likely to oppose it, appealing to various dimensions of the national identity, while taking the stance that democratization would prove antithetical to them. Thus, we can frame the pursuit of democratization also as a pathway to boosting one or another dimen­ sion of national identity, which is countered by attackers who label it an outrage that undermines the pillars of that national identity—all within the context of the newly polarizing foreign relations across the wide arc of maritime Asia. Since 2018, Sino-US relations have been aggravated, the United States’ thinking about democratization has been questioned, and the struggle has been deepening over democratization. The analysis ahead can be clarified if we consider democratization to be the establishment and deepening of a cluster of elements (not always in synch with each other or reinforcing), setbacks to democratization as the weakening of any or all of them, national identity as a conglomeration of dimensions, any one of which can become linked to the advance of democratization but, more likely, can be cited as inimical to democratization, and the current foreign policy strug­ gle in East Asia as identity oriented between China, on the one side, and the United States, with its allies and partners on the other. In this way, we simplify the conceptual narrative and lay the groundwork for comparisons of states on the frontline in Asia between two clashing approaches to democracy.

Democratization and dimensions of national identity When national leaders or popular movements hold aloft the f lag of democratiza­ tion, they do so against the backdrop of what is considered to be a nation’s shared understanding of what makes it unique and exceptional. There is no blank slate wiping away past assumptions, even after a regime was ousted or overthrown. Should a popular mood of revulsion sweep a critical mass along in aspiring to something different, embedded ways of thinking about what is compatible with the essence of the national identity do not disappear. In Northeast Asia, commu­ nist regimes had long perfected the means of inculcating a version of the national identity, which could not easily be superseded. Also widespread in the region was

30 Gilbert Rozman

the legacy of Confucianism, which had been ingeniously embedded into peo­ ple’s sense of nationhood and civilization. Finally, memories of colonialism and imperialist aggression had been intensely cultivated during the formative stage of modern nationalism, becoming key parts of national identity often impervi­ ous to challenges. Whether communism, Confucianism, anti-imperialism, or other pillars of national identity, they loomed in the background as the forces of democratization tried to advance their cause and even found some measure of success for a time. As a dimension of national identity, ideology has broader applicability than just the rigidly formalized doctrines of past communism. Even when the classics of Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism-Maoism are not obligatory citations, the hold of socialist thought can remain strong and be rein­ forced less tendentiously. Confucianism is more readily dismissed as a source of current ideology since it was treated as outdated long ago, but that does not mean assumptions socialized over centuries by formal and informal education do not continue to pervade thinking. Likewise, anti-imperialism in many cases mer­ its inclusion in the ideological dimension as it too can become so fundamental to the way people think that questioning it proves difficult. Sinocentrism and Japanese imperial thought are also examples of ideological forces with contin­ ued impact. Democratization in Japan found space, if uneasily after the rever­ sal of some occupation reforms, for tenacious advocates of a limited version of imperial thought. Democratization in South Korea gained momentum from an oft-unchallenged dosage of anti-imperialism centered on Japan’s annexation of the peninsula. In China and Russia, however, the hold of communism was too strong to allow democratization to proceed far, notably in China with reinforce­ ment from a reconstructed ideology accepting Confucianism and reinforcing anti-imperialism linked to Sinocentrism. The ideological dimension of national identity has impacted democratization throughout Northeast Asia, for the most part looming as a barrier but with room in some settings to be co-opted in sup­ port of advancing that process. Each country’s national identity has distinct characteristics, but identities share a standard set of dimensions in common beyond ideology.1 The temporal or historical dimension of national identity refers to the pride taken in the past, singling out what makes one’s country distinctive. The challenge for democrati­ zation is to find ways to reinforce certain views of a pre-democratic past without imagining that a blank slate will follow or assuming external models will prevail. Pride in the historical impact of Confucianism has potential for becoming linked to elements of democratization—equality of opportunity, for instance—but it is even more amenable to being invoked in opposition to democratization, resisting the rule of law and checks and balances as well as elections. To the extent that an obsession is cultivated over historical forces at odds with democratization—as done by the Communist Party of China, with its distorted glorification of a bru­ tal history, and by deniers in Japan of the brutality in its imperial expansionism— identity serves as a barrier to democratization, in general or in a more mature form. In other cases of showcasing the past, it can become a negative force by

The mediating role of national identity

31

demonizing any who seek reconciliation or more pragmatic moves rather than intolerant targeting in perpetuity. History plays a large role in East Asia, as it does in Confucian thought, communist orthodoxy, and anti-colonial causality.2 A third dimension—called “sectoral”—is a composite of political, economic, and cultural identity. Democratization may face the obstacle of pride in a non­ democratic political order or, if that is a reach, a political order with entrenched non-democratic elements, such as claims that harmony precludes a balance of forces and legal contentiousness. It may be frustrated by a belief in the suc­ cess of an economic model that limits some elements of market competitiveness and freedom. Finally, pride in what makes one’s civilization distinct may lend support to features at odds with individual freedom of choice and checks and balances. When there is a sharp spike in identity as countries claim to have a harmonious order, an economic miracle, and a populace well organized hier­ archically to maximize national goals, democratization may be brushed aside. Conversely, when there is loss of confidence in such claims, the search for exter­ nal models and globalization may give rise to a backlash insisting that disruption be countered by going back to one’s roots. Fourth is the vertical dimension referring to state-society relations, which may relegate such forces as religious groups, NGOs, ethnic minorities, and civil soci­ ety in general to only a suspect status in the national identity. Democratization means checks on the state, but identities that treat the state as the protector and embodiment of the nation may target such checks as real threats. If communism or Confucianism has shaped identity rhetoric, then democratic checks on the state may face especially serious hurdles. Anti-colonial legacies may envision the state as the heir to the independence movement, also complicating the task of checking its authority. Encapsulating the national identity in narrow notions of state primacy complicates pursuit of democratization. Finally, the horizontal dimension refers to views of the outside world as part of identity. It is often easy to depict globalization in zero-sum terms with national identity, democratization being inseparable from turning outward. Given the central image of the United States in the promotion of democracy, its shifting place in national identity can affect the course of democratization too. In East Asia, China is another significant other, impacting thinking on democratiza­ tion. Thus, it should be possible to estimate how views of these two powers are shifting and connect them to the prospects for democratization. Their policies to inf luence opinion through hard power, soft power, and sharp power affect not only how they are seen, but democratization’s prospects. It is not just national identities that matter, but also the identity gaps that shape bilateral relations.3

Democratization and Northeast Asia As recently as the mid-1980s, Japan was the lone democratic country in Northeast Asia. Yet, in the early 1990s, hopes were rising that the entire region would become democratic before long. South Korea was deemed to be firmly on the

32 Gilbert Rozman

path to democratization when the 1992 election brought to the presidency a civilian figure after a military officer had won in the 1987 race. Mongolia had abruptly shed its communist past through a surge of democratic initiatives. The Russian Far East was viewed not only as part of the democratic wave under Boris Yeltsin, but as capable, under the inf luence of extensive decentralization, of playing a leading role in further democratization. Isolated and facing deepening poverty, North Korea was in the sights of South Korea for democratic transfor­ mation along with economic reform on the path to reunification. If Tokyo and Seoul did not expect to advance democratization on a large, regional scale in the near future, each focused on a small part of the Russian Far East, wielding its economic clout and striving for its own national identity goals while holding aloft the banner of democratization as the path forward. Neither Northeast Asian US ally was a noteworthy booster of democratization in other parts of Asia, pre­ ferring to express understanding for Asian traditions and the merits of a gradual transition, and in Northeast Asia as well they were ready to accommodate slow evolution. The criticism that impatient pressure to democratize proved counter­ productive does not apply to these advocates, which were willing to work with non-democratic forces over a slow transition. Take the case of the Russian Far East, including Primorskii Krai centered on Vladivostok and the Southern Kuril Islands (Northern Territories) within Sakhalin Oblast. South Korea and Japan were eager to promote democratic forces in one or the other of these areas. Both areas were very vulnerable due to deepening economic hardship and new feelings of abandonment by the cen­ tral administration in Moscow. Under Boris Yeltsin in 1992–1993, those Paul Richardson calls “liberal institutionalists” were in the ascendancy in Moscow, promoting democratic values, including openness to foreign economies and mar­ ket forces, the end to the Stalin legacy and the mentality of empire, promotion of dignity through gaining a leading role in shaping a liberal world order, and forging a civilized Russia protective of civil society and the rule of law.4 There were local elections, a freer press, and apparent opportunities for outside forces to support the forces of democratization. Increasingly, however, the Atlanticists, as some were called, lost the struggle over what should be the national identity of Russia. On each dimension of identity, they were at a marked disadvantage given the legacy of communism, the interests of the local elites, and the actual limitations of foreign inf luences. The external appeal to press for greater democ­ racy was overwhelmed by appeals to defend national identity, viewing “universal values” as just a false smokescreen. Democratization was attacked as harmful to what was a contested Russian identity but turned out to be much more beholden to the Soviet legacy than many observers had assumed. South Koreans and Japanese were optimistic through much of the 1990s and, at times, later that they could advance democratization and forge a new, special relationship with these neighboring areas of great interest.5 Humanitarian assis­ tance, frequent exchanges, their clear and consistent messages, and economic assistance all reinforced their optimism. They, however, had no way to overcome

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33

the deficit they were facing in national identity construction as outsiders with a simple message unable to resonate in the face of deeply embedded assumptions about identity. Their economic and humanitarian assistance was abused, their motives were impugned, and their sponsorship of forces supportive of greater democracy tarnished many they had sought to help. As talk intensified as early as 1993 regarding what had caused the “crisis” of the Russian Far East and what was to be done, forces of democratization at home and abroad fared badly.6 The search for the “Russian idea” signaled a rejection of democratization. In recogni­ tion of that, the approach shifted to bypassing the Russian Far East and appealing to the leader in Moscow. The goal of democratization was overshadowed by hope that an unchecked leader could cut a deal.7 Some might argue that Japan was so obsessed with recovering territory and South Korea with outf lanking North Korea that their pursuit of democratiza­ tion was only half-hearted. Yet, US-European attempts to bolster the nascent forces of democratization in Russia fared no better. As some elements of Russian national identity were successfully rejected, others survived and soon gained new traction. To make sense of this, we need to grasp how Soviet national identity had been changing and to recognize dimensions of identity that could be used to mobilize resentment at a time of massive dislocation, economically, politi­ cally, and intellectually. The champions of democratization could not point to short-term economic benefits for large numbers, any social stability to calm jit­ ters, or well-appreciated aspects of historical identity that boosted local pride. Indeed, localism was so weak in the Russian Far East after seven decades of the suffocating hold of communists that it offered little opening even as national identity proved to be a barrier. Vested interests had a solid repertoire of identity tropes to turn people away from democratization, which soon became apparent.8 The main appeal to counter them raised by the Japanese and South Koreans was economic prosperity at some unknown time, but their economic plans were hijacked by elite interests that cast doubt on such unrealized promises. Another appeal was to join an international community respectful of freedom and human rights, but that seemed to be mostly rhetoric given developments on the ground as mafia seized control and the masses saw little hope in the outside. Boosters of democratization exposed the hypocrisy and lies of the old ideol­ ogy without success. Liberal voices had punctured the once tight censorship, but they made few serious inroads into demolishing much of the identity of the com­ munist era. Pride in Russocentrism, suspicion of what was called imperialism, and survival of key tenets of socialism centered on dependency on top-down guidance were deeply engrained. Symbols were invoked in defense of the preex­ isting ideology, which proved resistant to de-Stalinization and abandonment of old tenets. The ideology of free markets, fully free elections, and a free society gained some adherents, but few benefits followed, and loss of security contrib­ uted to a backlash in favor of revival of an identity with an intense hold on peo­ ple, trumping alternative notions of national identity. Richardson calls this an “urge for emotional continuity” and sees it focused on the “sanctity of territory”

34 Gilbert Rozman

in the invocation of the Southern Kurils as a symbol of preserving what is sacred from the past.9 In late 1992, Yeltsin cancelled a trip to Japan at the last moment, avoiding the humiliation as well as mass condemnation of a trip that would have been centered on demands for the return of the islands. He went to Tokyo a year later when he had consolidated his position some and offered a vague concession by naming four islands under dispute without triggering the uproar at home that some had feared. The forces of democratization in Russia were in retreat, and Yeltsin, step-by-step, supported a search for a new “Russian idea,” clearly meant to draw heavily on the seemingly disgraced “Soviet idea,” which had been regaining ground rapidly within elite political circles. South Korea’s effort to mobilize support in Primorskii Krai in its struggle with North Korea likewise became a target of those defending the old ideology and the history dimension in national identity. Well-inculcated pride in the Red Army and in support for North Korea as part of the battle against imperialism left little room for the viewpoint that embracing South Korea would prove reward­ ing for economic development, defeat of a mindset steeped in communism, and the forces of democratization. Naturally, an entrenched elite and bloated security community had a vested interest in opposing democratization and the redistri­ bution of power it could require. By 1997, bilateral relations went into a downspin, as Seoul was blamed in Moscow for spying and across Russia for failing to deliver on the assistance promised when Gorbachev agreed to normalization of relations. Whereas it was not a question of losing territory, as it was with Japan, the backlash against South Korea was also defensive in support of national identity with well-understood implications for still fragile democratization.10 Foreign affairs became entangled with national identity, at the center and on the periphery in Asia, making scapegoats of states eager to assist the Russian Far East democratize as well to achieve their own territorial aims. Drawing on prior beliefs, Russians were ill-disposed to clashing viewpoints, not only because they came with unwelcome territorial aspirations, but also because they threatened, including by pressing for democracy, the pillars of the lingering national identity. Communism’s legacy was much more diverse and deeper than was foreseen, as seen in all of the dimensions of Russia’s national identity. Elections were relatively free for a time, locally and nationally, but debates centered more on the threats to national cohesion and identity, blamed often on perceived shortcomings in democracy. Democratization was reversed. Many prerequisites for a democratic society, such as checks and balances and an inde­ pendent judiciary, were missing. Interest groups were mostly aligned against it, not in favor of a civil society. The appeals to Russian civilization on the structural dimension of identity, or to a dominant state, on the vertical dimen­ sion, proved stronger than the appeals to democratic values. Networking with Russians led to picking willing partners on the margins of the entrenched elite or being used by others eager for funds but antagonistic to the new values. Another case to consider is North Korea, at least to the extent it is discussed as a challenge for the other states active in Northeast Asia. South Koreans, especially

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35

conservatives, even if wary of advancing human rights issues at this juncture, are counting on democratization to shape the process of reunification. Progressives are even more reluctant to acknowledge the determination of the Kim family and its elite supporters to block all elements of democratization and discussion of them, insisting that the two regimes deal with each other as legitimate enti­ ties, as is. Chinese and Russian writings on North Korea, in contrast, repudiate any pressure on the regime to adopt the values of South Korea and the United States.11 They insist on a gradual process not only of integration of the peninsula but also of denuclearization, allowing the Kim regime to strengthen and to press its agenda without any threat of democratic values. Despite optimism in certain circles amid the Six-Party Talks of 2003–2008 and the intensified sanctions of 2016–2017 that consensus could be reached on resolving the nuclear crisis and the standoff on the peninsula, the divisions visible today reveal once again that the gap on democratization combines with other differences to make resolution of this threat to stability very difficult. Democratization of North Korea will have to deal with its national identity, even if many expect to wipe that slate clean and open the door to South Korea’s identity. It will have to deal also with the polarization over the place of democratization in North Korea’s transforma­ tion among the interested countries.

Conclusion The interplay between democratization and dimensions of national identity is long-standing and, in the early post–Cold War years, exposed the futility of efforts led by Japan and South Korea in Northeast Asia. Russia and China, with national identities deeply embedded through traditional communism, fended off attempts to advance democratization, albeit mixed with other objectives of foreign countries. Later, Russia and China moved from the defensive to offen­ sive operations using economic clout and sharp power to conduct the fight against democratization beyond their borders. The countries in Southeast and South Asia are under increasing pressure. Understanding the nature of the bat­ tlefield requires breaking national identity into multiple dimensions, while seek­ ing to determine how each figures into recent efforts to promote or oppose democratization. In Northeast Asia, local forces capable of linking with outside countries to press for reforms favorable to democratization after the end of the Cold War were too weak to make a difference. In Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, however, democratic forces have been much stronger. The conceptual frame­ work needs to incorporate a livelier contestation over national identity in each of its dimensions. Lessons can be drawn from successes in democratization in full awareness of limitations, as identities have also been used to impair this process. The tentative framework for Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan should take into account that all three are under the active inf luence of political forces intent on altering, by democratic means, some key elements of the national identity

36 Gilbert Rozman

with strong consciousness of China. Progressives leading South Korea are deeply dissatisfied with the identity conservatives had nourished. Conservatives led by Abe Shinzo are committed to transforming the postwar identity that they could not greatly dislodge until recently. Finally, the progressives in charge in Taiwan aspire to a national identity at odds with what the KMT Nationalists had fostered when it held the reins of power. Each driving political force pursues a national identity that not only is divisive at home but also poses a challenge to the PRC. Already well along in democratization, they have ways of limiting or countering PRC pressure even if they cannot escape some of the vulnerabilities found in less secure democracies being tested by Beijing. Sharpening the conceptual frame­ work through studies of these cases in Northeast Asia will serve as the next stage in preparation for case studies in other parts of Asia. During the Cold War, assumptions about the sharp division between demo­ cratic states on one side and autocracies or other non-democratic states on the other side were challenged by the dictatorships such as South Korea and Taiwan on the US side and the democracies led by India leaning to the other side. Explanations offered for a surprising lack of democracy included: a high level of threat, the Confucian legacy, the early stage of modernization, and the tem­ porary nature of the anomaly as pressure built within and without for democ­ ratization. For the oddity of democratic states siding with the Soviet bloc, there was also mention of lingering anti-colonial resentment and local rivalry that trumped global competition as well as of economic strategy that diminished the role of market forces. Since the end of the Cold War, many have insisted that democratization is no longer a factor because ideological struggle has ended and both economic and security ties ref lect shifting national interests and local costbenefit logic. Recently, however, there has been an awakening to the powerful impact of national identities, which shape whether democratization advocated by the United States and its allies can triumph over those hostile to the process. Narrow thinking about economic and security ties can overshadow concerns that might have prevailed during the Cold War. ASEAN was expected to over­ come such narrowmindedness by focusing its ten members on the bigger picture facing the region as a whole. When ASEAN was viewed as needing reinforce­ ments to deal with increasing great power involvement in issues vital to the region, it forged larger groupings—especially the East Asian Summit, which was to accept ASEAN leadership and reach beyond economics to security and values. Yet, on the main security issue facing Southeast Asia, the militarization of the South China Sea, the states at risk from China of losing sovereign rights failed to win backing from some other states. Increased dependency on China’s economy also led to clashing interests in dealing with China. At the same time, democracy itself proved to be reversible or seriously distorted, becoming a factor in whether a country defended ASEAN unity and values or succumbed to Chinese pressure. Often the focus is on how the presence of democracy affects support for China or the United States. The issue can be turned around by asking how dependency on China affects democratization.

The mediating role of national identity

37

Notes 1 Gilbert Rozman, ed., East Asian National Identities: Common Roots and Chinese Exceptionalism (Washington and Stanford: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Stanford University Press, 2012). 2 Gilbert Rozman, ed., U.S. Leadership, History, and Bilateral Relations in Northeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Gilbert Rozman, “Historical Memories and International Relations in Northeast Asia,” in Daniel Chirot, Gi-Wook Shin, and Dan Sneider, eds., Criminality and Collaboration: Europe and Asia Confront the Memory of World War II (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), pp. 211–33. 3 Gilbert Rozman, National Identities and Bilateral Relations: Widening Gaps in East Asia and Chinese Demonization of the United States (Washington and Stanford: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Stanford University Press, 2013). 4 Paul B. Richardson, At the Edge of the Nation: The Southern Kurils and the Search for Russia’s National Identity (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2018), pp. 40, 49–50. 5 Gilbert Rozman, “South Korean Strategic Thought toward Russia” in Gilbert Rozman, Hyun In-taek, and Shin-wha Lee, eds., South Korean Strategic Thought toward Asia (New York: Palgrave, 2007), pp. 203–24; Gilbert Rozman, “Overview” and “Japanese Strategic Thinking on Regionalism” in Gilbert Rozman, Kazuhiko Togo, and Joseph P. Ferguson, eds., Japanese Strategic Thought toward Asia (New York: Palgrave, 2007) pp. 1–32, 243–68. 6 Gilbert Rozman, “The Crisis of the Russian Far East: Who Is to Blame?” Problems of Post-Communism 44(5) (September/October 1997), pp. 3–12. 7 Gilbert Rozman, “A Chance for a Breakthrough in Russo-Japanese Relations: Will the Logic of Great Power Relations Prevail?” Pacific Review 15(3) (2002), pp. 325–57. 8 Gilbert Rozman, The Sino-Russian Challenge to the World Order: National Identities, Bilateral Relations, and East vs. West in the 2010s (Washington and Stanford: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Stanford University Press, 2014). 9 Paul B. Richardson, At the Edge of the Nation, p. 16. 10 Gilbert Rozman, “Overview” and “Russian Strategic Thought toward Regionalism” in Gilbert Rozman, Kazuhiko Togo, and Joseph P. Ferguson, eds., Russian Strategic Thought toward Asia (New York: Palgrave, 2006), pp. 1–33, 229–53. 11 Gilbert Rozman, Strategic Thinking about the Korean Nuclear Crisis: Four Parties Caught between North Korea and the United States (New York: Palgrave, 2007, rev. paperback ed. in 2011); Gilbert Rozman, “Russia’s Reassessment of the Korean Peninsula,” International Journal of Korean Unification Studies 24(2) (2015), pp. 41–70.

3 THE CHINESE MODEL OF LAW, CHINA’S AGENDA IN INTERNATIONAL LAW, AND IMPLICATIONS FOR DEMOCRACY IN ASIA AND BEYOND Jacques deLisle

As China becomes more powerful, inf luential, and assertive, its model of law and approach to international law pose challenges, and potential challenges, to democracy and to law’s contributions to democracy in other states, particularly in Asia but also elsewhere. These challenges stem from the contrast between law’s place in China’s authoritarian model of governance and the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) positions on democracy-relevant international legal norms, on one hand, and the more liberal-democratic alternatives that have prevailed in much of the Asian region (and beyond) during the post–Second World War era and, especially, the post–Cold War period, on the other hand. They also f low from China’s recently growing ability and apparent will to propagate its internal model (including its legal elements) abroad and to promote its preferences in international law.

China, democracy, and Asia The impact on democracy (and more generally) of a Chinese model for law and Beijing’s agendas for international law is likely to be greatest in Asia (although not limited to Asia). Other things being equal, the inf luence of a model of lawin-governance, or a perspective on international law, is likely enhanced by the source’s or proponent’s economic and political importance and leverage. China’s reach and clout, although increasingly global, are greatest in its near-abroad. Cultural proximity likely matters as well. Foreign models of domestic law or views on international law (which often addresses matters of domestic govern­ ance) are generally more accessible and—sometimes—more appealing among those who share ties of history, ethnicity, language, norms, and so on. For China, these connections are, of course, strongest in East Asia.

China’s model of law/democracy in Asia

39

Foreign policy aims and international institutions are significant factors as well. Beijing may broadly seek to make the world safe for autocracy and less threatening to Chinese interests, and China increasingly seeks to inf luence global rules and norms. Nonetheless—and unremarkably—China remains espe­ cially concerned with its maritime and inland peripheries (including American presence and inf luence in those areas) and wields relatively great inf luence with key Asian regional institutions (including newer ones that China has taken a lead in creating, such as those associated with the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI)). Regional context, too, is relevant. Although Asia is home to thriving dem­ ocratic polities, democratization is a relatively recent phenomenon—in most cases, part of the third wave of democratic advances following the Cold War. Full-f ledged and consolidated democracies remain rarer in Asia than in Europe or North America. Regional international institutions—especially those most directly relevant to democracy, such as regional human rights treaties and courts or collective security arrangements that might authorize democracy-preserving or human rights-protecting interventions—are largely absent in Asia.

China’s model of law and undemocratic politics One threat, or potential threat, to democratic governance in other countries is the possible replication of China’s model of undemocratic politics. One factor that has increased the potential for its propagation is the long-emerging “pull” of the Chinese example. China’s record of economic growth and transforma­ tion has given the Chinese model luster in developing countries, especially those governed by authoritarian rulers attracted by the prospect of increasing national wealth without endangering their regimes’ political power. The appeal of a model derived from the Chinese experience has grown as China has accu­ mulated a lengthening list of economic accomplishments: becoming the world’s second largest economy and being on track to become the largest; weathering the Asian financial crisis of the late 1990s and the global financial crisis of the late 2000s with less disruption than wealthier market-capitalist democratic states in East Asia and beyond, and emerging as a global leader across many economic sectors, including technologically advanced ones targeted by China’s industrial policies and state subsidies.1 In recent years, a “push” factor has become more potent. Chinese policy dis­ course had been skeptical about the possibility, and ambivalent about the desir­ ability, of promoting the Chinese model abroad. China’s once much-touted soft power had notable limitations.2 Its authoritarian political system did not hold broad appeal. Even during the heyday of the “China model” and the “Beijing Consensus” in the 2000s, observers doubted that there was a coherent “model” for others that could be distilled from China’s incremental and experimental economic reforms. Chinese sources expressed concern that other countries might lack the conditions and capabilities necessary to reproduce what China

40 Jacques deLisle

had achieved and worried that failures could undermine China’s reputation and standing abroad.3 This reticence about promoting a Chinese model of development has faded. In his report to the 19th Party Congress, Xi Jinping asserted, “Socialism with Chinese characteristics [is] blazing a new trail for other developing countries to achieve modernization [and] offers a new option for other countries and nations who want to speed up their development while preserving their independence.”4 Commemorating the 95th anniversary of the Chinese Communist Party’s founding, Xi declared confidence that China’s program [Zhongguo fang’an] pro­ vided “solutions for humankind’s quest for a better social system.”5 This shift has occurred as China’s levers for inf luence with other states have grown. China has acquired the international stature and inf luence that come with near-super­ power status, and China has emerged as a major—and in many cases the most important—economic partner for many states in its region and beyond. With prospects for propagation of the Chinese model apparently rising and possibly becoming substantial, questions about the model’s content, and its implications for democracy in countries that might try to implement it, have become more salient. The reform-era Chinese model is typically, and gener­ ally persuasively, depicted as one of impressive economic development (through a turn to more market-oriented policies at home and much-deepened inter­ national engagement through trade and investment) and authoritarian politics (which has been impressively resilient and adaptable amid the collapse of Sovietstyle regimes and the advent of the since-receding third wave of global democ­ ratization), with a limited role for law (one that in practice has fallen short of official declarations which—in terms reiterated and revised under leaders from Deng Xiaoping through Xi Jinping—have promised some version of the “rule of law” or at least some form of governance under law). Beyond this, there is little consensus or clarity about law’s place in a Chinese model—or the implications of China’s experience for answers to general ques­ tions about law’s relationship to democracy.

Authoritarian politics and lack of law On a minimalist account, China has achieved economic growth and develop­ ment despite the absence of reliable legal protections for property rights and other economic interests. From this perspective, China is an exception, and possibly a fundamental challenge, to claims associated with the Washington Consensus and some law-and-development theories that the rule of law or robust rule by law (at least in the economic realm) is important, and perhaps indispensable, for economic success.6 The political corollary to this view of law for the economy sees little role for lawin-politics in sustaining an authoritarian regime. Among the features supporting this perspective are the notably undemocratic content of Chinese law, including: the absence of legal requirements and procedures for direct democratic elections

China’s model of law/democracy in Asia

41

of representatives beyond the most basic-level units of governance; the failure to implement fully the modest democratic requirements of the village election law; the special legal status (including leadership over the state) accorded to the Chinese Communist Party; and the possession of much meaningful power by the avowedly Leninist and formally non-state-actor Party and its leadership (a pattern that has become more pronounced again since Xi came to power). When ordinary citizens seek redress from, or inf luence with, their government, they relatively rarely rely on the often ineffectual or unavailable ballot box or formal legal remedies prom­ ised by administrative law. They are more likely to employ informal means, such as “letters and visits” and other modes of beseeching officials to take discretionary action (including against unlawful behavior by lower level authorities).7 Suppression and deterrence of heterodox opinions and dissent, including advo­ cacy for democratic change, often has been achieved through means outside the legal system: incarceration in the form of “reeducation through labor,” detention in “black jails” of petitioners traveling to Beijing or provincial capitals to complain of law-violating abuses by local officials, and other informal modes of custody. These methods have been the targets of legal reforms in recent years (including formal abolition of reeducation through labor), but similar practices persist. In urban areas, chengguan, stability maintenance agents, and citizens coopted to work with the state-directed urban “grid management system,” rather than the regular police, often have been relied upon to address perceived threats to order. The advent of a “social credit system” and the massive increase in collec­ tion of citizens’ data in China’s increasingly online society and greatly expanded surveillance state have been adding new means for monitoring, controlling, and sanctioning citizens beyond the limited reach of formal laws and institutions. Despite formal legal prohibitions, coerced confessions persist in the crimi­ nal process, including in cases where the motivation for prosecution appears to be the political opinions and aims of the defendants, rather than the law­ breaking behavior they are alleged to have undertaken. Especially in the later 2000s and again in 2015, “rights protection lawyers” (or “rights defenders”— whose work includes defending those who criticize regime behavior, advocate political change, or are themselves rights protection lawyers) have been harassed, repressed, and prevented from doing their legal work. The regime’s attempts to deal with serious misbehavior and lawlessness in its own ranks, including the official corruption that has been the target of Xi Jinping’s signature campaign, have relied heavily on non-legal means. Corrupt or lawless officials have been far less likely to face criminal prosecution than to be subjected to the Party’s internal discipline mechanisms, including the shuang­ gui system of extralegal detention, with consequences as severe as those often imposed by the judicial system. Reforms ostensibly favoring greater legal for­ mality—the replacement of shuanggui with the functionally similar liuzhi and the creation of a State Supervision Commission that is largely the alter ego, with expanded powers, of the Party’s Central Commission for Discipline Inspection— have been merely formal and hollow, or worse.

42 Jacques deLisle

On this legal-minimalist account, the Chinese model is both politically authoritarian and lacking in law. It is plausible to argue that such a low level of legality and highly authoritarian politics correlate and are causally related. Such an assessment is consistent with cross-national comparative data and with empirical claims and normative assumptions of much US foreign policy and international NGO work during the post–Second World War era (the first wave of “law and development”) and the post–Cold War period (the high point of lawpromotion projects targeting the former Soviet areas).8 On this view, the China model offers a rival template in law and politics (and, more ambiguously, eco­ nomics) to the liberal or neoliberal democratic rule-of-law model favored by the United States and like-minded states and institutions. It arguably follows that this China model’s rise in inf luence, possibly boosted by China’s policy initiatives, could undermine prospects for legality and democracy in affected countries.

Authoritarian politics with a distinctive role for law The minimalist account may fail to capture fully the roles for law in the Chinese model.9 The reform-era Chinese regime has made significant investments, both tangible and ideological, in building law and legal institutions. Law has been a durable theme since 1978, when the reform era’s founding charter, the Communiqué of the Third Plenum of the 11th Central Committee, called for a new turn to law. The Jiang Zemin years brought calls for “ruling the country by law” and “building a socialist rule of law state.” Hu Jintao called the constitution the country’s “fundamental” and inviolable law and mentioned law repeatedly in his political work report to the 17th Party Congress in 2007. The 18th Party Congress political work report directed the party to operate “within the limits of the constitution and the law” and to uphold their authority. On the 30th anni­ versary of the 1982 Constitution, Xi announced that “we must firmly establish, throughout society, the authority of the constitution and the law.” The 18th Central Committee’s Third Plenum in 2013 pledged to “strengthen rule of law guarantees” and constrain power within a “cage” of institutions and rules. The Fourth Plenum—often called the “rule of law plenum”—declared the “rule of law” a guiding force in the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) pursuit of major tasks. Xi included “governing the country according to law” among his “four comprehensive” goals, reiterated at the 19th Party Congress in 2017. During the reform era, the National People’s Congress (NPC) or its Standing Committee has enacted hundreds of major laws and many more lesser ones. The State Council and its subordinate commissions and ministries, and local people’s congresses and governments, have adopted tens of thousands of regulations and other rules with legal effect. China has opened or reopened more than 600 law schools that have trained hundreds of thousands of lawyers, judges, prosecu­ tors, and others who have taken legal training into jobs in the public sector. Legislatures and regulatory bodies have enhanced their lawmaking and lawinterpreting abilities by expanding legal staffs, upgrading skills, and turning to

China’s model of law/democracy in Asia

43

China’s leading, often partly foreign-trained, legal scholars as advisors. These developments have been accompanied by large-scale propaganda, media, and outreach efforts to increase popular knowledge of law and legal rights. Courts annually address hundreds of thousands of suits against the state and its agents, and millions more cases among citizens, enterprises, and other non-state actors. Although rhetoric has not translated fully into reality, law is (on this nonminimalist account) part of a Chinese model of undemocratic politics. Law has been expected to play—and to some extent has played—significant roles. Most notably, law has been relied upon to support development of an economy that has transitioned from Soviet-style socialist planning toward the market, from inter­ national isolation to global engagement, and from poverty to relative prosperity. Economic policies that support and ref lect these transitions have been cast heav­ ily and, for China, unprecedentedly in legal form. Laws governing contracts, disparate forms of enterprises, property and intellectual property rights, corpo­ rate governance, finance, taxation, bankruptcy, and foreign trade and investment have moved toward foreign market-based models and international standards. This agenda has been reaffirmed repeatedly, from the call at the 11th Central Committee’s Third Plenum in 1978 to protect the ownership and decisional autonomy rights of production units through Xi Jinping’s 19th Party Congress speech associating achievement of the high-priority goal of a moderately pros­ perous society with “basic” achievement of the rule of law, and from consti­ tutional commitments to a “socialist market economy” (which a 2014 Central Committee document declared to be “essentially a rule of law economy”) to the identification of economic progress as a guiding principle in the opening articles of many laws. Early Xi-era promises to undertake bold legal reforms to deepen economic liberalization have proven notably hollow.10 Policies and practices favoring stateowned and state-linked enterprises, and foreign criticisms of rising protectionism and playing fields increasingly tilted against foreign firms (by China’s aggressive use of law-based national security and anti-monopoly reviews of inbound for­ eign investment, coerced transfers of foreign intellectual property, and industrial policies that favor Chinese technology firms, among other measures), have been notable features of the Xi years. Yet, these departures in principle and more often in practice from the legal agendas and promises of the early decades of the reform era do not, as yet, show a fundamental shift in a Chinese model in which an economic legal regime that remains broadly market-oriented and interna­ tionally open holds a significant place in regime strategies to pursue economic development and thereby sustain authoritarian politics (in large part through performance legitimacy). Another role for law has been to address corruption, local protectionism, abuses of power or abdication of responsibility by those wielding power, and related phenomena that can undermine economic progress (and, in turn, perfor­ mance legitimacy) or fuel social unrest and political protests that would signal, and perhaps accelerate, erosion of public support or tolerance for the Party’s

44

Jacques deLisle

authoritarian rule. Some formally private law rights and remedies serve this function, addressing breaches of contract, non-performance of fiduciary duties to corporate shareholders, and mass torts caused by dangerous products or pol­ luting factories—all of which sometimes stem from unlawful activities of state or state-linked actors or those who count on protection from friendly or cor­ rupt officials. In public law, administrative lawsuits monitor and can correct state decisions that harm a wide range of citizens’ vital economic and personal interests, ranging from denials of licenses, to takings of property, to failures to regulate threats to public health and safety. Criminal and administrative sanctions sometimes address behavior that is directly or indirectly inimical to political and social stability and regime legiti­ macy, including acts by agents of the party-state who infringe rights that laws grant to citizens or transgress substantive and procedural limits that laws impose on officials. The authorities routinely use criminal law and laws authorizing non-criminal penalties to sanction or deter individuals and groups in society that are seen as threatening social order and political control. Targets range from political activists who push for democratic change or protection of human rights, to restive Tibetan and Uyghur minorities, to peasants and workers who complain of land seizures or unpaid wages, to victims of abuse or violence by officials, and more. Legal means range from anti-terrorism laws and prohibitions of acts subverting state security (which echo now-repealed provisions on counter-rev­ olutionary crimes), to ostensibly apolitical offenses of disrupting social order, destroying state property, assaulting police officers, evading taxes, or operating an unregistered organization, to the notoriously vague and capacious “pocket offenses” (which include, among other things, “picking quarrels and stirring up trouble”). Under Xi, these issues of party-state indiscipline and social-political disorder have been especially prominent foci for law. Xi’s exceptionally ardent attack on corruption has framed the problem as a near-existential threat.11 Criminal prosecutions have been a prominent component of the anti-corruption cam­ paign, targeting high-level “tigers” such as Chongqing Party chief and Politburo Standing Committee aspirant Bo Xilai, former public security chief and ex-member of the Politburo Standing Committee Zhou Yongkang, and senior military leader and former first vice chair of the Central Military Commission General Guo Boxiong, as well as numerous, lower ranking “f lies.” Although functioning as a de facto arm of the long-standing and increasingly centralized party anti-corruption body, the State Supervision Commission, and the associ­ ated constitutional amendment and the related legislation, put a formal legal and government-institutional face on Xi’s campaign to address party and state wrongdoing while enhancing his, and the party center’s, control.12 Xi’s tenure also has brought sharply increased, and increasingly sharp, drives against those who are perceived to threaten stability, including individuals and groups pressing various pro-democracy goals, broadly defined. High-profile examples include the 709 crackdown (including criminal charges) against rights

China’s model of law/democracy in Asia

45

protection lawyers, detentions (including for “pocket offenses”) of activists for the rights of women and other groups facing discrimination, and the intern­ ment of hundreds of thousands of Uyghurs in Xinjiang, initially without formal or specific legal basis but later with greater resort to criminal charges.13 Legal restrictions on Internet speech, which have always been extensive, have become more severe under Xi. They include tougher “real name” registration require­ ments and threats of criminal liability for postings that are deemed defamatory or rumor-mongering and are viewed or reposted on even a relatively modest scale, or that lead to social disorder. A National Security Law, enacted in 2015, set forth a broad and vague definition of offenses that included any “domestic threat to the state’s power to govern … or ability to ensure continued state secu­ rity” and reaffirmed that such actions—as well as acts of terrorism, extremism, subversion, separatism, treason, and so on—warrant criminal punishment.14 In 2020, a National Security Law for Hong Kong extended similarly broad and vague proscriptions, and means for their enforcement by PRC state authorities, to the ostensibly autonomous region. Although such roles for law are not new in China, they ref lect a twofold Xi-era turn: within the party-state, there has been a turn (or return) to a more Leninist conception of law as a tool (albeit a secondary one) for enforcing disci­ pline and making the party-state apparatus more responsive to directives from above; and, toward society, there has been a turn toward emphasizing threat suppression, and relatively deemphasizing efforts to redress party-state-linked behavior that often underlies such threats. Another way law figures in a model implied by reform-era China’s prac­ tices is as a means to avoid, preempt, or co-opt pressure for broadly democratic change.15 This role overlaps with the other two. By facilitating market-oriented, internationally open growth, law can help fulfill the regime’s side of an implicit social contract: the party-state delivers material well-being, and society does not challenge its authority. By redressing or deterring official and party-state-linked abuse and misbehavior, law can provide some accountability and reduce pres­ sure for political reform. The prospect that official lawlessness and malfeasance can foster discontent and demand for fundamental change is among the reasons authoritarian regimes turn to law, both to sanction wayward officials and silence activists and dissidents.16 The roles for law in the Chinese model include some quasi-democratic ele­ ments. At some times and to a limited extent, contests for local office under the village election law have allowed public political participation, monitored or provided outlets for potentially explosive discontent in rural areas, sought to strengthen capacity for governing, removed ineffective or despised local authori­ ties, and recruited new leaders who enjoy popular support.17 On occasion (as in Wukan, Guangdong, in 2011–201218), grassroots elections have survived attempts by local authorities to overturn results and quash protests. Legal mecha­ nisms offer some means for popular input into lawmaking at higher levels. A law on legislation and rules on administrative procedure provide for hearings,

46

Jacques deLisle

comments, and other public input on proposed laws and rules. And these mecha­ nisms are widely used, especially by urban Chinese.19 But incidents such as Wukan and meaningfully democratic village elec­ tions are rare, and contested elections have not extended to higher-level offices. Opportunities for public input on laws and regulations are episodic and mod­ est, and proposed measures often draw comments so numerous and varied that they can do little to constrain drafters who are not required to provide rea­ soned explanations. Permitted forms of participation are low-level, atomized, or weakly institutionalized—and, thus, not strongly democratic. They can pro­ vide aggrieved constituents with steam valves for expressing discontent, officials with information about public sentiment that can make authoritarian rule both more effective and modestly responsive, and the broad citizenry with law-based mechanisms that may partly satisfy and undercut what would otherwise become demands for democratization. Redress for citizen grievances is often depend­ ent on discretionary benign intervention from above, rather than the opera­ tion of laws and formal institutional procedures. Laws, as well as policies, that the leadership deems important and controversial are often adopted quickly and opaquely, with little advance public notice. Under Xi, this general pattern has continued, framed by high-profile ideo­ logical commitments emphasizing legal accountability of officials and govern­ ment by, and under, law. But the Xi-era authoritarian turn has extended to the quasi-democratic or in lieu of democratization dimension of law’s roles. The fifth-generation leadership has sharpened its predecessor’s rejection of liberal and democratic ideas related to law as not suited to China. Examples include a highly public discourse early in Xi’s tenure on constitutionalism, in which the ortho­ dox view rejected limited government and separation of powers, and a Party Central Committee document that denounced as pernicious several mostly lawrelated liberal-democratic ideas (including Western-style constitutional democ­ racy, universal values, civil society, and so on).20 Some civil society activists have characterized the toughened moves against them as “legalist repression.”21 In an especially high-profile move, the NPC amended the constitution in 2018 to eliminate the two-term limit for China’s president, thereby removing a promi­ nent formal legal restraint on the top ruler’s power. On this non-minimalist account of law in a Chinese model, law is not an absent complement to missing democracy. It is, or helps to provide, a partial sub­ stitute for democracy. The assumptions of the liberal-democratic-legalist model evangelized by the United States and others might still prove to be correct in most cases or in the very long run, and the role of law and democratic politics generally may be interdependent and mutually reinforcing. But a model plausibly derived from recent Chinese experience, and seemingly ref lected in the Chinese regime’s strategies for maintaining power, suggests that law may help to provide stability—at least over some relatively extended period—without democracy and can reduce pressure for, or movement toward, democracy. A seemingly viable Chinese model for law and undemocratic politics can resonate strongly with

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rulers and inf luential groups in developing countries who are inclined toward authoritarian politics, and its appeal may be more potent now that China has become both more inf luential internationally and less chary in asserting that others may learn from its example.

China’s agendas in international law and their implications for democracy Another challenge, or potential challenge, to democracy, or prospects for democ­ racy, in Asia (and elsewhere) comes from Beijing’s agendas in, and perspectives on, international law, and the PRC’s growing ability and inclination to press for acceptance of its preferences. For much of the period since the regime adopted policies of reform and opening to the outside world in 1979, China’s engagement with international law mostly has followed a path of accepting the established order and many of its principal norms. To be sure, China has long chafed at the notion that it should be bound to accept existing doctrines of international law, many of which developed in the 19th century or the early post–Second World War decades and without much participation by China (or other developing or postcolonial countries). During the reform era, China’s official support for sta­ tus quo international laws and legal institutions sometimes has been limited or largely rhetorical. Nonetheless, departures from the Mao-era rejection of liberal or Western international have been striking and enduring. China’s reform-era engagement with international law has included another long-standing and persisting Chinese position that overlays formal acceptance of the status quo order on a more complex pattern: claiming that China’s favored interpretations—often undemocratic or anti-democratic ones—are part of exist­ ing international law. In recent years, China has gone beyond such purportedly merely interpretive arguments and attempted glosses. Increasingly, it has sought to shape the rules and institutions of international law and—unsurprisingly—to do so in ways that suit Beijing’s often anti-democratic and sometimes revision­ ist preferences and interests. One of the most pointed expressions of this more muscular approach came early in the incumbency of Xi and the fifth-generation leadership, when the Fourth Plenum of the 18th Central Committee—often called the “rule of law” plenum—proclaimed that China must “vigorously par­ ticipate in the formulation of international norms” and strengthen its “discourse power [huayuquan] and inf luence in international legal affairs.”22 More recently, orthodox Chinese statements have framed a signature foreign policy phrase of the Xi era—the “community of shared future/common destiny for humankind” [renlei mingyun gongtongti]—as a “Chinese program” [Zhongguo fang’an] for “global governance” [quanqiu zhili].23 Alongside this increasingly ambitious agenda, China has developed consider­ able, and rapidly growing, means. Beginning with its retaking of the Chinese seat at the United Nations in the 1970s, the PRC has held one of the “Permanent Five” positions in the UN Security Council, with the attendant right to veto

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actions by the UN’s most powerful body. For decades, a Chinese judge has sat on the International Court of Justice. China has joined nearly every important international institution that makes, or relatively directly affects, international law. Many major international legal and law-related organizations—including UN-linked specialized agencies—now have Chinese nationals in leadership positions. Collectively, and in many cases individually, such institutions’ substan­ tive reach is broad, extending to many issues that bear on democracy and related issues of human rights and encompassing the legal authority to take measures ranging from advice to censure to authorizing uses of force. More broadly, China’s rising hard power and the political leverage derived from China’s position as a key source of international trade, investment, and aid enhance Beijing’s ability to inf luence the positions on international legal issues taken by many other states, especially in Asia and the developing world. This is a significant asset for the PRC in an international legal system where rule-making and norm-creation are decentralized and ref lect (formally and, to some extent, in practice) the views of majorities or pluralities of the members of the com­ munity of formally equal states. Moves to create new Chinese-led institutions and initiatives (such as the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB), the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, the Belt and Road Initiative, or the Shanghai Cooperation Organization) augur still greater capacity for China to affect international legal rules—especially for the adjacent region and primar­ ily in economic affairs, but with implications for matters that include political democracy. The correlative decline in the relative inf luence of the United States and—at least while Donald Trump was in power—the United States’ reduced interest in sustaining prevailing international law and related institutions further reinforces China’s potential for inf luence.24 With the prospect that China will shape international law thus significant and likely growing, the democracy-implicating content of the PRC’s views is a more salient concern for Asia and the wider world. Three elements of Beijing’s per­ spectives are illustrative and particularly significant: support for a robust notion of sovereignty in international law; a non-democratic perspective on interna­ tional human rights law; and an emphasis on treaties and state-based interna­ tional institutions as favored sources of international law.

Strong sovereignty and anti-interventionism Although China’s emergence as a more confident and assertive great power with far-f lung interests and system-shaping ambitions has begun to erode China’s once extremely pro-sovereignty positions, China’s commitment to a strong notion of state sovereignty remains vigorous.25 This position has deep roots for China: colonial and quasi-colonial encroachments that began in the mid-19th century and which, in the PRC’s view, will persist at least until Taiwan is “reunified” with the motherland; Cold War isolation, first by a hostile US-led West and then by the once-supportive Soviet Bloc; and long-running assertions of solidarity

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with the large cohort of developing countries that obtained often-fragile sov­ ereignty as independent states through post–Second World War decoloniza­ tion. With its origins in times of perceived and often real vulnerability, Beijing’s emphasis on state sovereignty has persisted into the current era of China’s much greater security and strength. In the orthodox PRC view, a sovereign state’s government enjoys almost ple­ nary power and great discretion in governance at home. In international law, as in diplomacy, China generally—and often pointedly—eschews judgment about other states’ internal orders. China’s positions contrast with US and European approaches that press for democratic or potentially democracy-supporting reforms in other states. Beijing’s posture offers international political advantages for China, particularly (but not solely) in the form of diplomatic support from authoritarian regimes that face criticism, pressure, or sanctions from the West.26 With the PRC’s emergence as a major power and inf luential actor in law-related international institutions, Beijing’s stance increasingly poses a threat to the rela­ tively fragile and still-contested legal norms supporting (or at least tolerating) transnational democracy-promotion.27 In recent times, and especially during the Xi Jinping era, China’s pro-sover­ eignty stance in international law has again become more pointed. Key develop­ ments have focused on issues related to China’s territorial sovereignty, but with unavoidable implications for Beijing’s broader positions on international legal rules. China’s insistence that it has incontrovertible sovereignty and expansive rights over disputed islands and marine formations in the South China Sea has provided a claimed basis for adopting laws to govern and regulate the contested areas and dismissing as a mere scrap of paper an international arbitration panel’s rejection of China’s claims to the region as inconsistent with international law.28 Of course, the largely uninhabited rocks and reefs of the South China Sea are not themselves significant spaces for the advance or retreat of democracy in Asia. But they may have symbolic significance in that several of the PRC’s rival claimants to the cartographically vast region are democracies (most notably Taiwan, but also Malaysia and the more troubled case of the Philippines). More importantly, the strident positions Beijing has articulated in this context resonate with, and reinforce, a PRC posture on territorial sovereignty that is at odds with the nor­ mative and legal claim that undemocratic governance inside a state is a legitimate matter of international concern. For Xinjiang, China has linked its most repressive domestic governance to principles of sovereignty in international law. The authorities have defended harsh crackdowns and internments as necessary—or at least permissible—to combat “separatism” (the more common term for secession in official PRC legal and political discourse) and internationally linked terrorism. Here, Beijing’s posi­ tion implicitly appeals to and resonates with—and may reinforce—some of the less democracy-friendly aspects of international law and politics. A state’s efforts to suppress secession or stop transnational terrorism are two purposes for which international legal and political norms are most deferential toward states’ resorts

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to exceptionally undemocratic and arguably human rights-infringing measures. Tellingly, Beijing has leaned hard on such notions and state sovereignty in reject­ ing, as inconsistent with international law, UN-based, and other foreign, con­ demnations of its actions in Xinjiang. This PRC stance concerning its handling of Xinjiang in the mid-2010s echoes, and greatly amplifies, Beijing’s defense of its handling of ethno-religious unrest in Tibet around 2008, when repressive measures provoked similar international reactions and legal arguments.29 For Hong Kong, Beijing’s adoption of a National Security Law in 2020 dramatically extended another long-standing, sovereignty-emphasizing approach. Sharpening and extending a PRC view about the nature and scope of the Central People’s Government’s authority to make law for Hong Kong, and the weakness of the constraints imposed by the treaty-like Joint Declaration that defined the framework for Hong Kong’s return to China from British colonial rule, the National Security Law rests on a long-evolving claim that China has plenary sovereign power to determine the system of governance and the scope of civil rights and liberties in Hong Kong. Following on a series of National People’s Congress Standing Committee interpretations of the Basic Law (Hong Kong’s PRC-enacted mini-constitution) that had rejected calls for more rapid implementation of promised progress toward democracy, the National Security Law was part of a harsh reaction to a burgeoning pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong that erupted in 2019. The legislation was followed by arrests of prodemocracy activists and politicians, the articulation of standards that would (not for the first time) disqualify pro-democracy candidates for the local legislature, an announcement that those elections would be postponed (ostensibly because of the COVID-19 pandemic), and rejection of US, UK, and other foreign respon­ sive measures as unlawful encroachments on Chinese sovereignty. In terms of its content, the National Security Law for Hong Kong focused on areas where international law gives sovereign states a wide berth to adopt undemocratic, human-rights-constraining, and civil liberties-limiting laws and policies: seces­ sion, subversion, terrorism, and collaboration with foreign forces to endanger national security.30 The PRC’s Xi-era push for expansive and strong views of sovereignty has extended to an emerging field of international law that is important for democ­ racy-promotion and democracy-protection: the international law of cyberspace. China (along with Russia) has been a leading advocate for “Internet sovereignty” as a principle in international law.31 On this view, the Internet is properly gov­ erned by states, which are free to impose laws restricting cyberspace in ways closely analogous to their regulation of the physical space within their terri­ tories. Adoption of this and kindred norms (and, short of that, preventing the emergence of pro-openness rules) in the international law of cyberspace would authorize authoritarian regimes to restrict severely a potent channel for the dis­ semination of heterodox and pro-democratic ideas. China’s embrace of a strong, black box-like conception of sovereignty has dovetailed with its support for anti-interventionism as a key principle of

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international law. On this view, the state is largely immune—even opaque—to legitimate international criticism, including on such matters as its lack of politi­ cal democracy and its shortcomings on many democracy-related human rights. Intervention—especially forcible intervention—in another state is permissible only on very limited grounds, such as self-defense or with the authorization of the United Nations Security Council (where Beijing wields a veto). On the Chinese view, so-called humanitarian intervention (to address severe human rights violations or to stop or prevent a humanitarian catastrophe) is generally not lawful, at least when undertaken without proper Security Council authorization. Neither is forcible intervention for the promotion or restoration of democracy in targeted states (or for other ostensibly benign purposes). From Beijing’s per­ spective, purported cases of humanitarian or benign intervention (such as the US-led intervention in Kosovo)—and some cases of initially legitimate inter­ vention pursuant to proper institutionalized collective security procedures or to repel breaches of international peace (such as the initial intervention in Libya or the response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait)—were from the beginning or (in the cases of Libya or Iraq) became illegitimate efforts to effect regime change, often with the goal of installing liberal democracies. In recent years, China has been skeptical—albeit decreasingly so—of emerg­ ing international legal ideas such as “responsibility to protect” (R2P) or “respon­ sible protection” or “responsibility while protecting.” For China, the limited appeal of these doctrines is that they are less unattractive than “humanitarian intervention.” They are somewhat more protective of target-state sovereignty and wary of ostensibly benign forcible intervention. China’s position continues to emphasize the primary and principal role of states in addressing issues of human rights and related questions of governance within their territorial jurisdictions.32 Lesser forms of intervention and attempts to inf luence other states’ domestic governance are, in orthodox or official Chinese views, unlawful or at least sus­ pect. China has long chafed at US efforts to promote democratic change—and related protections for human rights—in China, denouncing Washington’s strat­ egy as one of “peaceful evolution.”33 Under Xi, this perspective has persisted. It has been extended to new issues, including legal regulation of foreign NGOs operating in Chinese territory and other transnational connections of PRC citi­ zens and organizations, with especially strict limits being placed on those per­ ceived as having potentially regime-threatening, possibly color revolution-like, and therefore pro-democracy, agendas.34

Undemocratic/illiberal views of human rights As the PRC’s opposition to international legal norms that authorize intervention to promote democracy in other states or legitimize criticism of states’ undemo­ cratic internal governance suggests, China’s views on international human rights law do not include a right to democracy or other related human rights. To be sure, China’s formerly rejectionist posture toward international human rights

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law has moderated significantly. Since the early 1990s, China has accepted the principle of universal human rights, and, since the early 1980s, China has joined and participated in many of the major international human rights treaties.35 Nonetheless, China retains a view of international human rights law that is distinctly, and in some respects distinctively, undemocratic. Although China has acceded to most of the principal UN-linked human rights conventions, it has merely signed but not ratified the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which includes a right to participation in self-governance and many democracy-related civil and political liberties. Although Beijing routinely sub­ mits human rights performance self-reports mandated under the UN system, China’s performance on democracy and related norms has been sufficiently poor that it has drawn criticism that the PRC violates its international legal duty not to act in ways inconsistent with the Covenant’s object and purpose and the ulti­ mate performance of China’s expected future obligations.36 Official and orthodox Chinese accounts insist that core international human rights include a right to sovereignty and a right to economic development—both of which can overshadow and provide arguments for delaying or sacrificing pur­ suit of liberal political rights associated with democracy. The purported human right to sovereignty implies or entails the right of each state (or the people of a state) to choose a form of political system, including an undemocratic one, suited to its own conditions. The right to democratic governance—the scope and strength of which remains contested in international human rights law—is not one that China has accepted, at least in the broadly liberal and participatory sense embraced by proponents of the right.37 China holds at-best ambivalent positions on the core human right of selfdetermination—a right that is aligned, albeit imperfectly, with democracy (in part through a presumption that plebiscites or similar mechanisms are the pre­ ferred mode for implementing the right, at least where the creation of a new state is a possibility). Although Beijing long has voiced support for self-determi­ nation rights in the context of decolonization and, at times, national liberation movements, it has rejected the view that Tibetans, Uyghurs, and other minority groups in China, or the people of Taiwan, enjoy an international legal right to self-determination that could include a right to separate statehood, or that such a right is to be realized through democratic processes among the people in the relevant territory. In recent years, Beijing’s views on these matters have taken on a harder edge: the harsh crackdown, severe human rights violations, and thor­ oughgoing rejection of autonomy in Xinjiang—and defense of such moves as advancing human rights-related goals of poverty alleviation and anti-terrorism; the National Security Law and other measures in Hong Kong that erode local political autonomy and promises of democratization; and the ongoing rejection of the proposition that Taiwan’s increasingly consolidated democratic politics and governance are relevant to the question of unification with the PRC. China’s positions on international human rights law also include assertions that a state permissibly may prioritize (in terms of lexical ordering or temporal

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sequencing) economic, social, and cultural rights over civil and political ones (including those most relevant to liberal democracy). Beijing’s arguments also seek to excuse China’s (and, at least by implication, other states’) asserted short­ comings on civil and political rights as the consequences of still relatively low levels of economic development or the legacies of past political crises (in China’s case, primarily the Cultural Revolution and associated depredations of human rights). The Chinese perspective, including in statements from top leaders, has included some variants of cultural relativism in human rights. Although never fully signing on to the “Asian Values” discourse of the 1990s, Chinese assess­ ments have endorsed the view that the meaning of universal human rights varies by national circumstances, which include history and elements of culture. In a partly overlapping line of argument, orthodox and official Chinese positions offer a gloss on democratic rights (most notably in the context of defending measures to suppress dissidents, including advocates for liberal democracy): the human rights of the few cannot outweigh—or be allowed to undermine—the human rights of the majority.

Treaties and prospects for influence Throughout its history, the PRC consistently has favored treaties and the out­ puts of state-based international organizations as means for creating interna­ tional legal obligations. China has disfavored customary international law (based in the practice and opinion of the community of states), the general principles common to major legal systems (a group long dominated by Western states), and other such relatively diffuse and less clearly state-consent-based sources of international law.38 This seemingly technical and doctrinal point has potentially important implications for the role of the international rule of law in supporting democracy. Treaties—the term international law uses for legally binding international agreements, regardless of their formal name—have become an important device in China’s expansion of its international economic reach and, in turn, political inf luence. Such agreements set the terms for investments, loans, and dispute res­ olution procedures in China’s Belt and Road Initiative projects and beyond, and thereby facilitate China’s acquisition of economic-based political leverage over partner states in Asia and elsewhere. Some critics allege that the BRI—a signa­ ture initiative of Xi’s tenure—includes the creation of “debt traps” for unwary partner countries.39 Even absent malign gambits, Beijing’s treaty-facilitated trade, investment, and aid initiatives can create considerable Chinese sway over host-country governments. That inf luence is not going to be exercised in ways that promote, or even do not impede, democracy or democratization. Indeed, critics have asserted that China’s large economic presence and modest foreign aid have entailed support for, and entanglement with, authoritarian regimes that align—or can be induced to align—with China’s agendas in international law and politics.40

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China’s approach to the international law of treaties, including principles of interpretation, pushes back against pro-democracy obligations—specifically for China and by implication more generally. As noted earlier, Beijing has advocated understandings of democracy-related obligations under international human rights treaties that demand very little. In recent years, and especially amid the growing controversy over China’s democracy movement-opposing intervention in Hong Kong in 2019 and 2020, Beijing has asserted that the PRC-U.K. Joint Declaration setting forth the terms of Hong Kong’s reversion has been fully exe­ cuted and thus no longer gives Britain rights to challenge the National Security Law for Hong Kong or other measures that limit democracy in the former British colony. Alternatively, Chinese sources have argued, the Joint Declaration never included obligations to grant Hong Kong more democracy than it has enjoyed. This claim builds upon a longer-standing and more deeply rooted Chinese posi­ tion that questions whether the PRC’s pledges in the Joint Declaration created any obligations to the UK. On this theory, the Joint Declaration could not have done so because the sovereignty that London purported to restore to China—as part of a quid pro quo—never had been lawfully transferred to Britain by means of the unequal, and therefore invalid, 19th century treaties).41 China has been increasing its inf luence in key international institutions—many of them based in treaties—that make and shape international legal obligations and rules relevant to democracy. China sought, successfully, to become a charter member of the UN Human Rights Council in 2006, when it succeeded the UN Commission on Human Rights as the principal organ overseeing the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR). From this perch, and wield­ ing inf luence born of China’s rising international political and economic power, Beijing has been able to recruit allies in the Council and thereby def lect and mute criticism from NGOs and other states of violations of international human rights legal obligations by China (and other states with authoritarian regimes).42 Especially in the wake of the global financial crisis of 2007–2008 and China’s cooperative role in addressing it, Beijing pushed hard for greater inf luence for itself (and other large emerging economies) in major international financial bodies, including World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, which have long provided potent international legal mechanisms for imposing politi­ cal conditions—sometimes including reforms that proponents argue are prodemocracy—on economic assistance. At the same time, China has taken a leading role in creating new institutions, such as the New Development Bank (NDB) and the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank. China also has energetically pursued the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership and other China-centered regional trade agreements. International economic accords can and sometimes do provide international legal mechanisms for linking trade opportunities to member states’ performance on other metrics, including political ones. Although Beijing has pledged that the NDB and AIIB will follow international norms and best practices, and China’s regional trade agreements (RTAs) are legally obliged to conform to WTO requirements, these new lending institutions and

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trade pacts are potential rivals to longer-standing, universal or multilateral struc­ tures. Such China-centered arrangements are much more unlikely to be venues or mechanisms for promoting democratic or democracy-supporting change in targeted countries than sometimes has been the case with status quo bodies and agreements.

Prospects for a Chinese model of domestic law and China’s impact on international law China’s model for law at home and the PRC’s goals in affecting international law are, in their content, undemocratic. Whether they pose challenges, and potential threats, to the rule of law and, in turn, democracy elsewhere in Asia and beyond depends on how inf luential they become and in what ways. The potential for spreading a Chinese model of law and authoritarian governance has been ris­ ing with China’s evident economic success accompanied by political stability and with the Chinese regime’s warming to the idea of promoting emulation of the Chinese model abroad. But, for now, the ambiguities of law’s place in a still largely implicit and not fully articulated China model, the still-modest efforts by Beijing to promote a Chinese model abroad, and the notably limited soft power appeal in other countries of the Chinese example—among other factors—have limited the prospects that propagation of the Chinese model will imperil democ­ racy or democratic prospects elsewhere in Asia or further afield. China’s embrace of international legal norms that are adverse to democracy is long-standing (although not static), and China’s ability and will to inf luence international law have been growing. But the effects, for now, remain limited, and the PRC’s agenda is still largely defensive. Beijing often seeks mostly to parry or undercut foreign efforts that seek to pressure China to become more liberal-democratic or that aim to strengthen pro-democracy international legal norms that are at odds with the PRC’s preferences and interests.43 China’s posi­ tions on democracy-relevant aspects of international law (including state sover­ eignty, human rights, and sources of international law) do not (yet) amount to a coherent, anti-democratic, alternative vision of international law.44 China may become more assertive in shaping international law, developing or revealing a more clearly revisionist, system-shaping agenda. China has come closest to doing so in Asia, through Beijing’s occasional f lirtation with notions of Asian values and creation of Asia-centered, international law-relevant institutions. But, even short of such more ambitious undertakings, China may press more effectively for its views on international law, including support for norms with undemocratic content, in ways that undermine existing international pro-democracy norms or, more broadly, erode the coherence of international law and, thus, an inter­ national rule of law that has included many democracy-supporting elements in a rules-based international order. If such developments occur, the threat to the rule of law and democracy in other states, especially in Asia but also in the wider world, will become more serious.

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Notes 1 See generally Jacques deLisle, “Soft Power in a Hard Place,” Orbis (Fall 2010): 493–524. 2 Compare Joshua Kurlantzick, Charm Offensive: How China’s Soft Power Is Transforming the World (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007) and Joseph S. Nye, Jr., “Why China Is Weak on Soft Power,” The New York Times, January 17, 2012. 3 See generally S. Philip Hsu, Yu-Shan Wu, and Suisheng Zhao, In Search of China’s Development Model: Beyond the Beijing Consensus (Abindgon, UK: Routledge, 2011). 4 Xi Jinping, “Secure a Decisive Victory in Building a Moderately Prosperous Society in All Respects and Strive for the Great Success of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era,” Political Work Report to the 19th National Congress of the Communist Party of China, October 18, 2017. 5 “Xi Jinping: Fully Confident China’s Program Offers Solutions in Humankind’s Search for Better Social System,” Xinhua, July 1, 2016, www.thepaper.cn/newsDetai l_forward_1492012. 6 See, e.g., Donald C. Clarke, “Economic Development and the Rights Hypothesis: The China Problem,” American Journal of Comparative Law 51 (2003): 89–111; Frank K. Upham, “From Demsetz to Deng: Speculations on the Implications of Chinese Growth for Law and Development Theory,” NYU Journal of International Law and Politics 41 (2008–2009): 551–593. 7 See generally Carl F. Minzner, “China’s Turn against Law,” American Journal of Comparative Law 59(4) (Fall 2011): 935–984; Teng Biao, “China’s Empty Promise of Rule by Law,” Washington Post, December 28, 2014. 8 See generally Jacques deLisle, “Development without Democratization? China, Law and the East Asian Model” in Jose V. Ciprut, ed., Democratizations: Comparisons, Confrontations and Contrasts (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2009), pp. 197–232; Jacques deLisle, “Lex Americana?” University of Pennsylvania Journal of International Economic Law 20(2) (Summer 1999): 179–308. 9 This subsection draws on Jacques deLisle, “China’s Legal System” in William A. Joseph, ed., Politics in China (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 3rd ed., 2019), ch. 7, and Jacques deLisle, “Chasing the God of Wealth while Evading the Goddess of Democracy: Development, Democracy, and Law in Reform-Era China” in Sunder Ramaswamy and Jeffrey W. Cason, eds., Development and Democracy (Middlebury, VT: Middlebury College Press, 2003), pp. 252–294. 10 For discussion of developments under Xi in the three aspects of law’s roles in a China model considered here, see Jacques deLisle, “Law in the China Model 2.0: Legality, Developmentalism and Leninism under Xi Jinping,” Journal of Contemporary China 103 (2017): 68–84. 11 See, for example, Melanie Manion, “Taking China’s Anticorruption Campaign Seriously,” Economic and Political Studies 4(1) (2016): 3–18. 12 See generally Jamie P. Horsley, “What’s So Controversial about China’s New AntiCorruption Body?” The Diplomat, May 30, 2018, https://thediplomat.com/2018/05/ whats-so-controversial-about-chinas-new-anti-corruption-body/. 13 For overviews of such uses of law and law-related measures, see the annual Human Rights Watch World Report: China (2020 version available at www.hrw.org/world -report/2020/country-chapters/china-and-tibet). 14 National Security Law of the People’s Republic of China, article 2 (2015). 15 See also Jacques deLisle, “Law and Democracy in China: A Complex Relationship” in Kate Xiao Zhou, Shelley Rigger, and Lynn T. White III, eds., Democratization in China, Korea, and Southeast Asia? (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014), pp. 126–140. 16 Jacques deLisle, “Authoritarian Legality in East Asia: What, Why, and Whither?” in Weitseng Chen and Hualing Fu, eds., Authoritarian Legality in Asia (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2020), pp. 17–59.

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17 On some of the accomplishments of village elections, see Lianjiang Li, “The Empowering Effect of Village Elections in China,” Asian Survey 43(4) (2003): 648– 662; Melanie Manion, “Democracy, Community, Trust: The Impact of Elections in China,” Comparative Political Studies 39(3) (2006): 301–324. 18 Fu Hualing, “What Does Wukan Offer? Land-Taking, Law, and Dispute Resolution” in Fu Hualing and John Gillespie, eds., Resolving Land Disputes in East Asia (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 173–193. 19 See, for example, Wang Xixin and Zhang Yongle, “The Rise of Participatory Governance in China: Empirical Models, Theoretical Framework, and Institutional Analysis,” University of Pennsylvania Asian Law Review 13(1) (2018): 24–71. 20 Samson Yuen, “Debating Constitutionalism in China: Dreaming of a Liberal Turn?” China Perspectives 4 (2013): 67–72; General Office of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, “Communique on the Current State of the Ideological Sphere,” April 22, 2013, translation at www.chinafile.com/document-9-chinafile-t ranslation; Chris Buckley, “China Takes Aim at Western Ideas,” The New York Times, August 19, 2013. 21 “Matching Resistance to Repression in China,” Chinese Human Rights Defenders, April 17, 2015, http://chrdnet.com/2015/04/matching-resistance-to-repression-in­ china/. 22 Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, Decision Concerning some Major Questions in Comprehensively Moving Forward with Governing the Country According to Law (Decision of the 4th Plenum of the 18th Central Committee), October 23, 2014, § VII (7). 23 “Community of Shared Future/Common Destiny for Humankind Provides a ‘China Plan’ for Global Governance,” Qiushi, October 24, 2019, http://www.qstheory.cn/ dukan/hqwg/2019-10/24/c_1125147150.htm. 24 See generally Harold Honjgu Koh, The Trump Administration and International Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019); John J. Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2001), especially chapter 10; Avery Goldstein, “Power Transitions, Institutions, and China’s Rise in East Asia: Theoretical Expectations and Evidence,” Journal of Strategic Studies 30(4–5) (2007): 639–682; Jacques deLisle, “When Rivalry Goes Viral: COVID-19, U.S.-China Relations, and East Asia,” Orbis 65(1) (2021): 46–74. 25 On issues discussed in this subsection, see Xue Hanqin, Chinese Contemporary Perspectives on International Law (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill-Nijhoff, 2012), pp. 88–124; Wang Tieya, “International Law in China: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives,” Recueil des Cours (Hague Academy of International Law) 221 (1990­ II): 195–369; Jacques deLisle, “China’s Approach to International Law: A Historical Perspective,” American Society of International Law Proceedings 94 (2000): 267–275; compare Allen Carlson, Unifying China, Integrating with the World (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005) (arguing for a more variable and evolving concept of sovereignty in China). 26 See, for example, David H. Shinn and Joshua Eisenman, “Evolving Principles and Guiding Concepts: How China Gains African Support for Its Core National Interests,” Orbis 64(2) (Spring 2020): 271–288. 27 See Michael McFaul, “Democracy Promotion as a World Value,” Washington Quarterly 28(1) (2004): 147–163; Thomas Carothers, “The Backlash against Democracy Promotion,” Foreign Affairs 85(2) (March–April 2006): 55–68. 28 Jacques deLisle, “China’s Maritime Disputes in the South and East China Seas: What Role for International Law?” in Jacques deLisle and Avery Goldstein, eds., China’s Global Engagement: Cooperation, Competition, and Influence in the 21st Century (Washington, DC: Brookings, 2017), pp. 235–290; Jacques deLisle, “Political Implications of the July 2016 Arbitration Decision in the Philippines-PRC Case Concerning the South China Sea: The United States, China, and International Law,” Asian Yearbook of International Law 21 (2017): 49–82.

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29 See Michael Clarke, “China and the Uyghurs: The ‘Palestinization’ of Xinjiang?” Middle East Policy 22(3) (Fall 2015): 127–146; Jacques deLisle, “Security First?: Patterns and Lessons from China’s Use of Law to Address National Security Threats,” Journal of National Security Law & Policy 4 (2010): 397–436; “Xinjiang Documentary Shows Necessity of Anti-Terrorism Effort: Foreign Ministry,” CGTN, June 20, 2020, https://news.cgtn.com/news/2020-06-19/Xinjiang-documentary-shows­ necessity-of-China-s-anti-terrorism-effort-RrZzTuoEZq/index.html; “China Tells U.N. Rights Chief to Respect Its Sovereignty after Xinjiang Comments,” Reuters, September 11, 2018, www.reuters.com/article/us-un-rights-china/china-tells-u-n-r ights-chief-to-respect-its-sovereignty-after-xinjiang-comments-idUSKCN1LR0L0; “China Vows to Take Countermeasures over US’ Xinjiang Bill,” Global Times, June 18, 2020, www.globaltimes.cn/content/1192024.shtml; Jane Perlez, “China Wants the World to Stay Silent on Muslim Camps. It’s Succeeding,” The New York Times, September 25, 2019. 30 Javier C. Hernández, “Harsh Penalties, Vaguely Defined Crimes. Hong Kong’s National Security Law Explained,” The New York Times, July 13, 2020; U.S. Congressional-Executive Commission on China, “Hong Kong National Security Law,” July 1, 2020, www.cecc.gov/publications/commission-analysis/hong-kong -national-security-law-highlighting-provisions; “China Firmly Opposes U.S. Signing Hong Kong-Related Act,” Xinhua, July 16, 2020, www.xinhuanet.c om/english/2020-07/16/c_139215355.htm; Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the People’s Republic of China, “Six Things You Need to Know about the National Security Legislation for Hong Kong SAR,” June 10, 2020, www.fmprc.gov.cn/ mfa_eng/zxxx_662805/t1787600.shtml; Jacques deLisle, “Hong Kong’s Summer of Discontent,” Orbis 63(3) (Fall 2019): 473–504. 31 “Better Internet Governance,” China Daily, April 30, 2014; “China Holds First World Internet Conference, Urges Better Governance,” Xinhua, November 20, 2014; Adam Segal, “Chinese Cyber Diplomacy in a New Era of Uncertainty,” Hoover Institution Aegis Paper Series No. 1703 (2017), www.hoover.org/sites/default/files/research /docs/segal_chinese_cyber_diplomacy.pdf; Yi Shen, “Cyber Sovereignty and the Governance of Global Cyberspace,” Chinese Political Science Review 1 (2016): 81–93. 32 On these issues, see, for example, Jonathan E. Davis, “From Ideology to Pragmatism: China’s Position on Humanitarian Intervention in the Post-Cold War Era,” Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law 44(2) (2011): 217–283; Zheng Chen, “China and the Responsibility to Protect,” Journal of Contemporary China 101 (2016): 686–700. 33 Russel Ong, “‘Peaceful Evolution,’ ‘Regime Change’ and China’s Political Security,” Journal of Contemporary China 16(53) (2007): 717–727. 34 Mark Sidel, “Managing the Foreign: The Drive to Securitize Foreign Nonprofit and Foundation Management in China,” VOLUNTAS 30 (2019): 664–677. 35 For articulation and discussion of the PRC positions addressed in this subsection, see China’s numerous Human Rights White Papers; China’s Universal Periodic Review Reports to the UN Human Rights Council; Jiangyu Wang, “China and Universal Human Rights Standards,” Syracuse Journal of International Law and Commerce 29 (2001–2002): 135–158; Jacques deLisle, “From Economic Development to What— and Why? China’s Evolving Legal and Political Engagement with International Human Rights Norms” in Guanghua Yu, ed., Rethinking Law and Development: The Chinese Experience (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2013), pp. 107–145. 36 Björn Ahl, “The Rise of China and International Human Rights Law,” Human Rights Quarterly 37 (2015): 637–661; Margaret K. Lewis, “Why China Should Unsign the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights,” Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law 53 (2020): 131–206. 37 Thomas M. Franck, “The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance,” American Journal of International Law 86(1) (1992): 36–91.

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38 See generally Hungdah Chiu, “Chinese Views on Sources of International Law,” Harvard International Law Journal 28(2) (1987): 289–307. 39 Daniel McDowell, “How Debt Traps from China’s Belt and Road Initiative Could Upend the IMF,” World Politics Review, August 14, 2018, www.worldpoliticsreview .com/articles/25522/how-debt-traps-from-china-s-belt-and-road-initiative-coul d-upend-the-imf; John Pomfret, “China’s Debt Traps around the World Are a Trademark of Its Imperialist Ambitions,” Washington Post, August 27, 2018. 40 See generally Stephanie Kleine-Ahlbrandt and Andrew Small, “China’s New Dictatorship Diplomacy,” Foreign Affairs ( January–February 2008). 41 Huo Zhengxin, “UK Cannot Question HK Security Law,” China Daily, July 7, 2020, http://global.chinadaily.com.cn/a/202007/07/WS5f03b77fa310834817257923.html; “Britain Rejects Chinese View of Hong Kong Declaration as ‘Historic Document,’” Reuters, July 2, 2019, www.reuters.com/article/us-hongkong-extradition-britain -duncan/br itain-rejects-chinese-view-of-hong-kong-declaration-as-historic-d ocument-idUSKCN1TX1KL; Jacques deLisle, “Sovereignty Resumed: China’s Conception of Law for Hong Kong, and Its Implications for the SAR and US-PRC Relations,” Harvard Asia Quarterly (Summer 1998): 21–27. https://scholarship.law.u penn.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2284&context=faculty_scholarship 42 Ted Piccone, “China’ Long Game on Human Rights at the United Nations,” Brookings, September 2018, www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/ FP_20181009_china_human_rights.pdf; Human Rights Watch, “The Costs of International Advocacy: China’s Interference in United Nations Human Rights Mechanisms,” September 5, 2017, www.hrw.org/report/2017/09/05/costs-internati onal-advocacy/chinas-interference-united-nations-human-rights. 43 See, for example, Jessica Chen Weiss, “A World Safe for Autocracy? China’s Rise and the Future of Global Politics,” Foreign Affairs 98 ( July–August 2019): 92–102. 44 Jacques deLisle, “How International is International Law? (Remarks on Implications of a Rising China),” American Society of International Law Proceedings 111 (2018): 75–78; Jacques deLisle, “Xi Jinping’s Impact on China’s Legal Development: Domestic and International,” The Asan Forum 3(5) (September–October 2015), www.theasanforum .org/xi-jinpings-impact-on-chinas-legal-development-domestic-and-international/ ; Jessica Chen Weiss and Jeremy Wallace, “Domestic Politics, China’s Rise, and the Future of the Liberal International Order,” International Organization 74 (2020).

4 DEMOCRATIZATION IN ASIA Lessons from the Americas Louis W. Goodman

Democracy, or the concept of rule by the people, is the idea of a system of gov­ ernment where individual preferences become public policy. It is called “liberal democracy” when the system protects the rights of individuals. Democracy is valued for both moral and functional reasons. The moral base of democracy is that it gives humans freedom. It gives citizens the power to express their creative imaginations while exercising their preferences and, in doing so, simultaneously to govern and to be governed. The functional bases of democracy are that, by allowing citizens to express pref­ erences: it can strengthen social integration by motivating individuals to par­ ticipate in collective projects; it can reduce uncertainty and encourage creative experimentation by maintaining the rule of law; and, by aggregating diverse preferences, it can offer a variety of choices for confronting challenges that soci­ eties inevitably face. The availability of diverse choices is made more likely in liberal democracy since individuals receive protections when expressing diverse preferences and are thus more likely to sustain them, and make them available to others, over time. Democracy can take many forms. Europeans credit Aristotelian Greece with creating elite-direct democracy (slaves and women were excluded from partici­ pation) 2,500 years ago, but other forms were independently created outside Europe as evidenced by examples as diverse as the Iroquois “Great Law of Peace” and the Pashtunwali Loya Jirga. National democratic political systems are usu­ ally representative (not direct) with citizens selecting agents who form a govern­ ing body, often with a set of guiding rules (a constitution) to make collective decisions. Representative democracy is the usual form for political systems of more than miniscule size as direct democracy tends to weaken as polities grow. Guided democracy,1 as opposed to liberal democracy, is a form of government in which democratic practices are formally enacted but the state’s use of propaganda

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and restrictive practices prevents the electorate from effectively impacting public policy. In extreme cases with guided democracy, a de jure liberal democracy can function as a de facto oligarchy. Following WWII, the idea of liberal republican democracy became ascend­ ant worldwide, culminating, in 1989, with speculation that, with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, it would become universally adopted. However, guided politics, of which the Soviet Union’s central planning was an extreme form, did not die and contemporary political systems include a number of countries which, while democratic in form, are controlled by elites and are thus essentially oligar­ chies. In fact, the “Founding Fathers” of the United States Constitution feared that liberal democracy would not produce good government and thus included in it elements which they hoped would create a “natural aristocracy” capable of sustaining freedom, particularly for established elites. Hence their limiting vot­ ing rights to white property-holders, specifying an equal number of senators for each state, mandating election of senators by state legislatures, and creating the electoral college. While these elements are less restrictive than those in Russia’s “sovereign democracy,” China’s “People’s Republic,” (PRC) or Vietnam’s “Democratic People’s Republic,” there are strong elements of elite guidance in the democratic government that was established with the Constitution in 1789, some of which remain to this day. This chapter traces the postcolonial history of politics in Latin America, emphasizing the forms of governance that have evolved in the region as well as the processes of which they have been part. The final section attempts to identify themes and lessons of relevance to democratization in other regions, especially Southeast Asia, as well as concepts that can help with that understanding.

Democracy in Latin America While the same Enlightenment ideas that spawned the American and French revolutions stirred some Latin American impulses for citizen power, it was the Napoleonic conquest of Spain and Portugal in 1808 that brought democracy to most of the region. Unwilling to tolerate rule by Napoleon’s brother Joseph, armies were raised throughout Spanish-speaking Latin America, and politi­ cal control was wrested from Spain led by the Venezuelan “Liberator” Simon Bolivar and Argentinian “Protector of Peru” Jose de San Martin, beginning in 1808 and lasting through 1822. While the independence of the rest of Latin America was achieved through separate actions, by 1825, with few exceptions, the countries of the region had separated from Spain and Portugal. With independence from Napoleonic Spain, the victorious Latin American creoles had a variety of ideas regarding their precise forms of government. Those advocating reversion of control to re-Bourbonized Spain were quickly disabused of that intention. Bolivar viewed Spanish Latin America as a natural homeland but thought that its heterogeneity would make impossible a federation like that which had been established by the United States. He thus advocated

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for a centralist form of government which included, among other elements, a lifetime presidency. He attempted to formalize this view in a constitutional con­ vention held for Gran Colombia in 1828.2 Unable to achieve his objective in the face of opposition from delegates uncomfortable with this centralist model, no great South American federation was ever created, and separate countries of Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Paraguay, Uruguay, and Argentina were created. Brazil achieved its independence in 1822 when the Portuguese royal f led a constitutional revolution, which declared the “Empire of Brazil” independent from Portugal. The process of postcolonial democratization in Latin America thus has a nearly 200 year-long history. Most of the 19th century was consumed by national civil wars and a phenomenon known as caudillismo in which a charismatic local figure would come to power in a nonconventional way and would rule through authori­ tarian means. Accompanying this real politique were lively Enlightenment-inspired debates about the nature of governance in the region. Local political forces emerged advocating popular politics, democracy, and the rights of the poor.3 While this was framed by political rivalries between liberal and conservative forces, it continued as an indigenous form until the last decades of the 19th century when European and US industrial interests became more involved with the region and marginal­ ized these popular forces. These foreign powers effectively imposed the view that political modernity could only be found in the United States and Europe and that Latin American nations should develop these forms. Late 19th-century Latin American politics thus was largely an elitist game focusing on issues of marginal consequence imported from abroad. Conservatives advocated for a national church, centralist government, and support for privi­ leges of the landed elite. Liberals argued for a secular state, federalist government, and support for private entrepreneurship. When elites began to be challenged by middle-class groups in the early 20th century, they closed ranks in support of established privilege and conservative positions. These middle-class challenges came in many forms. In the Southern Cone (the southern part of the continent) by the 1910s, middle-class interests began to share power through the ascend­ ance of “Radical”4 political parties in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay. This was spurred by European migrations that brought with it the liberal ideas of French rationalism, including socialism and anarchism, and created vast bureaucracies, expanded public education and even, in Uruguay, a social security system cre­ ated years before that of the United States. Socialist and communist political parties also appeared on the scene but never achieved the importance of the more centrist Radical parties. This incipient democratization of politics was buoyed by pre-WWI commodity booms in beef, wheat, copper, and other primary prod­ ucts, making, for example, Argentina wealthier by some measures than European countries, including Italy.5 However, when Southern Cone economies were dis­ engaged from international markets by WWI, they stagnated. The result was the degeneration of political parties into patronage mills for party loyalists and widespread populist sentiment culminating in military coups.

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The 20th-century Latin American political change was also spurred by indig­ enous ideas, perhaps most notably by the American Popular Revolutionary Alliance (APRA), founded by Peruvian Victor Raul Haya de la Torre in Mexico City in 1924. It eventually became a continent-wide political movement with significant inf luence in the mid-century Democratic Action (AD) Party in Venezuela, the National Liberation (LN) Party in Costa Rica, the Dominican Revolutionary Party (PRD) in the Dominican Republic, and Peru’s own APRA Party. Initially APRA-linked parties strongly opposed oligarchic interests, mili­ tary dictators, and the interests of the United States. However, after engaging in myriad political compromise with local conservative forces and, by the time of the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations, which “discovered” them as the region’s democratic left opposition, they had lost much of their appeal and had taken on the slow-moving and bureaucratic forms of their Southern Cone counterparts. Another political form was created in three Latin American countries where social revolutions took place—in Mexico in 1910, in Bolivia in 1952, and in Cuba in 1959. In each of these countries, the result of the revolution­ ary overthrow of the existing social order was the establishment of an “Official Party”—the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) in Mexico; the National Revolutionary Movement (MNR) in Bolivia; and Cuba’s Communist Party. The PRI was founded in 1929 to stabilize Mexico’s postrevolutionary politics. It held continuous power until 1990, by which time it had become a center-right political force and was rejected by Mexico’s middle class. The MNR held power for only 14 years until 1968 when it was overthrown by Bolivia’s armed forces. However, its impact on Bolivian society is visible in the current democratically elected government that has instituted far-reaching policies to engage Bolivia’s alienated indigenous population with national political life. Cuba’s Communist Party, which overthrew the government of Fulgencio Batista in 1959, continues to hold power evolving its distinctive political form. Gestures have been made to achieve a transition of power from Cuba’s original revolutionary leadership and to diversify the nation’s economy, but the official party retains strong control of national politics and shows no sign of abandoning its national project. Despite initial attempts, it has not spread its revolutionary ideals, due to pressures from its former patron the Soviet Union and its regional antagonist the United States as well as the inability of its regional ally Venezuela to continue support. The Republic of Cuba is Latin America’s only Marxist-Leninist socialist country and, according to its constitution, the Communist Party continues to be the “leading force of the society and the state.” Brazil’s politics has followed a different course. Members of the Portuguese royal family presided over the Empire of Brazil from 1808, when it f led Napoleonic forces in the Peninsular Wars, until 1889 when Emperor Pedro II, who had ruled the country since 1831, was ousted by a military coup d’état. In 1889, the country became “The United States of Brazil,” with direct elections, a four-year presi­ dential term, and separate executive, legislative, and judicial powers. Despite this

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formally democratic structure, the politics of this “First Republic” were based on an alliance between politicians and big landowners (called coronelismo) that was periodically and unsuccessfully contested by popular movements led by, among others, junior military officers and messianic religious leaders. In 1930, a military junta led by General Getulio Vargas took power, promoting industrialization and modernization and supporting urban middle-class interests. The junta remained in control until 1945 when Vargas was democratically elected president. The democratic regime presided over an economic boom with expanded state capaci­ ties until the abrupt resignation of President Janio Quadros and the leftist politics of his Vice-President Joao Goulart led to a 1964 military coup supported by traditional Brazilian politicians and the government of the United States. The military government lasted until 1985, beginning with another economic boom but ending in shambles of inf lation, national debt, increasing inequality, and anti-government insurgency. Since 1985, Brazil has elected five men and one woman to the presidency and has had three vice-presidents assume power, one due to a death ( Jose Sarney succeeded deceased Tancredo Neves in 1985) and two due to impeachments (Itamar Franco succeeded impeached Fernando Collar in 1992 and Michel Temer replaced impeached Dilma Rousseff in 2016). Fernando Henrique Cardoso (1994–2002) and Luiz Ignacio Lula DaSilva (2002–2010) served out their terms although DaSilva was later prosecuted for corruption and was thus ineligible to run for office in 2018. Despite this political volatility, through policies initiated by the Cardoso government and continued thereaf­ ter, Brazil survived significant financial crises and brought tens of millions of its citizens out of poverty. This took place despite a legislature fragmented by representatives from more than three dozen political parties and massive political corruption that was unearthed by resolute prosecutors. In 2018, Jair Bolsonaro, a conservative populist, was expected to be elected president in a second round of voting, promising a new start for Brazilian politics and an end to corruption. Whether Bolsonaro moves Brazil’s politics into illiberality, and whether he is able to move Brazil out of economic doldrums caused by huge public sector debt, is of great concern to a nation of more than 200 million people with expectations for personal freedom, security, and prosperity. With the engagement of the United States and European powers with Latin American economies in the early 20th century, foreign inf luences competed to shape their political character. This was particularly true for Latin America’s armed forces. The United States, Germany, France, and Britain sent military missions to help these institutions professionalize and, at the same time, conserv­ ative political elites used their armed forces coercively to restrain, often brutally, middle-class political aspirations. When post-WWII attempts by Latin American nations failed to produce economic prosperity through democratic means and the Cuban Revolution appeared to be providing basic public goods such as health care and education to non-elite groups, a series of coups d’état took place start­ ing in 1964, with the overthrow of President Joao Goulart by Brazil’s armed forces. By 1979, all countries on the Latin American mainland from Guatemala

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to Chile, with the exception of Venezuela, were ruled by de facto military gov­ ernments. The motivations for these takeovers were many, including elite fears of abrupt loss of privilege, as had happened in Cuba, and military fear that politi­ cal systems could not continue to provide the officer corps a respectable post­ retirement middle-class life. The public policies of the military governments varied from state capitalism initiated in Brazil to Chile’s free-marketeering, to Peru’s experiment with Christian Socialism, to gangsterism and illegal activi­ ties in Argentina. Civilian rule began to be restored in 1979 first by Ecuadorian forces which had taken control in the face of fierce violence in its two proximate neighbors—a politically initiated brutal civil war in Colombia and the Sendero Luminoso insurgency in Peru. By 1991, with the election of Patricio Alwyn as president of Chile, civilian control had been restored to the countries of the region. By the time electoral democracy returned to these countries, many had also created instruments to assure that retired military (potential coup-makers) would have funds for a dignified retirement. Examples of such instruments were funds created with revenues from copper sales in Chile and the designation of a broad set of domestic industries to be managed by the armed forces in Ecuador.

Factors impacting democratization in Latin America Since the withdrawal of the military from politics in Latin America, electoral democracy appears to have been well established. It has been buttressed by a variety of regional factors, most notably the Inter-American Charter adopted by the Organization of American States (OAS) in 2001. This document obliges all 34 members of the OAS to take specific actions in the case of “an unconsti­ tutional interruption of the democratic order or an unconstitutional alteration of the constitutional regime that seriously impairs the democratic order in a member state.” The actions include suspension from the OAS of a nation expe­ riencing such an “interruption” and the imposition of an economic embargo by the 34 OAS members. This charter has been invoked or has been threatened to be invoked on a number of occasions, thus preventing or shortening interrup­ tions of democratically elected government in Latin American countries. It was formally invoked in 2002 when there was an attempted coup in Venezuela, in 2009, after a coup in Honduras, and it was requested by Venezuela’s National Assembly in 2016. A second phenomenon of regional import has been the reformation of national macro-economic practices due to the negative experiences of Latin American nations during the 1970s and 1980s. The policies that were enacted were related to a set of ten described by the economist John Williamson as the “Washington Consensus.”6 While there was much popular protest against the United States appearing to set the rules of the macro-economic policy road, in fact, policy makers in most Latin American countries had begun to institute Washington Consensus-type economic policies well before the appearance of Williamson’s article. By the time of the 2008 financial crisis, these policies had been so widely

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adopted that the short-term impacts on Latin American countries were sub­ stantially less than that which aff licted the United States and many countries in Europe. Since the 1960s, hyperinf lation in a number of Latin American countries had contributed to military perceptions that political power should be removed from civilian hands; policies that stabilized countries economically have been another factor removing pressure for limiting democratic freedoms. A third positive factor has been improved civil-military relations. No longer are the region’s civilians and military living in completely separate worlds. It is rare that an active duty military officer is a nation’s minister of defense. Defense ministries are now populated with civilian defense professionals, and most of that nations’ armed forces have published “white books” and other documents mak­ ing public military assets and military budgets necessary information for effec­ tive subordination of the armed forces to civilian authority. Further, with funds reserved for military pensions and somewhat improved salary scales for security forces, there are fewer incentives for the people with guns to use them to try to advance the interests of their own professional institutions. A fourth factor militating against retreat from democracy has been the resolu­ tion of border disputes between countries and the ending of intra-country civil wars. Marxist insurgencies in Southern Cone countries were a pretext for mili­ tary intervention in Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay in the 1960s. Civil wars in Guatemala, El Salvador, Colombia, and Peru encouraged authoritarian responses to these threats to domestic peace, and border disputes, including Argentina and Chile; Peru, Bolivia, and Chile; Ecuador and Peru; and Guatemala and Belize at times threatened to provoke populist or militaristic politics. The resolution of most of these disputes (with some exceptions including that of Bolivia and Peru with Chile) has lessened that pressure. A fifth factor impacting democratic consolidation has been respect for the rule of law. This factor has contradictory manifestations. Latin American countries have the highest incidence of many categories of crime in the world. Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras have the highest homicide rates per cap­ ita in the world. Venezuela has the lowest rating worldwide for respect for the rule of law according to the World Justice Project (2018). The massive lavajato corruption scandal uncovered by Brazilian prosecutors has revealed tentacles throughout Brazil’s political system as well as in other countries throughout the hemisphere. In contrast, awareness that popular support for democracy requires government control of crime has caused governments throughout the region to increase investments in judicial system reform and policing. Having these investments pay off in the face of tenuous human security and widespread con­ cern with government corruption will be critical for future popular support for democracy. A sixth factor has been increased transparency, especially the difficulty of concealing machinations against elected governments from the general popu­ lation or from policy makers in neighboring and other nations. Threatened coup attempts, for example, by General Lino Oviedo in Paraguay in 1989 and a

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1993 self-coup in Guatemala by President Jorge Serrano, were halted by the OAS and member states warning incipient coup-makers that such acts would have severe consequences. In earlier times, other countries in the hemisphere would only learn about potential coups after they had been carried out. Overall, however, there are reasons to be concerned about the depth of commitment to democracy as a system of government in Latin America. AmericasBarometer, a survey of citizens’ political views that has been carried out in the Western Hemisphere since 2005, shows that, while there has been a clear decline in support for some elements of democracy in recent years, there con­ tinues to be a solid level of support for others.7 Specifically, in terms of declin­ ing support, between 2014 and 2017, abstract support for democracy as a form of government declined sharply as did trust in political parties and support for coups against national executives increased. In contrast, support for elections as a way to select leaders remained stable, and support for the expression of minority viewpoints in politics increased. One way to interpret these findings is that citi­ zens are frustrated with their political systems’ inability to provide citizen secu­ rity, to prevent corruption, and to generate economic development, but their solution, reported by AmericasBarometer, can be interpreted as greater citizen participation.

Will Southeast Asia have a Monroe Doctrine? Latin America has been seen traditionally as the region in which a hegem­ onic nation (the United States) has the most power. A totemic point for this is President James Monroe’s articulation of “The Monroe Doctrine.” Developed in 1823 to prevent European whalers from competing with New Englanders in the South Atlantic, it stated that the United States would prevent European powers from exercising inf luence in the Western Hemisphere. Notably this happened just as South American countries had wrested political independence from colo­ nial Spain. While the United States largely ignored domestic political debates in Latin America through the mid-19th century, when it endeavored to deepen economic ties and exercise political inf luence in the region, imposing its military force and ideas about politics, it pursued its “Manifest Destiny” by expanding its national territory from the Atlantic to the Pacific and, turning south, annexed 40% of Mexico’s national territory in 1848, occupied Cuba and Puerto Rico as a result of the 1898 Spanish-American War, and, in the 20th century, sent Marines and surrogate forces to align national politics with US interests in Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, Guatemala, and elsewhere. Marines were not sent to South America except to populate military bases and to guard embassies, but economic pressure was brought to bear on countries in the region thought to be f lirting with politics not aligned with US democracy. Projects were devel­ oped to reinforce US inf luence with its neighbors. Theodore Roosevelt’s “Big Stick” was evident with visits by the “Great White Fleet” to Latin American ports and by the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, explicitly stating

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the right of the United States to intervene in Latin American affairs. Softer approaches were used with Franklin Roosevelt’s “Good Neighbor Policy” and John Kennedy’s “Alliance for Progress.” More explicit messages were delivered by Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan’s support of military regimes in Latin America. Barack Obama’s Secretary of State John Kerry dramatically repudi­ ated the Monroe Doctrine in a 2013 speech at the Inter-American Dialogue, but Donald Trump’s counterpart Rex Tillerson asserted its continuing relevance in a 2018 speech at the University of Texas. While repugnant, especially to previously colonialized countries like those of Southeast Asia, this assertion of US authority in the Western Hemisphere did seem to fit with some definitions of manifest destiny during 20th-century wars with Germany and during the Cold War with the Soviet Union as well as with US unipolar power at the end of the Cold War. While not explicitly mandat­ ing democracy, US inf luence in the Western Hemisphere, in addition to shared enthusiasm for Enlightenment ideas, encouraged the development of democratic politics. Having similar political systems makes it easier for nations to cooperate,8 and shared nominal commitment to democracy has made it easier for mutual trust to develop between leaders of the region’s hegemonic power and those of other countries in the Western Hemisphere. With the rise of China, the destiny of the United States and its demo­ cratic political system is less manifest. The end of the Cold War ushered in an accelerated process of social change labeled “globalization” and a corre­ sponding rise in countries forming governments through democratic elections. This created the impression in many quarters that democracy would spread worldwide, perhaps even to China, in order to facilitate peace and prosper­ ity in a US-led world. However, the post-2008 economic slowdown and the example of China’s continued economic growth with limited political free­ dom have changed things. This has led a number of countries to curtail liberal democratic protections to enhance citizen security and economic growth. In fact, China has evolved what Joshua Ramo has called a “Beijing Consensus” counter to the “Washington Consensus.” 9 This has made it clear that China’s national political objective is not US-style democracy but “socialism with Chinese characteristics,” among which are the unquestioned authority of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and the requirement that other nations not interfere in China’s domestic politics. How will that impact politics in Southeast Asia? Will China follow the United States in Latin America and attempt to impose its hegemonic will on its southern neighbors? The Democratic People’s Republic of Vietnam, like Mexico, has a centuries-long history of fearing and combatting incursions from its huge north­ ern neighbor; the Philippines, like Cuba has a narrow stretch of ocean separating it from its larger neighbor but, curiously, its history of having been occupied is with the United States, not China. These two nations and eight others have formed ASEAN with much larger populations and much more dynamic econo­ mies than US neighbors in the Caribbean. Should one then expect that China’s

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neighbors will be inf luenced to shape their political systems to engage more easily with the PRC? Chinese officials have explicitly rejected the idea that their foreign policy will resemble those developed by Europe or the United States in earlier cen­ turies. In March 2018, prior to the 13th National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, Zhang Yuyan asserted that there is a marked difference between China’s overseas relations and the colonial relations of Europe and the United States. He stated, “the Belt and Road Initiative seeks mutual benefits and sustainable cooperation, rather than predatory exploration. Chinese businesses care about local sustainable development and have actively fulfilled their social responsibilities.”10 While officials widely assert that the core of Chinese overseas relations is non-interference with the affairs of other nations and commitment to activities of mutual benefit, China does insist that its partners commit to its One China policy, limit relations with Taiwan, cooperate in countering Uyghur nationalists and jihadists, keep silent about Tibet, at times support China’s position in the United Nations Security Council, and give Chinese companies priority in China-funded projects.11 Public statements aside, China’s foreign involvements, including BRI, involve expanding its inf luence to become a regional, if not a global, player. This is nec­ essary for China’s 1 trillion dollar plus BRI to serve as a vehicle for the ambitious national development plans announced by Xi Jinping at the 19th CCP Central Committee meeting, plans whose achievement will be important for sustain­ ing the legitimacy of CCP leadership. While the rhetoric of BRI and other Chinese initiatives stand in marked contrast to that of James Monroe, Theodore Roosevelt, and European leaders involved in “the Scramble for Africa” or “the Great Game,” the asymmetry of Chinese power will be perceived by other nations as a new colonialism unless China takes extreme measures to collaborate with and support economic development with its partners. The impact of the reduction of grain purchases in Latin America, of Sri Lankan indebtedness, and of details of contracts with Malaysian authorities has not created the impression that China’s bilateral power will be qualitatively different from those of previous international powers.

Threats to democracy It is common to state that support for democracy requires that democratically elected governments successfully provide public goods for their citizens—espe­ cially public goods that allow for growing economic prosperity and for national and personal security. However, paradoxically, successful democratization itself has long been seen as a potential generator of anti-democratic reactions. This was noted by Alexis de Tocqueville in 1835 in Democracy in America. Tocqueville saw

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democratization as part of a centuries-long trend in which social and economic conditions of men were becoming more equal, that aristocracy was disappearing, and that this was creating a virtuous circle in which the growth of commerce and trade increased economic opportunity. However, he also observed what he described as a paradox which later became known as the “Tocqueville effect,” in which “social frustration increases as social conditions improve.” He argued that growing hatred of social privilege would be seen as a threat to political stability, thus leading to the state arrogating more power to itself, thus diminishing the quality of democracy. Tocqueville described other threats to democracy stem­ ming from its success: the possibility of a “soft despotism” in which citizens allow a state they see as benevolent to set public policy unchecked; the possibility of the development of a “tyranny of the majority” in which minority rights are not protected; and that the prosperity produced by democracy would create an “industrial aristocracy” based in the ownership of capital. All of this led de Tocqueville to observe that a “science of democracy” would need to be developed to curb these potential dangers and to continue to enhance citizen capacity to impact public policy.12 The paradoxical results of democratic success can be seen in the Western Hemisphere, perhaps even more clearly in the country de Tocqueville visited 200 years ago as well as in Latin American countries. Similarly, they are a threat to continued democratization in Southeast Asia. A second category of threat to democracy is the heterogeneity (of identities) that Simon Bolivar observed in 19th-century Latin America. Articles in this book have observed that increasing citizen capacity to impact public policy is easier when there is a coherent national identity supporting a national project. Lacking this coherence, disputes may more easily lead to irresolvable conf licts that impede the institution-building that is needed to allow nations to agree to hold free and fair elections and then build additional institutions that will protect basic rights and sustain national peace and prosperity. Such disputes prevented the formation of Bolivar’s hoped-for South American Republic and made dif­ ficult the progress made by Latin American elites and middle classes to create the democratic institutions they have (or do not have) today. A third threat to democracy is organized crime, which often subverts the rule of law that many analysts have seen as essential for deepening democracy. Organized crime operates drug cartels, human trafficking rings, and other ele­ ments of illegal industries that are kept from the public eye. Hence, they are subject only to their own particular justice, creating privilege and de facto poli­ cies that do not respond to public preferences. In Latin America, public policy is often said to be set by the choice between “plata o plomo (silver or lead/bribery or bullets).” These rather than public preferences can all too easily be determinants of what should be political outcomes when organized crime goes unchecked. Threats to democracy can be seen in parts of Mexico, Colombia, and other Latin American countries where organized crime controls swaths of national territory and of the national economy. While large so-called “drug cartels” have been

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dismantled in a number of countries and their leaders prosecuted, organized crime can create political space that prevents public preferences from becoming policy. A fourth threat to democracy in Latin America and Southeast Asia is corrup­ tion. It may appear inappropriate to separate corruption, or the unauthorized use of public resources for private gain, from organized crime. However, corruption does take place within state structures, whether or not non-state organized crime is present. Corruption can diminish the efficiency of the state and its public poli­ cies and, if perceived as rampant, can seriously undermine faith in government and the legitimacy that is essential for state functioning. Combatting corruption as the basis for building a rule-of-law-based democracy was essential for Ivan Velazquez’s efforts to transform Medellin, Colombia, from an organized crime headquarters to a thriving democratic metropolis. It is similarly essential for his leadership of the International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala (CICIG), where the United Nations supports that nation’s efforts to end impu­ nity, to prosecute corruption, and to advance democratization. That that effort is being contested by Guatemala’s president Jimmy Morales to protect his own private interests further underscores the fact that democratization can be either accelerated or slowed down by corrupt leadership. A fifth threat to democracy in Latin America and Southeast Asia is sharp power. Of course, hard power (military or economic) and soft power (the attrac­ tion of alternatives) can be used to strengthen or weaken democracy, but sharp power (disruptive forces such as propaganda or cyber tools) can also be effective. New technologies, especially social media, have enhanced its capacity to cre­ ate “alternative facts” to undermine the credibility of political opponents and/ or to create safe silos in which political partisans are not exposed to alternative positions.

Democracy diversity in Latin America and in Southeast Asia The nature of national politics and processes of democratization are diverse both in Latin America and in Southeast Asia. One way to demonstrate this is to simply list 17 propositions that can be derived from the above ref lections on the histories of democratization in Latin America. They are that democratization in Latin America and Southeast Asia: •• •• •• ••

Can be reinforced by democratic nations providing public goods that allow

for growing economic prosperity and for national and personal security

Can be reinforced by region-wide agreements that oblige nations to sanc­

tion disruptions of democratic governance Can be reinforced by national macro-economic policies that provide eco­ nomic stability domestically and in global context Can be improved by positive civil-military relations that enhance civilian capacity to manage and set priorities for national armed forces

72 Louis W. Goodman

••

Can be improved by eliminating border disputes and civil wars, both of which can generate forces which undermine government support •• Can be improved by strengthening the rule of law thus providing predict­ ability in the processes through which public preferences become public policy •• Can be improved by domestic and international transparency, thus revealing threats to democratization before they can be put into action •• Are threatened by the success of democratization because social frustration increases as conditions improve •• Are threatened by the success of democratization because the state will arro­ gate too much power to itself to reduce social privilege •• Are threatened by the success of democratization since citizens may see successful democracy as benevolent and thus allow too much power concentration •• Are threatened by the success of democratization since a tyranny of the majority may develop suppressing the rights of minorities •• Are threatened by the success of democratization because it may produce a new aristocracy •• Are threatened by national and regional heterogeneity that may weaken national coherence •• Are threatened by non-state actors that may develop foci of power that rival the state •• Are threatened by corruption that may undermine the rule of law •• Are threatened by sharp power that may undermine national dialogue •• Can lead to regional hegemonic control of national politics unless regional hegemons make consistent efforts to develop collaborative international relations With such diversity of effects, political change is likely to be continually dynamic. Conceiving of ways to characterize that dynamic diversity is likely to be chal­ lenging but important for generating understanding of underlying processes and developing mechanisms for sustaining democratization, given its moral and functional value. Two such concepts do exist, however: one new, one classic. The classic concept is that of “cross-cutting cleavages,” most notably devel­ oped by Seymour Martin Lipset and Stein Rokkan, who explain, based on the classic work of Georg Simmel, that a cross-cutting cleavage exists when groups on one dimension of interests overlap with groups on another dimension of interests.13 “Cleavages” may include any number of divisions in society includ­ ing religious, civil-military, racial, and political (liberal-conservative). Formally, when members of a group on a given dimension of interest belong to groups on a second dimension of interest with members of other groups from the first dimension of interest cleavage, the cleavage would be cross-cutting. In contrast, if individuals were arrayed in the same distinct groups for a wide range of dimen­ sions of interests, the divisions would be “reinforcing,” thus generating conf lict

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and eventually autocracy. If countries hope to develop sustainable processes of democratization, their interest cleavages, ref lected in the above effects, need to be “cross-cutting.” The newer concept is that of multiplexity, developed by Amitav Acharya.14 Multiplexity in international relations is the number of separate connections between any two actors (state or non-state), i.e., the interaction of exchanges within and across relationships. It is to be contrasted with multipolarity which assumed the primacy of great powers. Acharya argues that “As with a multiplex cinema … a multiplex world gives audiences a wider choice of plots, actors, producers, and directors.” He also argues that, with the decline of the Americandominated international order, this multiplexity will become increasingly com­ plex with more choices being available to an increasing number of actors across more issue areas (not just trade, but also environment, security, social devel­ opment, governance, and connectivity) and at multiple layers of governance. Multiplexity will give nations in Southeast Asia and Latin America more oppor­ tunities to resolve political issues without necessarily needing to be dependent on a specific set of great powers. Democratization will be more sustainable if national interest cleavages are cross-cutting and if nations anticipate that they will be operating in a multiplex world.

Notes 1 Walter Lippman, Public Opinion (New York: Harcourt Brace and Company, 1922). 2 Gran Colombia (Greater Colombia) is a name used today for the state that encom­ passed much of northern South America and part of southern Central America from 1819 to 1831. It included the territories of present-day Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Panama, northern Peru, western Guyana, and northwest Brazil. 3 James E. Sanders, The Vanguard of the Atlantic World: Creating Modernity, Nation, and Democracy in Nineteenth-Century Latin America (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2014). 4 At the time, these parties were seen as radical as they espoused middle-class ideals. They also independently adopted the name “Radical” in Argentina, Chile, etc. 5 Carlos F. Díaz-Alejandro, “No Less than One Hundred Years of Argentine Economic History, Plus Some Comparisons,” Center Discussion Paper, No. 392, Yale University, Economic Growth Center, New Haven, CT, 1982. 6 John Williamson, “What Washington Means by Policy Reform,” in John Williamson, ed., Latin American Readjustment: How Much Has Happened (Washington, DC: Institute for International Economics, 1989), Ch. 2. 7 Mollie J. Cohen, Noam Lupu, and Elizabeth J. Zechmeister, The Political Culture of Democracy in the Americas: A Comparative Study of Democracy and Governance (Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University, 2017). 8 John M. Owen, “How Liberalism Produces Democratic Peace,” International Security, Vol. 19, No. 2 (1994), pp. 87–125. 9 Joshua Cooper Ramo, The Beijing Consensus (London: The Foreign Policy Centre, 2004). 10 Xinhuanet News, 2018, www.xinhuanet.com/english/2018-03/02/c_137011819. htm. 11 James M. Dorsey, China and the Middle East: Venturing into the Maelstrom (Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), p. 2.

74 Louis W. Goodman

12 Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 2000). 13 Seymour Martin Lipset and Stein Rokkan, “Cleavage Structures, Party Systems, and Voter Alignments,” in Seymour Martin Lipset and Stein Rokkan, eds., Party Systems and Voter Alignments: Cross-National Perspectives (New York: The Free Press, 1967), pp. 1–64. 14 Amitav Acharya, The End of American World Order (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2014).

PART 2

The evolution of democratic governance in East Asia and national identity

5 NATIONAL IDENTITY AND DEMOCRACY Lessons from the case of Japan Tadashi Anno

The relationship between national identity and democracy is a complicated one. National identity provides a foundation for democratic politics in at least two senses. First, the spread of national identity can prepare the ground for democ­ racy in the sense that nationalism breaks the elite’s monopoly on politics and transforms the masses into participants in the political process. Nationalism of course can arise without democracy. But at the least, it mobilizes the masses and instills in them the sense that they, too, are members of a political community, which could lay the groundwork for later democratization. Second, in many states, national identity provided a ready-made answer to the question of the boundaries within which democracy is to be practiced.1 In the case of Japan, the nexus of national identity and democracy was tested in the Meiji and Taishō eras, essentially severed in the prewar Shōwa era, reestablished in the postwar Shōwa era, and is being challenged anew in a rapidly shifting international context as the Heisei era draws to an end and the Reiwa era dawns. These various tests and external challenges offer lessons on how the Japanese case is instructive for other cases. Beyond providing a foundation for the practice of democratic politics, national identity may either support or undercut democracy, depending on how its specific content is defined. National identity provides an answer to the ques­ tion of who we are as members of a particular nation and what sort of position we (the Japanese, the Chinese, etc.) occupy and what kind of role we play in the wider world. National identity answers these questions in a historical context. The question of who we are cannot be answered properly unless we also answer the question of who we have been in the past and where we might be headed in the future. Moreover, how national identity gets defined has important impli­ cations for the nation’s cultural, economic, and political development, includ­ ing the development of democracy. Thus, an analysis of the impact of national

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identity on democratization has to take into consideration various aspects of national identity. In this chapter, I take three of the six dimensions identified by Rozman 2 and analyze, though in a necessarily brief and selective manner, how national identity has inf luenced the process of democratization of Japan from the Meiji era to the present. I then conclude with some suggestions about lessons to be learned from Japan’s history.

The ideological dimension: making the emperor safe for democracy (and vice versa) The beginning of democratization in Japan may be traced back to the late Tokugawa era, when demands were made for opening up the shogunal govern­ ment for the participation of a broader group of actors. When it became evident that the Tokugawa shogunate was incapable of dealing effectively with increas­ ing pressure from the Western powers, first the daimyō (domain lords), and later ordinary samurai, began to demand political participation, advancing slogans such as jinzai tōyō (allowing men of ability to advance and to occupy responsible positions), genro dōkai (letting people’s voices be heard in the corridors of power), and kōgi yoron (making political decisions on the basis of public discussions).3 As the demand for political participation spread, national identity became more widespread and politically relevant. In feudal Japan, the loyalty of the samurai was directed toward their personal masters, rather than to any abstract notion of the state or the nation. But when the weakness of the existing regime was exposed, the call for political unity across the boundaries of feudal domains gained inf luence. Under the Tokugawa feudal order, participation in policy making at the “national” level was limited to a very narrow group of shogunate officials. But if Japan was a “nation,” then anyone who was concerned about its fate could legitimately get involved in political affairs. In this process, the role of the emperor became more significant, as the emperor could function as a symbol of national unity. Japan’s historical experience was similar to that of many Western states in that the spread of national identity went hand in hand with the call for greater political participation. But it was different from the latter in that in Japan, both democratization and nationalism proceeded under the banner of Imperial Restoration. While Western political theories had very significant inf luence in Meiji Japan, few if any Japanese argued that the imperial institution was an obsta­ cle to Japan’s political progress. Far from it, the role of the emperor as the central focus of Japanese polity was accepted almost universally, including by the most “progressive” activists.4 Unlike absolute monarchies in some European states, the Japanese Imperial Court prior to the Meiji era was not regarded as the capstone of an oppressive social order. Rather, in the context of the late Tokugawa era, it came to be perceived as a symbol of change. Also, unlike European monar­ chies, which were enmeshed in transnational ties of dynastic intermarriages, the Japanese Imperial Court was regarded as unquestionably Japanese—as an

National identity and democracy  79

institution inextricably linked with the origin of the Japanese state. For this reason, in Japan, the rise of nationalism and the initial stage of democratization coincided with the emergence of the Imperial Court as the central focus of Japanese nationhood.5 Seen from a different angle, this meant that Westernizing reforms of the Meiji era (including the introduction of constitutional government) were presented as something compatible with Japan’s national identity since they were carried out under the banner of “restoration,” or return to the original, proper order of things in Japan. This was in sharp contrast to many non-Western states in which Westernizing reforms were prone to be subjected to persistent criticism for “betraying the national tradition.”6 Thus, during the Meiji era, the Imperial Court played a significant role in legitimizing modernizing changes in Japan, including the introduction of constitutional government. With the consolidation of a Western-style legal and political system in Japan, however, the Imperial Court did begin to play a role analogous to that of European monarchies—as the central pillar of the social and political status quo. In this capacity, the Japanese Imperial Court also functioned as an obstacle to further democratization. The Meiji Constitution of 1889 vested the emperor with “rights of sovereignty,” and this set a limit to the development of democracy during the Taishō and early Shōwa eras. Moreover, the Japanese Imperial Court had a history much longer than European dynasties, and its origins were shrouded in the myth of the divine descent of the Imperial family, going back to the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu. The fact that Japan had not suffered foreign conquest in recorded history and the fact that one and the same dynasty had reigned over Japan since ancient times were regarded as demonstrating the uniquely superior character of Japan’s kokutai (literally, “national body”), defined by the Supreme Court as “the political system under which Japan has been reigned over and ruled by an unbroken chain of Emperors going back to time immemorial.” The ideology of Imperial Restoration helped Japan modernize in the late nineteenth century without jettisoning its national identity, but the fact that an ancient myth was installed as the ideological pillar of modernizing Japan played a major role in derailing the country’s democratization in the early twentieth century.7 Following its defeat in WWII, Japan underwent a comprehensive series of reforms under the allied occupation, the centerpiece of which were de-militarization and democratization. Postwar Japan made a fresh start as a “democratic state” (minshu kokka). This, however, did not mean a complete break in Japan’s kokutai. In the last days of the war, the Japanese government sought to preserve kokutai above all else and indicated its willingness to accept the Potsdam Declaration only “with the understanding that … [it does not prejudice] the prerogatives of His Majesty as a sovereign ruler.” To this the allied powers responded that “[t]he ultimate form of government of Japan shall … be established by the freely expressed will of the Japanese people.” Japan surrendered upon receipt of this response, because the Japanese leadership was convinced that, if the people were allowed to express their will freely, the Imperial Court would survive in

80 Tadashi Anno

some form. They were vindicated in this expectation. Although public opinion in the allied states was very hostile to Emperor Hirohito, Douglas MacArthur decided to keep the emperor, for he felt that given popular sentiments in Japan, to abolish the position of the emperor or to put Hirohito on trial would destabi­ lize Japan and render the task of occupation impossible.8 The reverence in which the Japanese people held the emperor ensured the survival of both the imperial institution and of Emperor Hirohito personally, preserving the continuity of kokutai at the bare minimum level. Obviously, the prewar definition of kokutai did not survive intact. Under the new Constitution, the emperor became a symbolic figure, without pow­ ers related to government. The emperor also issued the so-called “Humanity Declaration” and denied “the false conception that the Emperor is divine, and that the Japanese people are superior to other races and fated to rule the world.” The Imperial Rescript on Education (1890), which had served as the guiding principle of Japanese education, was declared ineffective. Postwar Japanese poli­ tics was to be carried out not on the basis of unique imperial mythology but based on principles of democracy and on “laws of political morality,” both of which were declared “universal” principles in the Preamble of the Constitution. Through these changes, postwar Japan achieved a compromise between com­ mitment to democracy and preservation of a sense of continuity with the past. The fact that the Constitution of Japan was introduced under the allied occu­ pation complicated the relationship between national identity and democracy in postwar Japan. While progressives in postwar Japan strongly identified with the new Constitution, seeing in it a complete rebirth of the nation, many conserva­ tives rejected the new Constitution as an illegitimate foreign imposition. But it is worth emphasizing that postwar Japanese conservatives were much more interested in preserving the emperor and his position than in rejecting democ­ racy. After all, the Charter Oath issued at the beginning of the Meiji era had enshrined “public discussions” as one of the key guiding principles for a new Japan. Besides, the status of the emperor as a sovereign ruler (as stipulated in the Meiji Constitution) was something of an anomaly in the long history of the Japanese Imperial Court. The emperor’s symbolic status under the Constitution of Japan could easily be characterized as a “return” to an older historical tradition. For this reason, while many conservatives fulminated against the “imposed” Constitution as a violation of Japanese sovereignty, few advocated the restora­ tion of the emperor to the position of an inviolable sovereign.9 Most embraced the “symbolic emperor system,” and, with it, democracy. This helped to turn democracy into an uncontroversial part of postwar Japan’s national identity. Since the late Tokugawa era, the imperial institution has served as the central pillar of Japan’s nationalist ideology, and it has provided an important focus of Japanese national identity. Although the notion of unique kokutai contributed to the derailing of democratization in the early twentieth century, the imperial institution was adapted to the postwar era of democracy, and it continues to serve today as a focus of national identity in a democratic Japan.

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The horizontal dimension: the evolution and the limits of a democratic identity The “horizontal” dimension of national identity refers to how a nation views the outside world and how that perception ref lects upon the nation’s understanding of itself. Until fairly recently, the Japanese tended to understand the international environment in a vertical rather than a horizontal manner and to assess the posi­ tion—or status—of Japan within this hierarchical context. Partly, this may be a result of the outward projection of the predominantly hierarchical character of human relationships in traditional Japanese society.10 But this was also con­ ditioned by the actually hierarchical character of international relations in East Asia—both under the Chinese world order and then in the context of the mod­ ern international society centered around the West. For Japan throughout much of the modern era, the “horizontal” dimension of national identity concerned first and foremost the question of how Japan would improve its international status by positioning itself in relation to the dominant Western powers and to the dominant values of the international society. Except for a relatively brief period from 1931 to 1945, Japan has sought to improve its international position and to assert its identity in a manner that is compatible with the dominant values of international society. The development of constitutional politics in Meiji Japan was an attempt to establish Japan’s iden­ tity as a “civilized nation,”11 while “Taishō Democracy” was in an important sense Japan’s answer to Wilson’s attempt to reform the international order in a more liberal direction.12 Japan’s desire to occupy a respectable position in inter­ national society thus stimulated the development of constitutionalism in prewar Japan. Japan’s socialization into the Western-dominated international society was facilitated by the position that Japan had occupied in the premodern East Asian order. Because Japan in the premodern era found itself on the periphery of another great civilization (i.e. China) and was used to foreign borrowing, it did not pose too difficult a problem for Japan’s emerging national identity to import Western technology, institutions, and ideas.13 Throughout much of the modern era, Japan sought to improve its interna­ tional standing and to sustain a favorable national identity through a strategy captured in the slogan of datsu-a nyūō, or “exit from Asia, entry into Europe.” In the language of social identity theorists, Japan adopted the strategy of “social mobility,” or “moving from [what was considered] a lower-status group to a higher-status group.”14 Yet, while Japan was in some sense successful in “exiting from Asia,” “entering Europe” was difficult at a time when racial and religious differences constituted higher barriers than they do today. Thus, starting in the 1880s, Japan also developed an identity of being “the leader of the Orient.” Until the 1920s, this alternative definition of national identity was compatible with the development of constitutional government and with movement toward democ­ racy. Yet in the 1930s, when the relationship between Japan and the Western powers deteriorated, Japan came to see itself as leading a struggle of the East

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against Western dominance. Democracy, liberalism, and individualism were rejected as incompatible with Japanese identity.15 Following its defeat in WWII, Japan once again faced an international envi­ ronment in which domestic political change was required for the purpose of improvement of international status. Since Japan’s reckless expansionism was seen as inseparable from its undemocratic political regime, building a democratic political system was a condition for Japan to be allowed back into international society. In the Preamble to the Constitution, the Japanese people “pledged [their] national honor” to accomplish the high ideals set out in the Constitution, includ­ ing democracy. Thus, postwar Japan initially faced strong external incentive to make its democracy work, much as did East European states under the EU’s Copenhagen Criteria. With the beginning of the Cold War, it is true that exter­ nal pressure for Japan’s democratization weakened somewhat, as Japan was “now counted upon to serve as a bridgehead of democracy, poised to check the inf lu­ ence of communist forces in the Far East.”16 But Japan continued to face a situ­ ation in which maintaining a robust democracy at home was a precondition for international status. From the adoption of the Equal Employment Opportunity Law of 1985 (following Japan’s ratification of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women) to more recent moves to raise awareness on the rights of sexual minorities, the desire to maintain Japan’s good standing as a democracy has contributed to upgrading the quality of Japanese democracy. During the Cold War era, the majority of democratic states were advanced states in Europe and North America. Against this background, Japan’s emer­ gence as an “advanced democracy” assumed the character of another attempt at datsu-a nyūō. This time, entry in the West was easier than in the past, since the East and the West were now defined in terms of political regimes, rather than in racial or religious terms. Naturally, the Japanese continued to feel a sense of affinity toward other countries of Asia. The 1957 edition of Japan’s Diplomatic Bluebook, the first ever issued, listed “maintaining the firm stance that Japan is part of Asia” as one of the “Three Basic Principles of Diplomacy.” The 1958 edition of the Bluebook explained further that “Asia is linked to Japan through deep ties of geographical, historical, and spiritual nature.” From the 1970s to the 1980s, from the opening of diplomatic relations with the PRC until the “Tiananmen Square incident” of 1989, there was a time when opinion sur­ veys showed that the Japanese felt an equally strong “sense of affinity” toward China as they did toward the United States (see Figure 5.1).17 Yet, the basis for the development of Asianism in postwar Japan was rather weak. For one thing, the greater readiness with which Japan was welcomed into the community of “Western” (or rich, democratic) states diminished the psy­ chological need for Asianism for Japan. For another, given Japan’s dependence on the United States in both security and economic affairs and given the nega­ tive regional memory of wartime Japanese domination, there was little room for Japan to opt for “leadership in Asia” at the expense of its relations with the United

National identity and democracy

FIGURE 5.1

83

Japanese citizens’ sense of affinity to foreign countries/regions, 1978–2019.

States (or the West more generally). China proved that its zero-sum approach to thinking about Asian regional identity excluded Japan’s notion of Asianism. Rather than Asianism, Japan promoted economic and political integration in the broader “Asia-Pacific” region. In the 1980s and 1990s, when some Asian leaders (such as Mahathir Mohammed) called for Japan to lead Asia’s economic integration, the Japanese government chose to avoid provoking the United States by taking up the mantle of Asianism, despite the fact that economic friction between Japan and the United States was at its highest pitch.18 Since the end of the Cold War, Japan’s economic relations with Asia have deepened at a rapid pace, with value chains extending across national boundaries and trade with Asian countries now making up more than half of Japan’s for­ eign trade. Another significant change in the post–Cold War era was that, due to cheaper international travel and to increased chances of firsthand experience of foreign countries, the lens of international hierarchy, through which many Japanese used to understand the rest of the world, began to lose its inf luence. Politically, however, growing tension with China and the persistence of historyrelated issues with Korea limited the possibility that Asianism would emerge as a viable option. Today, racial or cultural affinity with Asia seems to play only a marginal role in shaping Japanese attitudes toward other nations. Nor does the nature of political regimes have too much explanatory power. Rather, Japanese sense of affinity toward other states is strongly correlated with the perceived state of Japan’s relation with that country, suggesting a pragmatic, realist approach to foreign relations19 (see Figure 5.2). While the Japanese people appear to be favorably disposed to “friendly” states while unfavorably disposed to “unfriendly” ones, the government under the leadership of Prime Minister Abe Shinzo conducted “value-oriented diplomacy”

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Tadashi Anno

FIGURE 5.2

Democracy scores and Japanese sense of affinity toward various states and regions (2017).

(kachikan gaikō), which rhetorically emphasizes Japan’s allegiance to “universal values” such as freedom, democracy, human rights, and the rule of law and soli­ darity with other countries with which Japan shares such values. While valueoriented diplomacy has often been dismissed as a transparent attempt at normative containment of China, tense relations with a rising China provide only a partial explanation for this policy. The global financial crisis of 2008 aroused the fear among Japan’s policymakers that, due to a major shift in the global balance of power, Japan could no longer take for granted the continuation of a liberal, rulebased international order within which Japan has thrived. Events like Brexit and the coming of the Trump administration have only strengthened this fear. Paradoxically, it appears that the crisis of the liberal international order seems to have strengthened Japan’s commitment to the “universal values” of liberal democracy, at least at the level of diplomatic rhetoric.20 Although the maintenance of a liberal international order may well be in Japan’s national interest, the foundations of “value-oriented diplomacy” remain shaky at the level of national identity. This is because, unlike pacifism, postwar Japan’s commitment to democracy and freedom never became a focal point of Japan’s national pride. Pacifism became an important pillar of postwar Japan’s identity in no small part because it allowed the Japanese to believe that, despite its defeat, Japan still had something valuable and unique to offer to the rest of the world. By contrast, within the community of democracies, Japan was a late­ comer, so democratic identity could not offer the Japanese much as a source of national pride. For this reason, postwar Japan’s democratic identity never gener­ ated a robust policy of democracy promotion comparable to the much-celebrated

National identity and democracy  85

TABLE 5.1 The importance of living in a democratically governed country: Japan and

other advanced democracies Importance of Democracy

Sweden Germany Netherlands Australia New Spain Zealand

1.80% 3.20% Not that important (0–4) 8.80% 11.20% Moderately important (5–7) 88.40% 84.60% Very important (8–10) No answer 0.20% 0.40% 0.70% 0.60% Don´t know Mean score 9.29 8.94

United States

1.40% 3.50%

Japan

0.90%

2.50%

3.40%

13.00%

14.60%

14.10% 21.70% 22.00% 20.70%

79.70%

81.30%

79.00% 74.90% 72.70% 64.40%

0.50% 5.90% 8.87

1.80% 8.83

3.40% 8.73

0.30% 1.80% 1.60% 8.64 8.41

3.40%

11.40% 8.27

Source: World Values Survey Wave 6 (2010–2014).

“peace diplomacy” (heiwa gaikō). The Japanese government in the Cold War era was consistently reluctant to come out clearly in support of pro-democracy movements, whether the matter concerned Hungary, Czechoslovakia, or South Korea. Even in the post–Cold War era, when Japan’s Diplomatic Bluebook declared (in its 1993 edition) that “[l]iberty, democracy, and market economy … are universal values,” Japan’s approach to democracy promotion remained indirect, focused on preparing the socioeconomic or legal-institutional conditions facilitating democracy.21 World Values Survey data for 2010–2014 show that the percentage of Japanese who strongly believe in the importance of living “in a country that is governed democratically” is lower than in many other advanced democracies, which appears to indicate that in today’s Japan, democracy remains less important a part of national identity than is the case in many other Western democracies (see Table 5.1).

Historical dimension: waning memory of WWII Building and sustaining a democratic political system was an essential precondition for postwar Japan to be allowed back into the international society. The desire to maintain a positive national identity in the context of international society has continued to provide an incentive for Japan to maintain and upgrade its democracy. But the need to conform to the international standard and to maintain a positive self-image was not the main driver of democratization in postwar Japan. The successful consolidation of democracy in postwar Japan would not have been possible unless democracy was located organically in the nation’s historical narrative, unless it was embraced for its own virtues. In this

86 Tadashi Anno

connection, it was significant that Japan had, of its own initiative, experimented with proto-democratic politics during the Taishō era, and that, through the sym­ bolic emperor system, democracy was made compatible with what had been the central pillar in Japanese national identity. But the consolidation of democracy was facilitated by the negative experience of war and militarism, which may have served as a functional equivalent of “entrenched and serious conf lict,” identified by some theorists of democratization as a necessary step in the genesis of democ­ racy.22 Democracy was eagerly embraced by a majority of the Japanese precisely because the period of war and militarism had brought suffering and personal degradation to the Japanese—as well as to millions who suffered under Japanese aggression.23 Yet, historical memory concerning Japan’s role in WWII remained divisive, both within the country and internationally. Conservatives depicted Japan as having veered off the mainstream of historical development only since the 1930s, and only under adverse international circumstances. On this basis, they sought to rehabilitate Japan of the Meiji and Taishō eras and to understand postwar Japan as a continuation of the achievements of the recent past. By con­ trast, the left wing, led by Marxists, depicted Japanese history since the 1890s in a negative light and envisioned postwar Japan as a country reborn, based on decisive negation of the entire imperial era. In addition, they rejected the con­ servative government that dominated postwar Japanese politics as an atavistic hangover from the imperial past. The right wing persisted in the view that Japan had fought for the right cause of “liberation” of Asia, though this view remained rather marginal during the Cold War era. Under the strong inf lu­ ence of the left-wing ideology in postwar Japan’s academia and journalism, many Japanese of the postwar era psychologically distanced themselves from the Japanese state—definitely from the prewar state, but also, to a significant degree, from the postwar Japanese state. While the Japanese in the postwar era retained a strong sense of national identity, many hesitated to identify with the Japanese state.24 Instead, they were inclined to seek national pride in sectors such as the economy or culture. The distancing from the state in postwar Japanese national identity also inf lu­ enced the way in which the Japanese remembered the war. In postwar Japan, anti-war sentiments were widely shared, stretching across the progressiveconservative divide. But the memory of war as presented in the mainstream media tended to focus on the suffering of the Japanese, including firebombing of Japanese cities, the dropping of the atomic bombs, rampant cases of starvation among frontline soldiers, etc. Stories of Japanese aggression and atrocities tended to conveniently drop out of sight or be given short shrift.25 A large part of this is no doubt explained by the desire of the Japanese (especially on the conserva­ tive side of the political spectrum) to avoid the discussion of past wrongs. This avoidance was facilitated by the fact that discussion in Japan took place in relative isolation from the outside world, aided by a high language barrier, and by the weakness of regional integration in the Asia Pacific.

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At the same time, the character of Japanese memory was shaped also by the nature of postwar Japan’s national identity. To the extent that many Japanese kept their distance from the Japanese state and to the extent that they saw “ordinary Japanese” as victims who were simply “visited with the horrors of war through the action of government” (to quote from the Preamble to the Constitution), it was difficult to view the war as something for which the Japanese as a people were responsible. The mainstream narrative in Japan during the Cold War era revolved around the determination “never again to fight a war.” Japan was never to fight, because in a war, ordinary people—ordinary Japanese above all—would suffer, at the hands of their own government. However self-absorbed it might seem, within the limited scope of postwar Japan’s public discourse, such a nar­ rative was embraced in all sincerity, and it did serve to transform an aggressive empire into a peace-loving state. But soon, the Japanese memory of the war was to be shaken up by changes in the environment. The reemergence of history-related issues in Japan’s relations from the 1980s onward had a number of causes. Democratization in authoritarian states such as South Korea, coupled with the loosening of Cold War tensions, opened up new political space, where formerly unheard voices could be aired. The discrediting of Maoism encouraged the Chinese Communist Party to rely increasingly on nationalism to prop up the regime’s legitimacy. The enshrinement in 1978 of the seven class-A war criminals at the Yasukuni Shrine turned Japanese prime minis­ ters’ visits to the shrine into a major diplomatic issue. Japanese newspaper reports on such issues as the contents of Japanese history textbooks and on the so-called “comfort women” issue helped to internationalize these issues. With the eruption of the “history issue,” the debate in Japan concerning the memory of the war was transformed. On the one hand, there was greater atten­ tion to the history of Japan’s aggression and atrocities. But nationalistic outbursts in Japan were also conspicuous. The fact that the question of Japan’s responsibil­ ity for past aggression was being raised anew decades after the war was unset­ tling to many Japanese of the postwar generation, for when faced with criticisms from overseas, they found they could not distance themselves so easily from the Japanese state. The majority simply avoided the issue. Many others acknowl­ edged the record of aggression and atrocities, though often with varying degrees of reluctance and hesitation. A leftist minority, who had distanced themselves from the Japanese state and roundly denounced the postwar conservative gov­ ernment, willingly embraced the criticism and used it as additional ammunition to criticize the government. But there were also those who came out in open defense of the wartime Japanese state, denying that Japan fought a war of aggres­ sion or committed atrocities in its pursuit of war. In my view, this new upsurge of historical revisionism was essentially an attempt to defend a positive self-image of Japan (including the wartime Japanese state) from what was regarded as “attacks” on the nation’s honor. However offensive and misguided, historical revisionism in Japan should not be seen as portending a revival of expansionist nationalism. The history of the past 30 years has undercut the credibility of dire warnings

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along those lines. Yet, to the extent that this revisionism involves denial of past aggression and atrocities, it could not but exacerbate the tensions between Japan and its neighbors and strengthen the already widespread perception of Japan’s “inability to squarely face its past mistakes.” During the 1990s, the Japanese government sought to address some of the contentious problems by issuing the 1993 Kono Statement on the “comfort women” question, the 1995 Murayama Statement apologizing for the damages brought by Japan’s war, and the 1998 Japan-ROK joint declaration, in which Prime Minister Obuchi apologized for Japanese colonial rule. Japan’s apology diplomacy has continued, with prime ministers Koizumi and Abe issuing war apologies on the occasion of the 60th and 70th anniversary of the end of WWII and with Prime Minister Kan issuing an apology on colonial rule over Korea in 2010. But in more recent years, domestic Japanese support for taking addi­ tional measures to resolve issues related to the war has diminished considerably. China’s massive military buildup and increasingly aggressive foreign policy have strengthened the suspicion in Japan that China is utilizing history issues for gain­ ing political advantage. The festering of the “comfort women” issue with South Korea, even after the “final and irreversible” solution was reached at the end of 2015, has exasperated many Japanese. Under President Moon Jae-in, ROK-Japan relations have sunk to new lows not seen since the signing of the ROK-Japan Basic Treaty in 1965. As of this writing, it appears difficult to contain historical controversies within manageable bounds, let alone resolve them.

Conclusion Viewed from a long-term historical perspective, Japan may be regarded as a country which has achieved considerable successes in building democracy, while preserving a distinctive national identity. It is not easy to draw generalizable lessons from Japan’s experience because the success in Japan’s democratization was facilitated by a combination of favorable (and not easily replicated) circum­ stances, including the achievement of national unity at an early stage, the weak­ ness of resistance to importation of Western ideas and institutions, and the fact that the negative experience of military dictatorship prepared the ground for embracing democratic values. Nevertheless, it is worth venturing a few general observations. First, the Japanese case demonstrates that the international normative envi­ ronment can play a significant and positive role in facilitating the process of democratization. During the Meiji and Taishō eras, and again during the post­ war decades, democratization in Japan advanced during those periods when democratization of the domestic political system was considered necessary for improvement in international status. Conversely, during the 1930s, when inter­ national society was split ideologically between democratic, communist, and fascist camps, Japanese politics lost its anchor and drifted toward military dicta­ torship. Even today, peer pressure from other democracies continues to provide

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strong incentives for Japan to keep upgrading its political practices. Democracy, of course, is not a show put on for the enjoyment of international audiences. It is something to be achieved for the benefit of the people themselves. But external incentives could strengthen the hand of pro-democracy forces domestically, and democratic experiment, even if it is carried out as a mere show, might end up creating new constituencies for democratization. At the same time, the case of Japan also illustrates the importance of dem­ onstrating that democracy is compatible with those traditions and institutions which constitute the core of the country’s national identity. In Japan, recon­ ciliation between democracy and national identity required devastating defeat in a total war. Moreover, defeat in the war did not automatically lead to this outcome. A viable solution was found only as a result of determined effort by the Japanese officials to save at least a semblance of continuity of the imperial institution and through the wisdom of the US occupation authorities in allowing its continuation. Obviously, the impact of national identity on Japanese democracy is not all positive. One undercurrent throughout this chapter has to do with the persis­ tence of parochialism in Japanese national identity. Due to its historical develop­ ment on the distant periphery of more advanced civilizations, Japan appears to have developed an intellectual habit of viewing the rest of the world through the lenses of imported worldviews, while keeping Japan itself exempt from wholesale application of universalist thinking.26 This attitude has allowed Japan to f lexibly import technologies, institutions, and ideas from overseas, while preserving a distinctive sense of identity. But it also poses some challenges when Japan seeks to play a leadership role in a diverse and globalized international society, to the extent that Japan itself is treated as a unique country, for there tends to be a gap between Japan’s universalist rhetoric and more parochial domestic practices. Parochialism in national identity may also be a complicating factor in resolving issues related to the history of WWII. Another and related worry concerns the possible impact of rapid demographic changes. Throughout the modern era, Japan has been a prototypical nation-state, a condition which has generally facilitated Japan’s development as a democracy. For the vast majority of Japanese citizens, “the Japanese” (Nihonjin) have been understood not only as a group of people sharing common citizenship. In a country where the vast majority of citizens cannot trace their ancestry beyond the archipelago, “the Japanese” have been understood simultaneously as an eth­ nic group, speaking a national language, and sharing the same “culture.” This dense conception of Japanese-ness was a strong asset which helped in the process of Japan’s nation-building, which in turn provided a stable basis for building a democratic political system. However, this view has made it difficult for Japan to integrate the increasing number of minority population. With the rapidly aging population and with the growing presence of foreign residents in the country, the possibility cannot be excluded that the Japanese polity might at one point be seized by a sense of national crisis, which may arouse xenophobic outbursts.

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How to manage the rapid shift in demography is the key challenge that Japanese democracy faces in the coming decades. The future of democracy is ultimately in the hands of the people in each country. What the international community can do is only to provide a favorable environment. But for this to happen, the “established” democracies must begin by rebuilding their own citizens’ trust in the democratic process by addressing the problems of economic disparity and ideological acrimony that aff lict them. What is needed most is perhaps to recover the sense that, regardless of their many differences, the citizens are involved in a shared project to ensure a better future for the nation as a whole. Only through regaining confidence in democracy at home will the “established” democracies be able to muster the strength, patience, and wisdom required for promoting democracy abroad.

Notes 1 Dunkwart A. Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” Comparative Politics 2, no. 3 (1970), 350–51. 2 Gilbert Rozman, ed., East Asian National Identities: Common Roots and Chinese Exceptionalism (Washington, DC and Stanford, CA: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Stanford University Press, 2012), 9. 3 Sakamoto Takao, Meiji kokka no kensetsu 1871-1890 (Tokyo: Chūō Kōron, 1999), pp. 28–32. 4 Ibid., 22. 5 Sakamoto Takao, Shōchō tennō seido to Nihon no raireki (Tokyo: Toshi Shuppan, 1994). For a contrasting view, see Kevin M. Doak, A History of Nationalism in Modern Japan: Placing the People (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 6 Tadashi Anno, National Identity and Great-Power Status in Russia and Japan: Non-Western Challengers to the International Order (London: Routledge, 2018), 141–42; Sakamoto Takao, Meiji kokka, 132–34. 7 Bitō Masahide, Nihon no kokkashugi: “Kokutai” shisō no keisei (Tokyo: Iwanami, 2014). 8 John Dower, Embracing Defeat: Japan in the Wake of World War II (New York: Norton, 2000), 287–301. 9 Oguma Eiji, Minshu to aikoku: Sengo Nihon no nashonarizumu to kōkyōsei (Tokyo: Shin’yōsha, 2002), 165; Nagai Ken’ichi, et al., eds., Shiryō Nihonkoku kenpō, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Sanseidō, 1986), 296–324. 10 Satō Seizaburō, “Bakumatsu Meiji shoki ni okeru taigai ishiki no shoruikei,” in Satō Seizaburō, et al., eds., Kindai Nihon no taigai taido (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1974), 21. 11 Shōgo Suzuki, Civilization and Empire: Japan’s Encounter with European International Society (London: Routledge, 2009). 12 Mitani Taichirō, Taishō demokurashī ron: Yoshino Sakuzō no jidai, 3rd ed. (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 2013). 13 Marius Jansen, “On Foreign Borrowing,” in Albert M. Craig, ed., Japan: A Comparative View (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979), 18–48. 14 Michael A. Hogg and Dominic Abrams, Social Identifications: A Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations and Group Processes (London: Routledge, 1988), 54–56. 15 Tadashi Anno, National Identity and Great-Power Status, 132–33. 16 “Prime Minister Shigeru Yoshida’s policy speech at the National Diet, delivered on January 26, 1951.” 17 Gaikō ni kansuru yoron chōsa, https://survey.gov-online.go.jp/index-gai.html. But according to another series of surveys conducted by the Jiji Tsūshin Press Agency, the

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20

21 22 23 24 25 26

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Japanese had a more favorable impression of the United States than of China during the same period, with the difference in net favorability (defined as the percentage of people having a favorable view minus the percentage of people having an unfavorable view) between the two countries averaging about 10% during the 1970s and 1980s. See Murotani Katsumi, “Nihonjin no suki na kuni, kirai na kuni,” Chūō chōsahō, no. 575, www.crs.or.jp/backno/old/No575/5751.htm Hatano Sumio, “Nihon gaikō ni okeru Ajiashugi no kinō: Sono hikari to kage,” in Shindō Eiichi, et al., eds., Sengo Nihon seiji to heiwa gaikō (Tokyo: Hōritsu Bunkasha, 2007), 111–19. Data from a 2019 survey on Japan’s diplomatic relations conducted by the Japanese government (https://survey.gov-online.go.jp/index-gai.html) show that the Japanese people’s “sense of affinity” toward key foreign countries and regions (the United States, Russia, PRC, ROK, India, Europe, SE Asia, and Central Asia/Caucasus) were only weakly correlated with widely available democracy scores, such as the Freedom House Democracy scores (R 2 = 0.4492) and the Economist Democracy Index (R 2 = 0.4365). By contrast, Japanese “sense of affinity” toward the five states listed in 2019 was strongly correlated with the percentage of respondents who felt that Japan had “good relations” with that county (R 2 = 0.823). The data for the past ten years show that the average R 2 score for the ten-year period from 2010 to 2019 was 0.8699. Tadashi Anno, “Values in Japanese Foreign Policy: Between ‘Universal Values’ and the Search for Cultural Pluralism,” in Krishnan Srinivasan, James Mayall, Fredrik Erixon, and Sanjay Pulipaka, eds., Values in Foreign Policy: Investigating Ideals and Interests (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2019), p. 20 Michael R. Auslin and Daniel E. Bob, eds., U.S.-Japan Approaches to Democracy Promotion (Washington, DC: Sasakawa Peace Foundation USA, 2017). Dunkwart A. Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy,” 361. John Dower, Embracing Defeat. Murakami Yasusuke, Shin chūkantaishū no jidai: Sengo Nihon no kaibōgaku (Tokyo: Chūō Kōron, 1983), 207–09. James J. Orr, Victim as Hero: Ideologies of Peace and National Identity in Postwar Japan (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), 3. Maruyama Masao, Senchū to sengo no aida: 1936-1957 (Tokyo: Misuzu Shobō, 1976), 132.

6 DEMOCRACY IS MORE THAN A POLITICAL SYSTEM Lessons from South Korea’s democratic transformation Erik Mobrand

An assessment of South Korea’s democratization requires acknowledging juxta­ posing patterns. On the one hand, the shadow of an authoritarian, Cold War state hangs over the country’s politics. State-society relations constructed under deeply illiberal circumstances did not disappear with the transition to democracy. On the other hand, developments in 2016–2017 proved that South Korea’s democ­ racy is among the most resilient in the world. When political institutions failed to prevent the corruption of an insulated elite, ordinary citizens intervened. While “populism” runs roughshod over democratic institutions elsewhere, South Korea’s democracy has demonstrated a capacity to overcome serious challenges. Optimism and a feeling of empowerment pervade the country at this moment, in stark con­ trast to the political gloom found elsewhere. South Korea’s democracy stands out as remarkable, even though there are strong elements of continuity from the past that impose restrictions on which voices gain representation. The lessons from South Korea’s democratization should be framed in terms of an interplay of formal and informal structures. This interplay drives both the problems and successes of the country’s experience. The disjoint between formal institutions and actual political configurations is a prominent theme in leading scholarship on South Korea’s modern political and social transformation. This framing leads to an interlocking set of three lessons from its democratization experience. These lessons relate to authoritarian state-building, the undoing of authoritarianism, and thinking about democracy as more than a set of political institutions.

Authoritarian state-building and its effects The state features centrally in discussions of South Korea’s modernization. It has become widely understood that the state’s control over finance and tools

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of industrial policy were crucial components of a successful industrialization drive.1 South Korea has been singled out in the political economy literature as a prime example of the dynamics of a developmental state.2 In research on South Korea’s democracy, the state’s role in society has also been a focus of attention. This attention has been given especially by leading academics in South Korea, some of whose works have gained less attention in English-speaking circles than at home. A crucial point in this work is that today’s democracy must be understood in the context of country that has experienced decades of authori­ tarian state-building. South Korea’s most prominent theorist of democracy, Choi Jang-jip, is among those who underscore the country’s particular state-building experience. Choi argues that state mobilization connected with the Korean War—and com­ pounded by the Cold War—prevented South Korea from developing political struggles that correspond to class cleavages, as occurred historically in Western Europe. The Cold War environment gave South Korea’s rulers coercive and sym­ bolic resources for demobilizing labor. Any movement that appeared to articu­ late for greater representation for labor, or farmers, could be labeled communist and therefore a threat to national security. The delegitimization of these forms of representation meant the political system did not ref lect class conf licts. The result was what Choi calls “conservative democratization,” a change character­ ized by a shift to democratic institutions without an incorporation of various class views into the formal landscape of representation.3 Pak Chan-pyo has elaborated on the linkages between postcolonial state-building and later democracy.4 The main lesson here is that the early state-building experience is a starting point for analyzing today’s democracy. Cho Hee-yeon, a sociologist who is now superintendent of schools for Seoul, draws attention to state-led mobilization of society in the 1970s as well as to the “monopolization” of power by a social, economic, and political elite.5 The state’s extensive reach in society, and its close ties with big business, meant that power was poorly dispersed across various sectors of society. For Cho, the democratic transition brought an institutional shift that did not automatically address the underlying power imbalances. The work of sociologist Chang Kyong-sup builds on ref lection on both Korean and Chinese societies. Under conditions of a state-mobilized industri­ alization, the state developed a relationship with citizens that diverged from a liberal model. He theorizes the effect as “compressed modernity,” a form that has wide-ranging and enduring impacts, and describes a mode of “developmental citizenship” that came to define the individual’s place in relation to the state.6 While the public order formally adopted the language of a liberal society, the underlying relationship between citizen and state bears little resemblance to ideas of individual rights and equality among citizens. The actual notion of citizen­ ship focuses more on people’s value in relation to mobilization for growth. In this vision, individuals have few intrinsic rights and explicit hierarchies are cre­ ated. Chang argues that South Korea’s contemporary public order should be

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understood in these terms rather than in the terminology of the formal institu­ tional structure. Each of these academics highlights the way that formal democratic institu­ tions today belie or obscure a more complex and historically rooted state-society relationship. A lesson from South Korea, then, relates to legacies of authoritarian state-building, which can be more clearly identified by identifying specific insti­ tutions that were shaped by authoritarian state-building. One set of examples comes from the laws governing elections and political parties. The Republic of Korea was established in 1948, after three years of rule by an American military government. Over the course of the first 15 years of the republic, its rulers increasingly used legal means to control electoral outcomes. In 1958, an election law was passed that imposed strict limits on campaigning.7 Inspired by a militarist-era Japanese election code, the law reduced opportuni­ ties for grassroots candidates and parties to build support. As intended, the law favored the two largest parties, forcing other parties to the margins. This prac­ tice of using campaign regulations to sideline competitors became built into the notion of democracy. When a coup in 1961 put a military junta in power, this pattern was disrupted but only temporarily. Two years later, under the guidance of former general Park Chung-hee, civilian rule returned and with it most of the old constitutional and legal order. The Political Parties Act, introduced by Park in 1963, imposed further restric­ tions on political organizing. It forced parties to have their headquarters in Seoul, to have a presence across the nation, and to remain disconnected from local areas. This law reinforced a practice of parties acting as capital-based cliques of national elites.8 While this law might be dismissed as merely an authoritarian interven­ tion, using law rather than raw coercion to limit the opposition had significant consequences. The disciplinary power of the state was deployed to make people think that party and electoral politics ought to operate in a certain—restricted— way. The law implanted a norm or expectation about how the political sphere should be organized. These are mechanisms for achieving the “conservative democratization” described by Choi. Another example is the election commission, introduced with the first elec­ tions in 1948 and raised to the status of a constitutional body in 1960. In 1963, the junta renamed it as the Central Election Management Commission (CEMC), serving as the overseer of “democracy.” It was infused with an ethos focused nar­ rowly on the bureaucratic operation of elections, while turning a blind eye to whatever the ruling party did. The CEMC demonstrated little interest in foster­ ing or encouraging values of participation or competition. The election commis­ sion’s role was not so much that of f leeting authoritarian manipulation as it was a component of the state that claimed neutrality. For party and electoral politics, the authoritarian state had mixed effects. One was to set the basis for relatively civil electoral politics. In much of East and Southeast Asia, elections have invited widespread irregularities including vote-buying and threats of violence. Such problems have wracked such places as

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Thailand and the Philippines. South Korea’s democratization came without the same development. Others in the region may be envious of South Korea’s elec­ tion commission for its role in ensuring such problems did not emerge or become too widespread. However, this effect also results from a legacy of the state taking over many of the mobilization functions of parties or other electoral actors. The discipline instilled by the election laws and the commission reduced incentives for cheating and increased the penalties if caught. In theory, there is no reason for electoral civility to come at this cost, but in South Korea, such a trade-off can be identified.

Undoing authoritarianism State patterns established under authoritarianism might not simply disappear with democracy. The language of democratization, by placing the analytic focus on the future, privileges a forward-looking view. Democratization, though, is just as much about tearing down authoritarian structures as it is about creating something new. Analysts in South Korea write about “de-authoritarianization” (t’algwŏnwijuŭi, which might also be rendered as “post-authoritarianization”). This term points to the task of undoing authoritarian patterns. This framing immediately raises question: What elements of the prior regime need wiping away? Which elements should be considered authoritarian and which just part of the state? The biggest de-authoritarianizing steps in South Korea occurred with the constitutional revision of 1987–1988, followed by other reforms reaching into the mid-1990s. By those controlling the process, de-authoritarianization was over­ whelmingly imagined as a rolling back of the high tide of repression. The focus was on undoing the most repressive aspects of rule, aspects which had taken form in the early 1970s. Repression had intensified after Park took action in October 1972 to undermine the existing political institutions. Concerned domestically about growing support for the opposition and, given the US struggle in Vietnam, fearing American withdrawal from the regime, Park in essence launched a coup against his own government. In doing so, he followed the example of Ferdinand Marcos, who, three weeks prior, had undertaken a similar measure and had not faced serious repercussions from Washington. Park then unveiled a revised con­ stitution that removed the directly elected presidency, effectively making Park president for life, and raised insurmountable barriers to the opposition gaining control of the National Assembly. Park’s rule became more violent and arbitrary from this point onward. After Park’s assassination in 1979, a protracted coup led to the promulgation of another constitutional revision but one that largely con­ tinued the practices established by Park. General Chun Doo-hwan became the next civilian president. The post-1972 Park and Chun regimes were seen as targets of de-authoritari­ anization. A top priority was reinstating the directly elected presidency. Another was revising the electoral system so that National Assembly elections would be

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fairer. Restoring the political rights of major dissidents was another promise of Roh Tae-woo’s June Declaration of 1987 that paved the way for constitu­ tional reforms. Repression by the state’s coercive apparatuses declined markedly. Security forces were deployed less freely in domestic politics. In a slower and steadier way, the military was removed from political life. Under former opposi­ tion figure Kim Young-sam, military figures were pushed away from electoral politics. There were other elements of authoritarianism that political actors aimed, unsuccessfully, to remove or reform. An example is the National Security Law. Rhee Syngman, the country’s founding president, established the law in late 1948 in order to give the government an extra tool for fighting alleged agents of Pyongyang. It was inspired by the security law that the Japanese had used to control Koreans. As with emergency laws in many US-allied parts of East and Southeast Asia, the National Security Law gave the state enormous unchecked powers for detaining and punishing those suspected of working for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK). The law was frequently used to deal with domestic critics of the regime. In one notorious case, the law was deployed to detain Progressive Party leader Cho Pong-am in 1958, after he had done surprisingly well in the 1956 presidential election. Cho’s party was dismantled while, the next year, Cho was executed. Under Park Chung-hee, especially in the 1970s, the National Security Law was widely used against the population. Dissidents and suspected dissidents were punished harshly. Because the law renders constitutionally guaranteed civil liberties irrelevant, the National Security Law stands in profound tension with the constitution.9 In the late 1980s, there was a debate over the National Security Law. Opposition figures such as Kim Dae-jung advocated that it be overhauled. Proregime elements argued that the law remained necessary and to remove it would endanger national security. Kim’s position lost. A further attempt at abolishing the law in the early 2000s also failed. Conservatives continued to argue that it was necessary, conveniently ignoring how the law had worked in practice. Meanwhile, its use in society did decline—only to grow again in the 2000s. Each year, hundreds continued to be detained under the National Security Law.10 Like the National Security Law, much of the pre-1972 public order remained intact. The directly elected presidency was not a new institution but a return to the past. The 1948 constitution had given the duty to select the president to the National Assembly; Rhee had later introduced direct elections for the presidency in order to free himself from dependence on legislators. The legal infrastructure of electoral politics stayed in place. These include the regulations on election cam­ paigning, the Political Parties Act, and the election commission. Neither during the constitutional reform of 1987 nor in later post-transition administrations did these institutions become targets of de-authoritarianization.11 Democratization was not a re-thinking of the entire state. It was more a matter of removing the most repressive elements, even though this meant leaving much of the authori­ tarian state and the established patterns of state-society relations intact.

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Existing meanings of “democracy” could also be drawn upon in designing the democratic regime. Most prior institutions had been introduced in the name of democracy. The 1948 constitution appears to be a basically liberal document. Yet it was “Cold War liberalism,” in which the criteria for democracy were shallow, that permeated the early order. The security imperative dictated that “democracy” allowed generous exceptions to the upholding of civil liberties. Fighting the scourge of communism justified all sorts of exceptions, because it—rather than dictatorship—was positioned as the opposite of democracy. This logic had a fundamental impact on the normative order and on public ways of talking about democracy. These meanings could be drawn upon during the democratic transition of 1987 and beyond. “Democratization” did not necessar­ ily imply a convergence with forms of rule elsewhere. The single-shot nature of South Korea’s constitutional revision contributed to this form of de-authoritarianization. Roh Tae-woo, the incoming chief of the ruling Democratic Justice Party, announced a program of reform in a way that allowed him to take credit for the opening and set its terms. This move placed him in a good position to win the first open presidential election. The constitu­ tional reform was a negotiation between the ruling party and the existing oppo­ sition, including proxies for the dissidents Kim Young-sam and Kim Dae-jung. The grassroots organizations that had led the demonstrations were excluded from the process. This arrangement might be contrasted with a more protracted tran­ sition like Indonesia’s, where elections were held first, and the resulting assem­ bly was tasked with revising the constitution. Constitutional reform proceeded over years rather than months and involved exhaustive negotiations. While both the Indonesian and South Korean post-transition constitutions were presented as revisions to founding constitutions rather than new constitutions, Indonesia’s was a fundamental departure from earlier versions. In South Korea, the prior­ ity of the parties to the reform process had little incentive to open the political system radically.12 The opposition wanted a chance to win the presidency and gain a majority in the National Assembly. Undertaking deeper reform, especially changes that might open the political system to forces outside the establishment, was not a priority. These continuities became especially apparent with the ascent of Park Geun­ hye to the presidency in 2013. She hired advisers who had been associates of her father, Park Chung-hee, during the 1970s. The intelligence agency became active again in politics, especially in illegally inf luencing the election that Park won in 2012. In her first year in office, she made use of a constitutional clause— written decades earlier—to disband a minor progressive party for posing a threat to the democratic order. Observers described these trends as representing an illiberal turn, and they were based on aspects of the old order that had not been fully removed.13 None of this is to say that the democratic transition produced a regime that was identical to the first civilian Park Chung-hee regime of the 1960s. The dem­ ocratic system became more competitive and more protective of civil liberties

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than ever before. Different parties gained control over government. However, the forces that designed the democratic transition did not fundamentally re­ think the state-society relations that had been built from the late 1940s to the 1960s. Electoral politics—at the core of most understandings of democracy— remained profoundly inf luenced by institutions established earlier and for clearly illiberal purposes. Because de-authoritarianization unfolded this way, the state forms noted by Choi, Cho, and Chang, who are cited above, could remain sig­ nificant past the democratic transition. The lesson here is that democratization was not about creating an entirely new form of rule. This lesson travels well beyond South Korea. While there are many forms that a transition can take, they all involve dismantling parts of the existing order. Any democratization project is also a de-authoritarianizing one. The language of democratization guides our attention away from this element.

Democracy is more than a political system What is most impressive about South Korea’s democracy is not the formal insti­ tutional arrangement but informal engagement by citizens. As disappointing as the party system could be, and as partial as the changes that came with democ­ ratization, many non-professional politicians have continuously challenged the system. This has been true both before and after democratization, and its signifi­ cance is especially clear in light of events since 2016. Demonstrations have historically been crucial to creating political change in South Korea. Any standard history of the country’s democratization makes moments of mass protest the key points in the story. Such stories open with the “April Revolution” of 1960, when students demonstrated against the elec­ toral manipulation and violence of the Rhee regime. That movement suc­ ceeded in toppling the regime. The Kwangju Uprising of May 1980 stands as another key moment, followed by the June Struggle of 1987, the event which prompted Roh Tae-woo’s announcement of liberalization. These movements did not design subsequent institutions, but they provided crucial impetus to change and also a sensibility about the importance of activism for checking government.14 Much of this activism entered the realm of “civil society” after the demo­ cratic transition. Some leading figures formed new political parties but failed to establish an electoral presence. The bifurcation between civil society and politi­ cal parties became a regular feature of politics.15 On the one hand, this structure kept many activists out of the halls of power. On the other, through civil society, people had ways to remind leaders of their presence. Cultures of activism have experienced change. After the democratic transi­ tion, many organizations maintained the confrontational styles of the authoritar­ ian era. Certain labor groups continue to use radical styles, symbols, and slogans. Outside of traditional civil society groups, internet-based activism emerged as a significant political force in the early 2000s, led by individuals who connected to

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each other over the internet through shared concern about specific issues. Such activism became hugely inf luential in specific episodes, often linking eventually with established civil society.16 One of the first major political movements that began on the internet was a group supporting the nomination of Roh Moo­ hyun, a former human rights lawyer on the margins of party politics, for the 2002 presidential election. This group helped catapult Roh to his party’s nomi­ nation, against the odds, and he eventually won the election. Later mobilizations also drew on internet-based activism. The reaction in 2008–2009 to concerns about the safety of beef imported from the United States was another episode. The movement frustrated the Lee Myung-bak administration and set a precedent for future demonstrations. In the Candlelight Movement of 2016–2017 independent activism reached a peak. The movement emerged when a major scandal involving Park Geun­ hye was disclosed in the media. Park had used her official power to help gain privileges and resources for a close friend, who had also been given inappropriate access to decision-making. Political institutions had failed to detect and address Park’s illegal behavior. The episode angered a society that had been grappling with rapidly growing wealth inequality.17 She had now been unmasked as a con­ tributor to the problem of privileged people unfairly ensuring that their per­ sonal networks maintained control over the distribution of wealth and status. Over several weeks, ordinary people gathered in cities to demonstrate peacefully. Following the pattern set in earlier episodes of internet-based activism, they made candles the symbol of their movement. Organized civil society participated, but they agreed to remain largely on the sidelines. Remarkably, and without a great deal of coordination, historic numbers of people joined the weekly demonstra­ tions, calling on the president to step down. The movement remained peaceful. Legislators listened when they voted to impeach the president. In March 2017, the Constitutional Court ruled that Park should be stripped of her office and new elections held. The movement helped to correct a mistake that political institutions had not yet addressed. While democratic liberties were crucial to facilitating this response, the fact that the response was necessary at all suggests that the main political institutions had failed. Ordinary citizens exercising their rights had helped correct the system. It is for this reason that thinking of democracy pri­ marily as a formal system of selecting leaders is of limited value. Such a view does not capture the most impressive elements of South Korea’s democracy. Apart from correcting institutional failings, the Candlelight Movement gen­ erated a feeling of efficacy among ordinary people, especially among young people. The collective effort gave hope that fellow citizens will not tolerate an unresponsive and secretive political elite. Some signs indicate that the gulf between party politics and grassroots activism is being bridged. For example, parties have recruited more members in the wake of the movement.18 Having the example of the Candlelight Movement reminds people—and those in govern­ ment—that mass action can change the course of politics dramatically.

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This development places South Korea at the forefront of democracy globally today. While many countries, including in democracy’s homelands, have strug­ gled with anti-system leaders and the rising power of the far right, South Korea is already fixing a set of serious challenges it has faced. The government elected in 2017, under pressure from the energy of the Candlelight Movement, set out immediately to address the grievances underlying that movement. Priority was placed on reforming parts of the state that had been manipulated, on making the president’s actions more visible, and on developing plans to address rising inequality. That the government set these as priorities follows as much from the popular pressure that had been unleashed in the Candlelight Movement as from the personalities in the administration. South Korea’s recent experience suggests that improvements to democracy come not only from designing and re-designing institutions but also from ordinary people being vigilant in the task of keeping elites in check. While the Candlelight Movement informed President Moon’s agenda, pursu­ ing this agenda has not been easy. In specific areas, the Moon government made great strides. For example, the administration moved swiftly to restore protec­ tions on freedom of speech. The illegal practice of blacklisting artists was aban­ doned. A journalist and producer, Choi Sung-ho, who had been purged during the Lee Myung-bak administration, was appointed CEO of state broadcaster MBC. In these efforts to protect civil liberties, just as in Moon’s adroit handling of American President Donald Trump so that Koreans feel they are more in charge of inter-Korean affairs, the administration has produced an immediate impact. In other areas, Moon finds himself struggling against interests entrenched within the state. Overhauling the prosecution, an institution widely seen as driven by private interests, is proving to be a challenge, despite the tremen­ dous energy devoted to the task. Former heads of the National Intelligence Agency, implicated in illicit meddling in the 2012 presidential election among other indiscretions, are being brought to justice, but there are difficulties in disciplining the broader “deep state.” During the Candlelight Movement, it has been revealed, security forces had planned a violent suppression that would have amounted to a pro-Park coup. The Moon government demonstrates a willing­ ness to address these profound linkages between murky elements of the state and particular interests, but the challenge of doing so is immensely difficult.

Conclusion At an event commemorating the second anniversary of the inauguration of the Candlelight Movement, a representative of the Green Party used the metaphor of tending a garden to capture the conditions for democratic progress. Democracy is not a system that one simply leaves be. Like a garden, it must be continuously managed; otherwise it will not thrive. This apt metaphor offers an important correction to usual ways of thinking about democratization as movement toward

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a self-sustaining “system.” As has become clear globally in the past few years, democracy can be blown in surprising directions. Constant work is necessary to correct mistakes and remind leaders of their duties to people. We can learn from South Korea’s experience the importance of caring for democracy. When wider forces were denied opportunities to contribute, chances for improving the country’s democracy were missed. The constitutional reform of 1987–1988 is the most significant example of such a missed opportunity. Had the main groups in the National Assembly permitted other forces to contribute to constitutional revision, such as by holding fresh elections first or initiating an extended constitutional reform process, then more inclusive political institu­ tions could have been built. The authoritarianism that required undoing might have been imagined differently. When voices outside of mainstream party poli­ tics have been sufficiently loud, politicians have been pressed to respond. This has been the case at a series of major demonstrations, most prominently in the 2016–2017 Candlelight Movement. The lessons outlined here are political rather than technical. That is because improvements to democracy come not from elites tinkering with institutions but from a wide range of civic-minded people taking action. Still, there may be more specific lessons that South Korea has to offer. The impressive record of the country’s civil society has not escaped the notice of neighboring countries. Even in the 1980s, Taiwanese activists marveled at the success of their Korean counterparts. Activists could share their strategies with civil society groups in the region. These would include, for example, strategies for keeping large demonstrations orderly. Lessons of this sort are best explicated by participants themselves.

Notes 1 Woo Jung-en, Race to the Swift: State and Finance in Korean Industrialization (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991); Robert Wade, Governing the Market: Economic Theory and the Role of Government in East Asian Industrialization (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990). 2 Peter B. Evans, Embedded Autonomy: States and Industrial Transformation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995); Atul Kohli, State-Directed Development: Political Power and Industrialization in the Global Periphery (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 3 Ch’oe Changjip [Choi Jang Jip], Minjuhwa ihu ŭi minjujuŭi: Hanʼguk minjujuŭi ŭi posujŏk kiwŏn kwa wigi, rev. ed (Seoul: Humanitʻasŭ, 2005). 4 Pak Ch’anp’yo, Han’guk ŭi kukka hyŏngsŏng kwa minjujuŭi: Naengjŏn chayujuŭi wa posujŏk minjujuŭi ŭi kiwŏn (Seoul: Humanit’asŭ, 2007). 5 Cho Heeyeon, “Democratization as De-monopolization and Its Different Trajectories: No Democratic Consolidation without De-monopolization,” Asian Democracy Review, no. 1, 2012, pp. 5–34; Cho Hŭiyŏn [Cho Heeyeon], Tongwŏndoen kŭndaehwa (Seoul: Humanitasŭ, 2010). 6 Chang Kyung-Sup, South Korea under Compressed Modernity (New York: Routledge, 2010); Chang Kyung-Sup, “Developmental Citizenship in Perspective: The South Korean Case and Beyond,” in Chang Kyung-Sup and Bryan S. Turner, eds., Contested Citizenship in East Asia (New York: Routledge, 2012), pp. 182–202.

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7 Erik Mobrand, “The Politics of Regulating Elections in South Korea: The Persistence of Restrictive Campaign Laws,” Pacific Affairs 88, no. 4, 2015, pp. 791–811; Sŏ Pokkyŏng, “Chehanjŏk kyŏngjaeng ŭi chedohwa: 1958-yŏn sŏn’g ŏbŏp ch’eje,” Sŏn’gŏ yŏn’gu 3, no. 1, Spring 2013, pp. 109–38. 8 Sŏ Pokkyŏng, “Han’guk chŏngch’i kyŏlsa chehan ch’eje ŭi yŏksajŏk kiwŏn,” Tonghyang kwa chŏnmang, no. 90, 2014, pp. 120–52. 9 Cho Kuk, “Tension between the National Security Law and Constitutionalism in South Korea: Security for What?” Boston University International Law Journal 15, no. 1, 1997, pp. 125–74. 10 Yu Chongsŏng, “Han’guk minjujuŭi wa p’yohyŏn ŭi chayu: ‘chayu minjujuŭi’ ŭi wigi,” Tonghyang kwa chŏnmang, no. 90, 2014, pp. 9–44. 11 Erik Mobrand, “The Politics of Regulating Elections in South Korea”; Erik Mobrand, “Limited Pluralism in a Liberal Democracy: Party Law and Political Incorporation in South Korea,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 48, no. 4, 2018, pp. 605–21. 12 Bruce Cumings, “The Abortive Abertura: South Korea in the Light of Latin American Experience,” New Left Review, no. I/173, February 1989, pp. 5–32. 13 Yu Chongsŏng, “Han’guk minjujuŭi wa p’yohyŏn ŭi chayu.” 14 Sunhyuk Kim, The Politics of Democratization in Korea: The Role of Civil Society (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2000). 15 Choi Jang Jip, “Democratization, Civil Society, and the Civil Social Movement in Korea: The Significance of the Citizens’ Alliance for the 2000 General Elections,” Korea Journal 4, no. 3, Autumn 2000, pp. 26–57. 16 Yoo-Young Chang and Won-Tae Lee, “Cyberactivism and Political Empowerment in Civil Society: A Comparative Analysis of Korean Cases,” Korea Journal 46, no. 4, 2006, pp. 136–67; Kim Hyejin, “Online Activism and South Korea’s Candlelight Movement,” Made in China 3, no. 3, July–September 2018, pp. 86–89. 17 Kim Hyejin, “‘Spoon Theory’ and the Fall of a Populist Princess in Seoul,” Journal of Asian Studies 76, no. 4, November 2017, pp. 839–49. 18 Koo Sejin, “Can Intraparty Democracy Save Party Activism? Evidence from Korea,” Party Politics online first, 2018, pp. 1–11. DOI: 10.1177/1354068818754601.

7 LINKING INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL ENEMIES Impact of national identity on Chinese democratization and foreign relations Yinan He

Since Xi Jinping formally ascended to power in 2013, China has been f launting its superior “China model” to the rest of the world more actively than ever before. The official media have published numerous articles with such eye-catching titles as “Establishing the Chinese Coordinates for Democratic Politics,”1 “China Is the Real Biggest Democratic Country in the World Today,”2 and “The Special Form and Unique Superiority of Our Socialist Democratic Politics,”3 creating an aura of China being a well-established, exemplary democracy. Yet to qualify as a true democracy, a country needs to endorse democratic political procedures—e.g. free and fair elections, broad civil rights, and leaders’ accountability—that embody the fundamental tenets of democracy that all men are created equal and that sovereignty lies with the people. Those who are sup­ posed to be equal and hold popular sovereignty should include all nationals liv­ ing in a country, regardless of their ethnicity, religion, and political persuasion. In other words, the national identity definition of who is the national self, “the People,” vis-à-vis the others who do not belong to the nation, is closely tied to the extent to which democratic rights are enjoyed by average citizens. An accommo­ dative, inclusive conception of the self-other boundary will allow the vast majority of the population to exercise sovereignty in the governance of the country, while a narrow and discriminative self-other delimitation depriving sizable segments of the society of national membership will not only encroach on the rights of individual citizens but also produce a culture of prejudice and intolerance that runs counter to democratic values of equality, diversity, and justice. In this sense, China since modern times has not seen genuine democratization. For China, this period of more than a century is a nation-building process, starting with, first, the stage of nation-seeking (to establish an autonomous national polity), then entering the second, and current, stage of nation-pro­ moting (to nationalize an existing polity).4 During this history, especially when

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facing severe domestic challenges, Chinese elites frequently aroused internally exclusionary nationalism for social mobilization and power consolidation, with the goal of “building group cohesion and group loyalty for purposes of interna­ tional representation and domestic planning,” an essential condition for nationbuilding.5 Depending on the domestic enemies identified at different times in the Chinese national identity conception, various ethnic, socioeconomic, politi­ cal, and religious groups were denied equal rights and popular sovereignty. Additionally, from time to time, this domestic exclusion in Chinese identity politics was linked to attitudes to foreign others. Mobilization of anti-foreign national identity was unnecessary when the target of internal othering could arouse a sufficient public echo. But when vilifying domestic adversaries was either emotionally unappealing or politically inconvenient, Chinese elites would reinforce it with a nationalist crusade against foreign countries to generate a legitimatory narrative for securing power. Thus, national identity has exerted a significant impact on both the Chinese domestic political trajectory and foreign relations. This is not to refute the fact that Chinese elites since the late 19th century have almost all espoused the pursuit of democracy, and some of them made seri­ ous attempts at dismantling China’s long-standing authoritarian tradition and institutional structure. Democracy had its opportunities in modern China. Yet, every time, such opportunities and good intentions were stymied by an exclu­ sive interpretation of national identity in service of the power struggle aimed at nation-building.

Late Qing anti-Manchuism: racial or political revolution? China at the turn of the 20th century was in a profound national crisis, which prompted elites of various strands and persuasions to search for national salva­ tion. Many of them believed a lack of national cohesion was the primary cause of China’s decline and failure in the face of Western imperialist aggression. As Sun Yat-sen said, “the Chinese are like a sheet of loose sand.”6 To strengthen national unity one must know the self-other boundary because, as one intellectual famously put it, nationalism means to build a nation-state premised on “uniting the same race and othering the other races [he tongzhong, yi yizhong].” 7 In the late Qing, the elite conception of race and identity suggests two possible national others for defining what it meant to be Chinese. The first is obviously the impe­ rialist powers. The second is China’s ethnic minorities, including the Manchus, Tibetans, Mongols, and so on. On the one hand, most Chinese nationalists were ambivalent about the pow­ ers. Although popular hatred toward foreigners sometimes turned into extreme xenophobia, such as in anti-missionary incidents and, most strikingly, the 1900 Boxer Rebellion, Chinese elites largely disapproved of such “blind,” “bar­ baric” anti-foreignism that would not drive out foreign imperialists but only provide them with the excuse to invade China. Yan Fu once reproached that

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each and every move made by those “ignorant masses” was enough to bring about disaster to the nation.8 Meanwhile, many in the Chinese elite were steeped in modern political thought imported from the West. Liang Qichao, a prominent reformer, was a forerunner in enlightening his countrymen about democracy and civil liberty. He criticized China’s traditional political system that bestowed supreme power on the monarch while the people had no rights but only obliga­ tions to the state. His ideal state followed “new Western thought” that took the citizens as the principal of the state and the government, including a monarch, ruled only with citizens’ consent.9 Juxtaposed to Liang were Sun Yat-sen and his revolutionary comrades, who sought to overthrow the Qing monarchy and replace it with a republican government. But when proposing his well-known “Three Principles of the People” [sanmin zhuyi]—nationalism, democracy, live­ lihood—for the first time in 1905, Sun too cited “the progress of Europe and America” to prove his theory.10 On the other hand, the late Qing elites were widely split regarding whether Chinese nationalism should be inclusively or exclusively defined vis-à-vis domes­ tic others. The reformers argued that all ethnicities in China should jointly coun­ ter the country’s immediate external threat. Liang Qichao was celebrated for having coined the term Zhonghua minzu [Chinese nation], which would incor­ porate all the people living in the empire (albeit with a sense of racial hierarchy of Han versus non-Han), organically amalgamated into one unified nation.11 In contrast, the revolutionaries identified the Manchus, who were the ruling race of the Qing Empire, as the primary national enemy because of not only their alien heritage but also their brutal conquest of the Han in the 17th century and more than 260 years of misrule. While the reformers warned that anti-Manchuism would cause national fragmentation, the revolutionaries insisted that China was carved up because the Manchus were acting as a pawn of the imperialists to sell out national interests. The revolutionaries therefore called for a racial revolution to exclude the Manchus from a new China. Admitting that the racial revolution was aimed at avenging the Manchu evil, the revolutionaries nevertheless claimed that eventually they wanted to solve political problems. Sun Yat-sen promised that “When we overthrow the Manchu regime, we will achieve not only a nationalist revolution against the Manchus but also a political revolution against the monarchy.”12 Sun’s close protégé Feng Ziyou once offered a metaphor that nationalism to democracy is like f lowers to fruits; the two were symbiotic and inseparable.13 At the same time, how­ ever, Sun did not hesitate to employ racially charged language in revolutionary mobilization because to include all Qing subjects in a new China as the reform­ ers advocated would have “nullified the very foundation of his revolutionary activism—the overthrow of the Manchu dynasty.”14 Having carefully thought over the best propaganda strategy to mobilize revolution, Sun settled down on the term paiman [expel the Manchus] believed to have the power to “shake the Qing court and sweep the whole country.”15 The fact that, after the Qing court was overthrown in the 1911 Xinhai Revolution, Sun and his comrades quickly

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embraced a multiethnic republic speaks volumes about the instrumentality of their racial discourse. But when it was in vogue, anti-Manchuism was so remark­ ably attractive to the masses that it became a “religion without reason.”16 After all, it is violence and emotions, not reasoning, that propels a revolution. Precisely because it appealed to extreme emotions, not cool-headed reasoning, anti-Manchu propaganda in practice often sounded like a declaration of war on all ethnic minorities. The manifesto issued by the Wuchang revolutionary army in October 1911, for instance, not only vehemently denounced the Manchus but also hurled sweeping insults at the Mongolians, Hui, and Tibetans.17 It was there­ fore not surprising that Tibet, Mongolia, and various parts of the former Qing frontier regions quickly seceded from the new republic as they never felt included in the nationalist vision of the revolutionaries. This heavy reliance on stirring up racial sentiment for mass mobilization severely hampered the revolution’s political programs. Right before the repub­ lican government was set up, on December 26, 1911, Sun Yat-sen pledged that the revolutionaries’ responsibility would not end with nationalism but rather with democracy and livelihood; “the former is the starting point while the latter is the fundamental objective.”18 However, when examining this history retro­ spectively, Dai Jitao believed that the political revolution was almost completely eclipsed by the racial revolution. To him, sanmin zhuyi at the time degener­ ated into yimin zhuyi [one people’s principle], and even “an incomplete yimin zhuyi,” whereby “anti-Manchu revengism became the entirety of the princi­ ple of nationalism and the compulsive subject for teaching the revolutionaries, while the principle of democracy ended up being an elective, and the principle of livelihood merely an extracurricular seminar.” “Therefore, we defeated the Manchus but lost the revolution, and the ultimate fruits of the revolutionaries were ruined,” regretted Dai.19

Early republic: from republicanism to anti-imperialist nationalism Racial nationalism faded after the Xinhai Revolution. The political discourse of the revolutionaries-turned Nationalists, named after the newly established Nationalist Party (KMT), included such keywords as constitution, parliament, democracy, and republicanism. But their pursuit of democracy through wider political participation and decentralization of state power was soon thwarted by Yuan Shikai, a former Qing politician and firm believer in centralized power. After Yuan died in 1916, China was deeply fragmented as many of his former subordinates and military governors of various provinces vied for power. To strive for the republican vision, during 1917–1922, the Nationalists engaged in a Hufa Yundong [Constitution Protection Movement] based in southern China. Vowing to preserve the Provisional Constitution promulgated by the first repub­ lican government in 1912 and reconvene a legal parliament, Hufa was directed at not only the so-called Beiyang warlords in the north but also the southern

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militarists, who nominally supported Hufa but cared more about keeping the territories under their control than republicanism. The Nationalists, however, failed to popularize and legitimize the Hufa cause as a mobilization campaign. Exclusively focusing on domestic others from the Han race was far less emotionally stimulating than the racial hatred spread by the anti-Manchuism of the late Qing. Meanwhile, without a thorough shakeup of the old political order, the Xinhai Revolution had only planted shallow roots of Western liberal democracy in Republican China. The public was also confused by the rhetoric of the warlords, whose autocratic governance was often dressed in the language of democracy and constitutionalism. Lacking military strength and political inf luence compared to the warlords, the Nationalists were seen as “mobs” and “rebels” for a long time. In terms of foreign relations, as the country was beset by internal strife, local political actors sought foreign arms and financial backing to maintain their ter­ ritorial control, in exchange for which they conceded privileged interests to foreign patrons. The Nationalists might be more critical of foreign infringement on Chinese sovereignty rights than the warlords, especially after the outbreak of the anti-Japanese May 4 Movement in 1919, but they too actively searched for foreign sympathy and assistance to their nationalist cause, for the sake of which they typically acquiesced to imperialist oppression. Hopes for Western support, however, were dashed in Sun’s clash with the foreign controlled Guangdong customs in 1923 and in the riots of Guangzhou’s merchant militia in 1924, which he believed was propped up by “British imperialism.” Meanwhile, Sun’s mili­ tary campaign against the northern enemies suffered repeated setbacks, includ­ ing a coup staged by his own southern ally Chen Jiongming in 1922. More than ever, Sun awakened to the importance of ideological propaganda. “Propaganda is gongxin [psychological offense],” realized Sun in January 1923, “If our party can win the hearts and minds of the 400 million Chinese people through propa­ ganda, it would be a great success.”20 Since the principles of democracy and livelihood of sanmin zhuyi were relatively inaccessible for ordinary people, pro­ moting the principle of nationalism was central to such propaganda. Like the anti-Manchuism that successfully aroused mass fervor against the ethnic enemy from within, this time Sun discovered a new national other from without that captured the imagination of the nation: foreign imperialism. Reorganized with Soviet advice, the KMT held its First National Congress in January 1924, which for the first time formally urged the abrogation of all une­ qual treaties imposed by imperialist powers.21 In September, the KMT further declared that “previously our revolutionary slogan was to expel the Manchus; now we change it to ‘down with imperialist intervention’ so as to eliminate the biggest obstacle to the success of our revolution.”22 An externally directed nationalist ideology could not only bring the urgently needed material aid from Moscow but also delegitimate the warlord adversaries and win support from the Chinese people. The political prestige of the Nationalists then received a signifi­ cant boost after the eruption of the epic May 30 Incident in 1925, triggered by a

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British police massacre of Chinese protestors in Shanghai. The Nationalists and their Communist allies (CCP, the Chinese Communist Party) quickly seized the propaganda initiative and prevailed in a nationalist bidding war against the Beiyang government. They also launched the Guangdong-Hong Kong General Strike that lasted 16 months and badly damaged British trade. With the May 30 cause, the KMT firmly linked imperialist aggression with domestic war­ lords and openly called for overthrowing both in a grand nationalist revolution. Riding on the wave of anti-imperialism, the party successfully built up momen­ tum for an ambitious northward military campaign starting in summer 1926, the Northern Expedition, to reunify the country. Adopting an anti-imperialist identity does not mean that the Nationalists were completely antagonistic vis-à-vis foreigners. Like the warlords who were backed up by foreign powers, the Nationalists also accepted Soviet help in the early stage of the expedition. Additionally, regardless of their fervent rhetoric, in practice, Nationalist leaders exercised great caution in averting direct conf lict with the powers lest they incur external intervention detrimental to the mili­ tary campaign. The Northern Expedition never expanded its targets to anyone beyond domestic warlords, and Commander-in-Chief Chiang Kai-shek went to great lengths to reassure the powers that he would not upset the status quo of foreign interests in China by force. Precisely because it was mobilized by an anti-foreign national identity, the nationalist revolution in the late 1920s concentrated on liquidating domestic enemies and establishing a strong central government that could withstand for­ eign threats. It was, however, minimally attentive to a democracy-promoting agenda. Drawing support mostly from the landed gentry and urban bourgeoisie that were politically conservative, the KMT formally split up in 1927, in the middle of the Northern Expedition, with the CCP, which wanted to incite a proletarian mass movement. The violent suppression of the Communists not only stripped dissident groups of their political rights but also hindered the devel­ opment of labor rights and peasants’ welfare that had been envisaged in Sun Yat-sen’s principles of democracy and livelihood. Furthermore, before being replaced by the Communist-led People’s Republic of China (PRC) in 1949, vari­ ous Republican-era regimes at different times had promulgated three provisional constitutions, three constitutional drafts, and two constitutions. Yet no genuine parliament was ever put in place to execute the sovereign power of the state or implement democratic values and procedures.23 Nor were the equal rights of ethnic minorities upheld in the nation-building project of Republican China. When the Manchu rule collapsed, to stop the empire from falling apart, many formerly ardent anti-Manchu revolutionaries switched to the idea of wuzu gonghe (Republic of Five Races) that highlighted multiethnic integration. Sun Yat-sen probably never genuinely accepted wuzu gonghe because, from the first day in office, he pledged to achieve “minzu zhi tongyi [national unity] by uniting Han, Manchus, Mongols, Hui and Tibetans into one.”24 But wuzu gonghe was so popular among Chinese elites at the time,

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including the gentry and many former officials, that he initially was compelled to go along with it. But when reframing sanmin zhuyi [Republic of Five Races] in 1919, Sun began to openly reject wuzu gonghe.25 He later commented that ethnic minorities were too weak to defend themselves against foreign aggression, so the much stronger Han must help them by “melding all ethnicities in China into a single nation called Zhonghua minzu,” and it should be “a nation completely of the Han race.”26 In 1924, Sun ordered the lowering of the five-color f lag, sym­ bolizing the harmony between five ethnicities of Han, Manchus, Mongols, Hui, and Tibetans, and raised instead the “Blue Sky White Sun” f lag that indicated a united citizenry.27 The Nationalist government in general took an assimilationist approach to ethnic minorities, which left little room for cultural diversity and political autonomy of non-Han ethnic communities.28 In the name of strength­ ening ethnic unity to counter foreign others, therefore, the democratic rights of minority people were sacrificed.

The anti-Meidi campaign and establishment of the Democratic Dictatorship of the People under Mao When the Chinese Communist Revolution, after decades of armed struggles in remote countryside, swept into major urban centers in its final stage in the late 1940s, its leaders were confronted with a far more complex task of social mobili­ zation and nation-building. Open or latent opposition was common among prior elites, and the poorly educated, politically numb populace was non-committal about the socialist future envisioned by Mao Zedong. To quickly reshape the political landscape and gain national endorsement of the new regime required not simply coercive subjugation but also ideological persuasion. The centerpiece of the new national identity discourse was a fervent repudiation of foreign impe­ rialism, which resonated more strongly than Marxist theories of class struggle and historical development. By invoking the shared, traumatic memory of for­ eign aggression since the 19th century, Communist propagandists exhorted the Chinese people to identify themselves with the government that promised to stand up against imperialism. This nationalist propaganda centered on attacking “American imperialism” [Meidi]. After entering the Korean War in October 1950, Beijing engaged in a rigorous, sustained “Resist America Aid Korea” [RAAK; kangMei yuanChao] movement that demonized the United States for both its past aggression and pre­ sent crimes and its pernicious social and political system. In particular, a nation­ wide campaign of sanshi (three ways of viewing [America]) was launched, which called upon every patriotic Chinese to “hate America” because of its continuously “aggressive policy” to China since the Opium War; to “despise America” because of its corrupt, decadent capitalist system, sham democracy, and military expan­ sionism; and to “scorn America” because it was merely a paper tiger despite its proclaimed military superiority.29 Labeling the United States “the deadly enemy of the Chinese people” and “the headquarters of reactionary degeneracy in the

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whole world,” sanshi set the extreme tone of China’s anti-Americanism through­ out the Korean War. This saturating, hysterical “Hate America Campaign”30 was even more virulent than China’s anti-Japanese nationalism thus far, which was rare for a nation whose traditional philosophy favored the Doctrine of the Mean; it also deprived Beijing itself of diplomatic ambiguity and latitude in dealing with the United States. Enmity toward America was deliberately fomented, not simply or primarily for war mobilization, but more importantly to justify and reinforce a succes­ sion of massive political campaigns at home, such as the land reform [tugai] and suppression of counterrevolutionaries [zhenfan], which would otherwise be too hard for the nation to swallow. Since these political campaigns promised to dis­ mantle the deeply entrenched socioeconomic foundation, rash execution would risk disrupting economic reconstruction and alienating the propertied class and a broad range of elites associated with it, whose cooperation the young PRC sorely needed. In its initial months, the Communist government was forced to proceed slowly and cautiously with tugai and zhenfan. But from the outset, it was clear that collaboration with non-proletarian classes was a political expe­ diency. The PRC would eventually eliminate land tenure, private ownership, and “all forms of exploitation,” before entering socialism. Once the war with the United States began, popular persuasion and mobilization were rendered much easier by the war and the accompanying anti-American clamor. It was no coincidence that on October 10, 1950, just two days after deciding to send troops to Korea, the CCP initiated nationwide zhenfan, or that from November Mao urged the acceleration of tugai. In fact, the war decision itself was in large part motivated by Mao’s desire to push forward his “grand programs for carry­ ing on the Chinese revolution.”31 Mao reportedly told Luo Ruiqing, minister of public security, not to miss the “golden opportunity” afforded by the war to suppress the counterrevolutionaries.32 At the leaders’ bidding, zhenfan embarked on “harsh strikes” in spring 1951, and big cities like Beijing, Shanghai, Tianjin, and Nanjing endured the heaviest impact, where swift and unified actions were taken to make massive arrests and executions. Mao himself estimated that about 700,000 people were killed and another 2.4 million imprisoned or subject to control during zhenfan.33 In the countryside, arrests, executions, and torture of landlords soon became unchecked. Originally scheduled to last for three to five years from 1950, by September 1951, tugai had concluded for the vast majority of the rural population, and the deadline for completion was advanced to spring 1952.34 Additionally, under the banner of “increasing production and practicing economy” to aid the war, in late 1951, the CCP introduced the Three Antis [sanfan] campaign, mainly to discipline cor­ rupted party cadres. But it quickly expanded into Five Antis [wufan], to combat economic crimes committed by the capitalists who were accused of endanger­ ing the Chinese forces fighting in Korea. When wrapping up wufan in June 1952, party leaders minced no words that the principal domestic contradiction now existed between workers and capitalists. Also pressed hard in this socialist

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revolution were Christian institutions and bourgeois elites, who were prodded to sever their ties with foreign imperialism. Meanwhile, former government per­ sonnel and intellectuals inherited from the KMT era also had to undergo strin­ gent vetting, and ideological rectification stepped up in the fields of literature, art, and education. In 1952, thought reform merged with sanfan and wufan to thoroughly remove “bourgeois mentality” among intellectuals, particularly their pro-Americanism. College teachers must “take a bath” [xizao], meaning thought cleansing, before they could “pass through the gate” [guoguan].35 French Revolution activists liked to unite the French nation, republic, and revolution into a sacred trinity and declared an implacable antagonism between two French peoples: the mass of citizens loyal to the trinity and a “pack of fac­ tious traitors and intriguers” against it.36 Likewise, during the Korean War, land­ lords, capitalists, and other “bad” elements in China were portrayed as agents of foreign imperialism and, therefore, the worst enemies of not just the state and its revolution but also the Chinese nation; they were demonized as “non-People.”37 Additionally, like the notion of a “grand conspiracy” that prevailed during the French Revolution, “wherein all threats were viewed as part of a monolithic master plan, directed from a single source,”38 any persons deemed disloyal to the Communist regime were framed as “lackeys” or “worshippers” of Meidi, emboldened by its Korea intervention to level assaults at the new China. Thus, fierce domestic struggles mobilized by the urgency to repel Meidi effec­ tively eradicated the Communist regime’s internal enemies and established a highly centralized political structure. The state now claimed to have successfully built a democracy, where “the People” [renmin] who were supportive of the socialist revolution enjoyed individual freedom and equality, while the “nonPeople” who were against it would be subject to the Democratic Dictatorship of the People [renmin minzhu zhuanzheng]. First written into the PRC’s constitution in 1954, to the present day, the concept of the Democratic Dictatorship of the People continues to provide the legal basis for denying democratic rights to a significant portion of the Chinese population who dissent from the state. It also acts as a coercive deterrent to those members of “the People” sympathetic with the dissidents and undermines the political freedom of the entire nation.

Post-Mao era: resurgence of anti-Westernism and resistance to democratic transition Mao died in 1976, which brought the disastrous Cultural Revolution that he launched in 1966 to an end. The immediate political goals of the new leader, Deng Xiaoping, in the 1980s were to restore the people’s trust in the CCP and consolidate his own power base within the party, both crucial to implementing his overall strategy of economic reform and his open-door policy. But he soon met challenges from both Chinese society and within the party itself. From late 1978, a Democracy Wall campaign emerged in Beijing, which, starting with sharing experiences of suffering during the Cultural Revolution, soon escalated

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into bold demands for democracy and political freedom. Deng initially tolerated the Democracy Wall, but when the campaign began to question the legitimacy of the reformers like Deng himself, he ordered a crackdown. This, however, did not mollify public resentment about many socioeconomic problems that had cropped up since the reform, including inf lation, official corruption, increasing crime, and industrial pollution. The dismal situation was captured in the remarks of CCP Secretary General Hu Yaobang, who admitted that the party confronted a threefold crisis of faith, belief, and trust in its relations with the Chinese peo­ ple.39 Meanwhile, the intraparty split deepened between reformists like Deng and conservatives, who opposed market reform and the open door permitting the infiltration of dangerous, Western liberal ideas. With the inexorable decline of communism, the government once again resorted to nationalism to enhance internal consolidation and shore up the regime’s legitimacy. From the mid-1980s, Beijing began to foster a mixture of what Michel Oksenberg calls “confident nationalism” and “assertive national­ ism.”40 It was moderate in the economic sphere, acknowledging the importance of Western technology and investment, but rigid and muscular in the ideological and cultural spheres, often using the othering of the Western out-group to glo­ rify the Chinese in-group. The latter became crystalized in several ideological campaigns sanctioned by Deng against liberal-minded intellectuals, including the 1981–1982 attacks on “bourgeois liberalization,” the 1983–1984 campaign against capitalist “spiritual pollution,” and the 1986–1987 renewed campaign against “bourgeois liberalization.”41 The dual nature of official nationalism aimed at raising the national spirit while retaining the economic benefits of the reform and open-door policy. But it also had consequential implications for China’s political path because, by defaming pro-Western Chinese political dissi­ dents, the government effectively dampened societal aspirations for liberalization and democratic changes. The CCP’s prestige further tumbled in the aftermath of its violent suppres­ sion of the Tiananmen democratic movement in 1989. This legitimacy crisis was sharpened by the political turmoil in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe that eventually toppled their Communist governments. Furthermore, post-Tianan­ men Western sanctions accentuated a siege mentality for the party-state. The CCP conservative faction was particularly alarmed by so-called “peaceful evolu­ tion,” through which “reactionary forces at home and abroad” were plotting an active conspiracy to subvert Communist rule in China. The leftist ideologues pushed for a hostile posture against the West, fiercely attacked Deng Xiaoping’s reform and open-door policy, and cried for the strengthening of socialism. Deng eventually prevailed in this debate about China’s national identity with the argument that “peaceful evolution” was not an imminent threat as long as most Chinese people gained material benefits from economic reform.42 Regardless, in exchange for the leftists’ support for his economic programs, Deng continued to keep a lid on political reform. In his famous “southern tour” to revitalize economic reform, Deng stressed anew the necessity to exercise the Democratic

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Dictatorship of the People during economic development to defend the socialist system.43 After the Tiananmen crisis passed, and especially following China’s accession to the World Trade Organization in 2001, its anti-Western rhetoric receded for some time. Through most of the 2000s Beijing was credited for carrying out a “Charm Offensive” to engage international institutions and cultivate foreign friendships. Particularly US–China relations, in Lampton’s words in early 2009, “are more fundamentally sound than they have ever been before.”44 But starting from the end of the decade, China’s attitude toward the West took a significant turn for the worse. This change needs to be, again, understood in the context of China’s national identity politics in response to domestic challenges to the regime. Although boasting a rapid rise in national power, Chinese society under Hu Jintao (in power during 2003–2012) was fraught with disorder and unrest. Generally speaking, there are three categories of internal threats to the partystate. The first category was widespread public resentment about various social problems from environmental degradation to land and labor disputes and the ever-worsening income disparity. The situation was compounded by natural dis­ asters and adverse global economic impact, both at their worst in 2008–2009. As a result, social stability deteriorated dramatically in the 2000s, as borne out in an upsurge of “mass incidents” of social unrest. Accompanying growing social turmoil was the weiquan [rights defense] movement that first started in 2003. Because of its potential to escalate into nationwide political campaigns, weiquan falls into the second category of threats, namely, political resistance. Initially focused on protecting the economic and social rights of individual citizens through litigation, weiquan evolved into a broad citizens’ movement to promote social liberty and rule of law. In 2008, this new wave of social activism converged with liberal intellectuals’ push for political democratization, as signified by the publication of the Charter 08, drafted by China’s most prominent political dis­ sident Liu Xiaobo and other like-minded people demanding political reform in the fashion of Western democracy. The last category of threats is ethnic conf licts on the “volatile periphery” from Xinjiang, Tibet, and Inner Mongolia, to, more broadly defined, Hong Kong and Taiwan, where people increasingly contested the Chinese identity imposed by Beijing. Ethnic unrest, not uncommon in PRC history, now turned particularly frequent and violent, including, most notably, the riots in Tibet 2008 and in Xinjiang in 2009. Of the three sources of threats, the second and third were more dangerous from Beijing’s perspective: isolated cases of social protest were more or less man­ ageable, but cross-regional, organized political movements must be checked at all cost. The lethal blow to authoritarian regimes by pro-democracy movements, often mixing religious and ethnic appeals, was evident in the color revolutions and Arab Spring. The party-state was extremely nervous about the demonstra­ tive and contagious effect of these international events on a discontented Chinese population.45

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Facing aggravating political and ethnic tensions, the Hu Jintao government put great emphasis on an elaborate weiwen [stability maintenance] structure. First built in the 1990s but expanded and strengthened under Hu, this system included prominent party central institutions and drew their personnel mainly from the security and propaganda apparatus. Weiwen practices relied heavily on coercive measures. Coercion alone, however, cannot establish a legitimate order, which has to win the “consent of the governed.”46 Especially if the targets are adversar­ ies of the Party, rather than the nation, repression has weak public appeal. A cam­ paign to uproot these adversaries is more effective if it unites intimidation with persuasion. Indeed, China’s second approach to stem anti-government trend is to dissuade the citizens from emulating democratic movements in other countries.47 The official media negatively framed the West so as to blame domestic instabil­ ity on foreign connivance and to discredit domestic dissidents said to be blindly worshipping Western values and conspiring with foreigners to hurt China. It thus deliberately entangled national othering of both external and domestic enemies. In general, Hu-era national identity discourse embodied two ethnocentric themes regarding the West. The first is the China model rhetoric, through which the government sought to propagate a distinctive economic and political model that is not only separate from but also antithetical to that of the West. The core of the China model was its socialist political system premised on Marxism and the CCP’s leadership, while Western style of democracy was treated as either a sham or a mismatch for China. Enemies in this ideological struggle were not just “anti-China forces” from without but also those Chinese from within who desired to replace the China model with Western democracy. The second ethno­ centric theme in official discourse condemned “foreign hostile forces” for aiding and abetting subversion in order to “Westernize and divide up” the country. If the first theme implied the menace of domestic others, meaning those Chinese inclined to Westernization, the second theme scapegoated both domestic ene­ mies and their foreign supporters for China’s internal problems. One direct target of internal othering is those engaged in ethnic resistance against the Han-dominated state. Although officially the PRC upholds the con­ cept of Zhonghua minzu that includes all ethnic groups living in China, the Han majority dominates the definition of Chinese national identity.48 Since the reform years, this Han-centered assimilationist policy, similar to that of the Republican period, has continued, but state discourse gradually abandoned the others image of ethnic minorities for the sake of ethnic harmony and, more importantly, for securing the periphery. The Hu regime particularly promoted a “unified, mul­ tiethnic Chinese historiography” emphasizing the minorities’ common roots with Han and contribution to the Chinese civilization.49 This official stance precluded straightforward maligning of the entire minority group, who were legally Chinese citizens. The state had to single out ethnic activists for harsh punishment and terrify the rest of the group. To make such “selective blaming” sound more credible, the state tried to prove that those who revolted, not like ordinary minority people, harbored vicious intentions to split up the country,

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and their actions were backed by foreigners who loathed a strong China. So eth­ nic conf lict was typically attributed to Western instigation and patronization, as evident in media slander on “separatist ringleaders” like Dalai Lama and activist organizations like the World Uyghur Congress. Another group deemed to be domestic others includes liberal intellectuals and weiquan activists. They could not easily be branded as national enemies, either. The government itself used the phrase “contradictions among the people” to describe rights disputes, not “contradictions between enemies and the people,” political language inherited from the Mao era to differentiate non-principal and principal adversaries. To criminalize those who vowed to protect the weak and deprived would run counter to Hu’s own salute to “people-centered” gov­ ernance. If neither the state nor the public could be faulted for the agonizing social problems, the “backstage manipulator” had to be found from the outside. So, in the same way that ethnic activists were maligned, those who advocated human rights and democratic changes, such as the Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo, were denounced as saboteurs on behalf of Westerners. Overall, in today’s China, a regime-toppling color revolution engineered by the West was an overstated threat. What the party-state feared more was not “subversive activities” of Westerners, but the spread of Western values through numerous channels such as the thriving external commercial ties, massive out­ f low of Chinese students and tourists, and foreign cultural products f looding the country. Unless China reverses its open-door policy and exits the globaliza­ tion tide, it cannot completely shut out Western inf luences. The government was, therefore, compelled to rely on a combination of repression and nationalist propaganda to quell domestic resistance and stif le demands for Western-style political changes.

Conclusion As Breuilly says, “Nationalism is a parasitic movement and ideology, shaped by what it opposes.”50 Those being opposed may include both foreign and domestic others who are dissatisfied with the hegemonic definition of the national self. That is why, contrary to the conventional wisdom that nation-building makes all nationals cohere, at times, it “seem(s) to divide the nation on class or party lines.”51 If such internal exclusion encounters no profound objection from the existing social order and power structure, recourse to ethnocentrism is unneces­ sary. Otherwise, elites will likely mobilize an ideological crusade against for­ eigners in order to maintain control and crush internal opposition. Under the current Xi Jinping administration, domestic disunity has only become worse, due to an economic slowdown unprecedented in a quarter cen­ tury; centrifugal tendencies in frontier regions; and exacerbation of popular discontent with social injustice. In response, even more heavy-handed weiwen measures are being practiced than before, and official propaganda bashing the West has carried on. In the so-called No. 9 Document, internally circulated in

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2013, Western democracy and civic values top the Seven Dangers outside the “mainstream ideology” that must be eradicated.52 In 2016, a Swedish human rights activist and his Chinese co-workers were forced to confess on Chinese TV that “Western anti-China forces” used them to attain the goals of “fanning anti­ government and anti-Party sentiment, and deceiving people to disrupt state and social order, thus, changing the social system of China.”53 Furthermore, to quell ethnic separatism, the party-state has in recent years, in the name of an ambi­ tious counter-terror campaign, departed from the “selective blaming” approach by expanding the scope of attack to a bigger part of the minority population. Statistics show that as high as 21% of China’s total arrests for criminal charges in 2017 were made in Xinjiang.54 Additionally, hundreds of thousands of eth­ nic Uyghurs are believed to have been put in so-called “reeducation camps” against their will to undergo “thought transformation” and “career training.” Confronted with intense Western criticism of its violation of human rights in Xinjiang, China’s state media retort that the Westerners are being “arrogant and peremptory,” harbor “malicious intent” toward China, and purposely want China to fail.55 Hence, by encouraging nationalistic sentiment against foreign countries and the Western democratic values that they stand for, Beijing is trying to mask seri­ ous domestic socioeconomic problems and def lect public resentment about its own policy failures. The point is not only to malign democracy-promoting for­ eign media and NGOs, but also to justify political persecution of China’s liberal and ethnic activists who dared to resist the illiberal state. Consequently, instead of offering the world a better model of democracy than that in the West as Xi has promised, pushed by a crescendo of egocentric national identity, China is sliding deeper and deeper into what David Shambaugh calls “hard authoritarianism.”56

Notes 1 Su Changhe, “Queli minzhu zhengzhi de Zhongguo zuobiao,” April 1, 2014, http: //theory.people.com.cn/n/2014/0601/c40531-25091397.html. 2 Han Zhen, “Zhongguo caishi dangjin shijie zuida de minzhu guojia,” November 15, 2017, http://www.qstheory.cn/dukan/qs/2017-11/15/c_1121947684.htm. 3 Fang Ning, “Woguo shehuizhuyi minzhu zhengzhi de teyou xingshi he dute youshi,” November 25, 2018, http://opinion.people.com.cn/n1/2018/1125/c1003-30419616 .html. 4 Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 79. 5 Carl Friedrich, “Nation-Building?” in Karl Deutsch and William Foltz, eds., NationBuilding (New York: Atherton Press, 1963), 32. 6 Sun Zhongshan, Sun Zhongshan quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1982) vol. 9, 185. 7 Yu Yi, “Minzu zhuyi lun,” in Zhang Zhan and Wang Renzhi, eds., Xinhai geming qian shinianjian shilun xuanji (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1960–1977), 1.2: 486. 8 Yan Fu, “Lun Nanchang jiaoan,” ibid., 163. 9 Liang Qichao, “Guojia sixiang bianqian yitong lun,” in Zhang Zhan and Wang, eds., Xinhai geming, vol. 1, no. 1 (1960–1977), 32. 10 Sun Zhongshan quanji, vol. 1, 288.

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11 Liang Qichao, “Lishi shang Zhongguo minzu zhi guancha,” Yinbingshi heji: zhuanji 11.41 (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1941): 1–13. 12 Sun Zhongshan quanji, vol. 1, 324–25. 13 Feng Ziyou, “Minsheng zhuyi yu Zhongguo zhengzhi geming zhi qiantu,” in Zhang and Wang, eds., Xinhai geming 2, no. 1 (1941), 423. 14 James Leibold, “Positioning ‘Minzu’ within Sun Yat-sen’s Discourse of Minzu zhuyi,” Journal of Asian History 38, no. 2 (2004), 176. 15 Liu Chengyu, “Xianzhongli jiude lu,” Guoshiguan guankan 1 (December 1947), 46. 16 Wang Chunxia, “Paiman” yu minzuzhuyi (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2005), 269. 17 Yang Haiqing et al., eds., Xinhai geming xijian shiliao huibian (Beijing: Zhonghua quan­ guo tushuguan wenxian suowei fuzhi zhongxin, 1997), 630. 18 Zhongguo Guomindang zhongyang weiyuanhui dangshi weiyuanhui, ed., Guofu quanji (Taipei: Zhongyang wenwu gongyingshe, 1961) vol. 2, 20. 19 Chen Tianxi, ed., Dai Jitao wencun zaixubian (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yingshuguan, 1968), 430. 20 Sun Zhongshan quanji, vol. 7, 6. 21 Sun Zhongshan quanji, vol. 9, 114–29. 22 Zhongguo Guomindang dangshi shiliao bianzuan weiyuanhui, ed., Geming wenxian (Taipei: 1978), vol. 69, 109–10. 23 Li Liangyu, “Cong Xinhai dao Wusi: Minzuzhuyi de lishi kaoca,” in Liu Qingfeng, ed., Minzuzhuyi yu Zhongguo xiandaihua (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1994), 356–57. 24 Sun Zhongshan quanji, vol. 2, 2.

25 Ibid., vol. 5, 187–88.

26 Ibid., vol. 5, 394, 473–75.

27 John Fitzgerald, Awakening China: Politics, Culture and Class in the Nationalist Revolution

(Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996), 180. 28 Magnus Fiskesjo, “Rescuing the Empire: Chinese Nation-Building in the Twentieth Century,” European Journal of East Asian Studies 5, no. 1 (2006): 15–44 29 Zhonggong zhongyang wenjian yanjiushi ed., Jianguo yilai zhongyao wenxian xuanbian (Beijing: Zhongyang wenxian, 1992), vol. 1, 436–40. 30 United States Department of State, The Hate America Campaign in Communist China (Washington, DC, 1953), 9. 31 Chen Jian, Mao’s China and the Cold War (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2001), 59. 32 Quoted in Yang Kuisong, “Reconsidering the Campaign to Suppress Counterrevolutionaries,” The China Quarterly 193 (2008), 105. 33 Ibid., 120. 34 Zhonggong zhongyang xuanchuanbu bangongting & Zhongyang dang’anguan bian­ yanbu eds., Zhongguo gongchandang xuanchuan gongzuo wenxian xuanbian: 1915-1992 (Beijing: Xuexi, 1996) vol. 3, 291–93. 35 Ibid., 335–38. 36 Clive Emsley, “Nationalist Rhetoric and Nationalist Sentiment in Revolutionary France,” in Otto Dann and John Dinwiddy, eds., Nationalism in the Age of the French Revolution (London: Hambledon Press, 1988), 44; Mona Ozouf, “War and Terror in French Revolutionary Discourse (1792-1794),” Journal of Modern History 56, no. 4 (December 1984), 596. 37 Michael Schoenhals, “Demonising Discourse in Mao Zedong’s China: People vs Non-People,” Totalitarian Movements & Political Religions 8, nos. 3/4 (2007), 465–82. 38 Timothy Tackett, “Conspiracy Obsession in a Time of Revolution: French Elites and the Origins of the Terror, 1789–1792,” American Historical Review 105, no. 3 ( June 2000), 707.

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39 Richard Baum, Burying Mao: Chinese Politics in the Age of Deng Xiaoping (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 91. 40 Michel Oksenberg, “China’s Confident Nationalism,” Foreign Affairs 87, no. 3 (1987): 501–523. 41 Merle Goldman, Sowing the Seeds of Democracy in China: Political Reform in the Deng Xiaoping Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994). 42 Allen Whiting, “Chinese Nationalism and Foreign Policy after Deng,” The China Quarterly 142 ( June 1995): 295–316. 43 Deng Xiaoping, Deng Xiaoping wenxuan (Beijing: Renmin 1993), vol. 3, 379. 44 David Lampton, “The United States and China in the Age of Obama: Looking Each Other Straight in the Eyes,” Journal of Contemporary China 18, no. 62 (2009), 703. 45 Jeanne L. Wilson, “Coloured Revolutions: The View from Moscow and Beijing,” Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 25, nos. 2–3 (2009): 369–395. 46 John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed. by P. Laslett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 47 Karrie J. Koesel and Valerie J. Bunce, “Diffusion-Proofing: Russian and Chinese Responses to Waves of Popular Mobilizations against Authoritarian Rulers,” Perspectives on Politics 11, no. 3 (2013): 753–768. 48 Eelena Barabantseva, “From the Language of Class to the Rhetoric of Development: Discourses of ‘Nationality’ and ‘Ethnicity’ in China,” Journal of Contemporary China 17, no. 56 (August 2008): 565–589; Fiskesjo, “Rescuing the Empire.” 49 Nimrod Baranovitch, “Others No More: The Changing Representation of NonHan Peoples in Chinese History Textbooks, 1951–2003,” Journal of Asian Studies 69, no. 1 (February 2010), 102. 50 John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 396. 51 Ibid., 278. 52 “Communiqué on the Current State of the Ideological Sphere,” https://www.chi nafile.com/document-9-chinafile-translation 53 The Guardian, January 19, 2016. 54 “Criminal Arrests in Xinjiang Account for 21% of China’s Total in 2017,” Chinese Human Rights Defenders, July 25, 2018, www.nchrd.org/2018/07/criminal-arrests-in -xinjiang-account-for-21-of-chinas-total-in-2017/. 55 “Xinjiang zhili de mubiao he shijian doushi Zhengyi,” October 17, 2018, http://opi nion.huanqiu.com/editorial/2018-10/13288619.html. 56 David Shambaugh, China’s Future (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016).

8 ANALYZING THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN IDENTITY AND DEMOCRATIZATION IN TAIWAN AND HONG KONG IN THE SHADOW OF CHINA Syaru Shirley Lin

After 160 years of nondemocratic colonial rule by the British, Hong Kong became part of China in 1997 under a mini-constitution, the Basic Law, that guaranteed a number of democratic civic values and pledged eventual universal suffrage for both the executive and the legislature. Since the handover, there have been protest movements demanding fulfillment of those pledges, led primarily by young people. At the same time, a distinct Hong Kong identity has emerged, again largely among the younger generation. Many who see themselves as Hong Kongers also explicitly add that they are “not Chinese.” There have been par­ allel developments across the Taiwan Strait. Taiwan also experienced colonial rule by the Japanese for 50 years after 1895, until the Chinese Nationalists (the Kuomintang or KMT) accepted the Japanese surrender at the end of World War II. The KMT took over the island and imposed one-party rule and martial law until 1987. In the late 1980s, an intense debate over Taiwan’s national identity, on which the two major political parties, the ruling KMT and the newly legalized Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), took opposing views became an integral part of Taiwan’s struggle for democracy. The development of a new identity in these two regions was inextricably linked to their democratization. Although culturally predominantly Chinese, both Hong Kongers and Taiwanese treasure their heritage yet long to be distinct from the Communist authoritarian regime of the People’s Republic of China (PRC). In fact, many living in these two regions had f led China decades earlier to escape the Chinese Communist rule. The desire for democracy and a distinc­ tive way of life differentiated both Hong Kong and Taiwan from the Chinese government and the Chinese people on the mainland and has become an impor­ tant part of the identity of the younger generation in both places. Although the political systems are very different, both are experiencing a generational change. Young Hong Kongers and Taiwanese want to assert their distinctive

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social, economic, and political identities that differ both from that of their elders and from that advocated by Beijing. Socially, they want to preserve freedom of expression. Economically, they question the need to prioritize growth over equality and fairness. Politically, they want to reform existing institutions and leaders and reject political parties that have failed to make their societies more equitable and sustainable. Young people in both regions are now running for office, leading civic organizations to monitor political parties and leaders and generally becoming more engaged as citizens. To understand how the emergence of a separate identity is an integral part of the pursuit of democracy and how pressure from China has fueled its rise requires a conceptual framework that explains how ethnic Chinese are building separate civic and cultural identities with a focus on democratic values and institutions, which they describe as an alternative to those they see in a rising China. Given the long shadow of China across Asia today, the cases of Taiwan and Hong Kong, despite their unique characteristics in nationality and culture, are instructive for others reacting to China.

Measurement of identity In both regions, identity has been primarily defined and measured in two ways. The first is self-identification: whether one chooses to identify oneself as “Chinese” or to adopt an alternative local identity. The second is one’s prefer­ ences regarding their region’s political system and status, in particular, the level of support for One Country Two Systems (OCTS) or greater autonomy in Hong Kong and for unification or independence for Taiwan. These two dimensions of identity have been measured through public opinion polls in both regions for many years.

Hong Kong identity Under British colonial rule from 1846 to 1997, both the British and Chinese governments avoided mobilizing a strong Chinese identity in order to minimize anti-colonial movements and maintain stability in Hong Kong. Instead, there developed a sense of local identity that was rooted more in social and economic factors than in political institutions. Residents viewed Hong Kong society as freer and more developed than China.1 They also treasured Hong Kong’s rule of law with an independent judiciary, which stood in contrast with a far more arbitrary system of governance on the mainland. The return of Hong Kong to Chinese sovereignty in 1997 did not reverse these trends toward a distinctive local identity. In June 2018, more than 20 years after the handover to Beijing, a survey found that 67.7 percent saw themselves as having primarily a Hong Kong identity, either a “Hong Konger in China” (26.8 percent) or simply a “Hong Konger” (40.7 percent). This was an increase from 59.7 percent in 1997. Only 29.9 percent saw themselves as having primarily

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a Chinese identity, either a “Chinese in Hong Kong” or a “Chinese,” a decline from 38.7 percent in 1997. More alarmingly, despite years of “patriotic educa­ tion,” 96.4 percent of people under 29 years old identified themselves as having primarily a Hong Kong identity. Only 3.6 percent of the young people identified themselves as primarily Chinese, a stark contrast to the 31.6 percent recorded in 1997 (Figure 8.1).2 The second measure of identity used here is the degree of confidence that Hong Kong people have in OCTS, tantamount to their level of support for that system. In July 1997, the percentage who felt confident about their political sys­ tem exceeded 63.6 percent but has since dropped to 45.5 percent. Conversely, those who lacked confidence in the system had risen from 18.1 to 49.0 per­ cent. The difference between these two values is a measure of net confidence in OCTS and has generally been negative since 2014 (Figure 8.2).3 The degree of confidence is primarily dependent on whether people believe Hong Kong enjoys autonomy, free of Beijing’s interference and irrespective of changes in the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) leadership. This is tied to perceptions of whether Beijing will allow universal suffrage as provided for in Hong Kong’s Basic Law.4 The data further revealed that since the 1997 handover, Hong Kong identity has been contested and volatile, whether measured by self-identification or confi­ dence in OCTS. From 1997 to 2008, there was an overall uptick toward becom­ ing more Chinese, peaking during the Olympic Games in Beijing in 2008, and a decline in Hong Kong identity. After 2008, however, Chinese identity began to decline, and Hong Kong identity began to rise until now. Net confidence in OCTS was similarly volatile. There were several peaks in confidence level that coincided with important events such as the handover in 1997 and the Beijing Olympics in 2008. The troughs are also linked to crises in governance such as the spread of the SARS pandemic and government efforts to implement Article 23— the National Security Law—in 2003–2004, and the 2014 Umbrella Movement against the government’s proposal for limited electoral reforms. However, no matter which measure of identity is examined, the unmistakable and consoli­ dating trend is a rapidly consolidating Hong Kong identity among the younger generation.

Taiwanese national identity The open contestation over Taiwanese identity for three decades after democ­ ratization has also led to a consolidated identity that is more Taiwanese than Chinese. During the Cold War, after 50 years of Japanese colonial rule, the KMT attempted to impose a Chinese identity on Taiwanese in order to uphold its authoritarian rule and gain support for its ultimate goal of national reuni­ fication. Because of the KMT policy to distinguish mainlanders who arrived from China after World War II from local Taiwanese, whose ancestors had immigrated to Taiwan earlier, an ethnic definition of identity became linked to

FIGURE 8.1

Hong Kong identity vs. Chinese identity for young people, 1997–2018. Source: Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme, The University of Hong Kong (POP),“People’s Ethnic Identity,” June 19, 2018.

122 Syaru Shirley Lin

FIGURE 8.2

Net confidence in “One Country Two Systems,” 1997–2018. Source: Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme, The University of Hong Kong (POP),“People’s Confidence in ‘One Country,Two Systems,’” September 18, 2018.

Identity & democratization in Taiwan/Hong Kong 123

124 Syaru Shirley Lin

discriminatory policies that privileged “mainlanders” over “Taiwanese.” After the lifting of martial law in 1987 when free discussion of these issues became possible, and as Beijing secured more diplomatic relations and membership in all major international institutions at the expense of the Republic of China, residents of Taiwan began a long debate over their national identity.5 Increasing criticism of the KMT-imposed Chinese identity and growing support for a more Taiwanese identity were ref lected in the DPP government’s attempt to revise school curricula to be more Taiwan-centric. At the same time, the earlier pri­ mordial definition of that identity gave way to a “new Taiwanese” identity, defined less in terms of ethnicity and more as a commitment to the interests of the people of Taiwan and the island’s new civic values and institutions. National identity began to consolidate only after an intense period of contestation after new democratic institutions were established. In a June 2018 poll conducted by the Election Study Center of Taiwan’s National Chengchi University (ESC), 93 percent of Taiwanese identified themselves as “Taiwanese” or “both Taiwanese and Chinese.” The exclusively “Taiwanese” category had increased more dramatically than the dual identity, rising from 17.6 percent in 1992 to 55.8 percent in 2018. Only 3.5 percent iden­ tified themselves as “Chinese” in 2018, a decline from 25.5 percent in 1992 (Figure 8.3).6 In only two decades, despite greater economic interdependence with China, the majority of Taiwanese have accepted a Taiwanese identity, mov­ ing away from a full or partial Chinese identity.7 In terms of preference for unification or independence (known as future national status, or FNS), polls showed that support for immediate unification has dwindled to 1–3 percent over the last two decades.8 Support for autonomy, either the status quo or immediate or eventual independence, has increased from

FIGURE 8.3

Taiwanese identity by self-identification (1992–2018). Source: Compiled by author according to data from Election Study Center, National Chengchi University, “Important Political Attitude Trend Distribution,” August 2, 2018.

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59.4 percent in 1994 to reach over 80 percent since 2008 (Figure 8.4). In terms of their acceptance of OCTS, which Deng Xiaoping had said would apply to Taiwan as well as to Hong Kong, the Taiwanese were skeptical even before the Hong Kong handover, and their doubts have increased given recent developments in Hong Kong. Polls in the last 20 years have repeatedly shown low support for unification, the “one China” principle, or OCTS, since most believe that any of these outcomes would curtail Taiwan’s autonomy.9 When self-identification is juxtaposed with preferences regarding FNS, it is clear that national identity on Taiwan is evolving rapidly in one direction: away from being “Chinese” or part of a Chinese state. This trend is clear even when respondents are permitted to express their pref­ erence under positive hypothesized conditions, such as the democratization of the mainland or levels of per capita income on the mainland that match those on Taiwan. Academia Sinica has conducted surveys every five years to measure these conditional FNS preferences. The latest poll showed the continued decline in support for unification over two decades, even if China were to become wealthy and democratic, falling from 54.1 percent in 1995 to 28.3 percent.10 Although the increase in a local identity runs across all age groups in Taiwan, the increase has been higher in the younger generations, just as in Hong Kong. Young people do not think of China as an enemy and are open-minded about their relationship with China, but they have a firm local identity. Their atti­ tude is not so much “anti-Chinese” but “non-Chinese” and Taiwanese.11 There are several age-specific surveys that demonstrate these trends among young Taiwanese. Duke University’s Asian Security Studies Program has been tracking self-identification by five age groups since 2002. The 2017 survey shows that

FIGURE 8.4

Taiwanese identity by future national status preference (1994–2018). Source: Compiled by author according to data from Election Study Center, National Chengchi University,“Important Political Attitude Trend Distribution,”August 2, 2018.

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the youngest cohort, aged under 30, had the highest percentage of respondents identifying themselves as only “Taiwanese” (71.2 percent) and the lowest per­ centage identifying as only “Chinese” (2.5 percent).12 The Taiwan Foundation for Democracy has also been tracking political attitude by age groups since 2011. The 2018 survey shows that the youngest generation in the survey had the high­ est level of support for independence and lowest level of support for immediate or eventual unification. Equally important, Taiwanese under 40 years of age have been much more optimistic about Taiwan’s democratic development than the older generations and yet more keen on cross-Strait economic exchanges. In other words, younger Taiwanese have a stronger sense of Taiwanese identity, but are also more pragmatic and supportive of expanded economic relations with China.13

Dimensions of identity and linkage to democracy How are the two definitions of identity we encounter different? Identity is both how you view yourself, but also how others view you. Thus, identity is by and large constructed, either individually or collectively, and individuals usually have multiple identities. Individuals with a collective or national identity share a set of qualities and beliefs with other members of their community or group. Often times, this collective identity has an “Other”—another community, or even an enemy, against which one’s identity is contrasted. The shared qualities of identity can be primordial. Ethnicity is an important part of a Chinese identity, and a large percentage of people living in Hong Kong and Taiwan have traditionally considered themselves Han Chinese. When the call for democracy was less salient, a majority of Hong Kongers and Taiwanese identified themselves as “Chinese” in self-identification surveys. However, the meaning of being “Chinese” has evolved to become less ethnic and more politi­ cal, especially because Beijing has sought to control and monopolize the defi­ nition of being “Chinese” at home and abroad. As a result, more and more respondents feel that identifying as “Chinese” is associated with the People’s Republic of China. Moreover, they feel that self-identification is not about eth­ nicity or common language but rather the common values and preferences they embrace, such as freedom of speech and assembly, democracy, and rule of law. This civic identity is also based on residency. Hong Kong and Taiwan are both places where émigrés once viewed themselves as temporary sojourners. However, as more and more Taiwanese and Hong Kongers are native-born, peo­ ple in these societies increasingly expect their public officials to consider these places as their permanent homes, share common values with other residents, and hold no other passports. In the case of Taiwan, people believe that those who call themselves Taiwanese should be citizens of the Republic of China and fulfill their responsibilities to perform military service, pay taxes, and vote in elections. In recent years, Hong Kongers have begun to debate what constitute Hong Kong values. While this contestation of values is intense and constantly challenged by

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Beijing, there is a widespread belief that Hong Kong values include the rule of law and free market principles, and more and more people also consider a high degree of autonomy and democracy to be important Hong Kong values. In a sur­ vey conducted by the Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong in October 2014, respondents were requested to rank what they considered as the most important among 11 values. The leading value for the general population was “rule of law” (22.9 percent) and “freedom” (20.8 percent), followed by “just and corruption-free” governance and “democracy.”14 Younger people, however, ranked freedom first, then democracy. Nonetheless, a full consensus on Hong Kong identity is elusive, in part because Beijing has dis­ couraged discussions of Hong Kong identity, even branding them as “separatist.” At this stage, the debate displays an intensity and a degree of polarization similar to Taiwanese discussions of national identity in the early 1990s. Because Hong Kongers and Taiwanese embrace freedom and democracy, they also prefer a political future which ensures those values. Identity has become intimately linked to democratic values in both places. Therefore, the second way of measuring identity—support for Hong Kong’s OCTS and a preference for Taiwanese autonomy—ref lects preferences that are associated with civic values, rather than with ethnicity. As a result, there is high correlation between these two ways of measuring identity. If one considers himself exclusively Taiwanese, then usually the respondent would not support unification as soon as possible. Similarly, if a Hong Konger does not identify herself primarily as Chinese, then most likely she is not confident about OCTS. My hypothesis is that a consolidated identity creates social cohesion and allows for an efficient and effective democratic government. Conversely, democratic institutions allow national identity to be discussed, contested, and consolidated. Democracy and national identity are mutually reinforcing and, in the case of these two places, two sides of the same coin. Without a consolidated identity, social cohesion will be difficult to create, and there will be a tendency toward social polarization and inconsistent economic and foreign policy.15 Social cohe­ sion and a consolidated national identity do not mean a unified collective, but an agreement to promote inclusivity and embrace diversity in a democratic society with rule of law and protection of minority rights. While many argue that consolidation of national identity must come before democratization, the cases of Taiwan and Hong Kong show that the two are mutually constitutive and reinforcing. As the contributions by Louis Goodman and Auriel Croissant in earlier chapters point out, the literature on democratiza­ tion often looks at national identity as an independent variable: when fractured, it may impede the building of democratic institutions. But such literature does not explain what happens to national identity after democratization. Furthermore, there is little research on the relationship between national identity and foreign policy.16 Taiwan’s case sheds light on both these issues. Democratization had to take place first before national identity could be openly debated. The KMT’s one-party

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rule attempted to impose a Chinese identity, but many Taiwanese opposed it and fought for democracy. Still, a consolidated sense of identity emerged only after many decades of democratization. Forging a common identity is a bottom-up societal process that cannot fully occur until democratic institutions allow for free and open discussions of the common values a society embraces. Democracy both enables and requires open discussion of “who we are” as a community. In turn, a consolidated identity allows for an efficient and effective democratic system. As Taiwan became democratic, a Taiwanese identity developed that embodied civic and democratic values rather than ethnic identities. These devel­ opments then further strengthened Taiwan’s emerging democratic institutions. Understanding national identity is absolutely essential in studying Taiwan’s cross-Strait policy. Taiwan was polarized in the early days of democratization, and pragmatic discussions of alternative policy options were drowned out by emotional invocations of identity.17 Extreme leaders and policy options were appealing because policy options were linked to the debate on identity. But as a consensus on identity was forged, the range of views on economic policies nar­ rowed and moved toward the center.18 Discussions in recent election campaigns are now much more focused on the costs and benefits of specific policies rather than the candidates’ identity or background. A consolidated identity, however, is not sufficient to ensure consensus on economic or foreign policy. Moreover, identity can be vulnerable and fragile, and debate over how to defend it may further divide the society. By comparison, Hong Kong demonstrates how the lack of democratic insti­ tutions prevents discussion of an inclusive Hong Kong or the identification of common civic values. Instead, Hong Kong’s political institutions have produced discord rather than reconciliation. As was once true of Taiwan, the debate over identity has led to accusations that those promoting a local identity are simply engaged in “identity politics.” In the West, identity politics is often linked to populist movements on either the left or right. However, what really concerns Beijing about Hong Kong and Taiwan is less populist socioeconomic policies than the rejection of the definition of Chinese identity that the CCP seeks to promote and pro-China elites.

Origins of a separate identity Beijing has emphasized that China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan are all one “nation” ethnically and thus should share a common identity. Since people in Hong Kong and Taiwan are predominantly Han Chinese, they do acknowledge their Chinese roots, but this does not translate easily into a common national identity.19 Moreover, the ability of government to impose such an identity is limited. While Beijing stresses common ethnicity, people in Hong Kong and Taiwan place at least equal weight on adherence to civic values that Beijing either rejects or does not fully implement, such as freedom of speech, the rule of law and an independ­ ent judiciary, an open market economy, a clean bureaucracy, and democratic

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institutions. Beijing’s repression of minorities in regions like Xinjiang and Tibet has long been alarming to Taiwanese, and increasingly, Hong Kongers. During colonization, Hong Kong people, who were either from Hong Kong originally or more likely had recently f led from China, fought for the principle of “Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong,” in the 1960s in particular. They distinguished themselves from the British colonizers who gave them no political power and little civic participation. Many who fought for decolonization were disappointed that after 1997, Hong Kong seemed to have fallen into a second period of colonization, this time by the CCP, which did not share the history and values of those in the former British enclave. While nominally adopting the principle of “Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong,” the CCP sought to restrict both democratization and autonomy.20 Taiwan has an even more turbulent history. From 1895 to 1945, the Taiwanese were ruled with an iron fist by the Japanese colonial government. While there were several “self-rule” democratic movements in the 1920s similar to those in Hong Kong under colonial rule, their focus was to loosen or remove the shack­ les of the colonizers rather than to define Taiwan’s distinctive identity.21 Many supporters of Taiwan independence today view Taiwanese history as a continu­ ous struggle to achieve independence—from the Dutch, the Spanish, the Ming, the Ming loyalists in exile, and the Qing, even prior to the Japanese. When the Nationalists came after the end of Japanese colonial rule, they soon became regarded by some Taiwanese to be “quasi-colonizers” in that their ultimate aim was to return to mainland China rather than ruling for the benefit of those liv­ ing on the island. The Nationalist regime was harsh and authoritarian for four decades. As in Hong Kong, Taiwanese longed to rule themselves during the half century of Japanese rule, but there was no common vision about the politi­ cal future of Taiwan. Under Chiang Kai-shek’s brutal rule, dreams of political participation under the Nationalists were crushed and an independence move­ ment emerged. This movement then ironically merged with the KMT’s antiCommunist goals to seek autonomy from the Communist regime in Beijing. After Taiwan democratized, the debate on what constitutes Taiwanese identity exploded and a consolidated identity emerged to replace the polarized quasiethnic identities that prevailed under the KMT rule. Today, Taiwanese pride themselves on considering all citizens as Taiwanese, including aborigines, local Taiwanese, mainlanders, and new immigrants from Southeast Asia and mainland China who have become Taiwanese primarily through marriage. Taiwanese identity is associated with distinctive institutional, societal, and cultural charac­ teristics, particularly rooted in shared common democratic values.22

China as the other A common feature of both Hong Kong and Taiwanese identities is that in each case, “China” or “Chinese” are now the “Other.” Ironically, socioeconomic integration with mainland China since it opened its door to trade and investment

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in the 1980s has led people living in these two regions to see how they are dif­ ferent communities despite common ethnic roots.23 But the Other in this case is not simply what one is not; it is an alternative Chinese identity pressed on them by a neighboring superpower. Beijing has always defined its core interests as the preservation of Chinese sovereignty and territorial integrity and the promotion of national unification.24 In the case of Hong Kong and Taiwan, strengthening a Chinese national identity, especially among the younger generation, is therefore particularly important to Beijing. This means acceptance of increasing Chinese inf luence in Hong Kong under the OCTS formula and future unification with Taiwan. As soon as he assumed office, President Xi Jinping concluded one of his first “China Dream” speeches at the 12th National People’s Congress (NPC) by calling for Hong Kong and Taiwanese “compatriots” to prioritize the interests of the nation 25 and to work with people on the mainland to realize “the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation.”26 Beijing believes that the development of a Chinese national identity is nec­ essary to rule Hong Kong effectively and to secure the eventual unification of Taiwan with the rest of China. Moreover, a democratic Taiwan with freedom of speech and a Hong Kong with a vibrant market, the rule of law, and core civic freedoms stand in contrast to the governance of the PRC. China is threatened not only by its inability to unify Taiwan peacefully and by the rise of localist sen­ timent in Hong Kong, but also by the existence of Taiwan as a democratic nation with ethnic Chinese citizens. This invalidates Beijing’s rhetoric that democracy is unsuitable for the Chinese people—unless Beijing is prepared to acknowledge that Taiwanese are no longer Chinese. In order to bridge the increasing identity gap, Beijing has focused on deeper socioeconomic integration with both regions. China no longer relies on either of them economically as much as it did during the early years of reform and opening. Yet Beijing still gives high priority to greater integration with both regions in the hope that it will strengthen the people’s embrace of a Chinese national identity. The Closer Economic Partnership Arrangement (CEPA) of 2003 granted Hong Kong preferential access to the Chinese market. For Taiwan, the cross-Strait Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement (ECFA) of 2010 set the foundation for the two sides to liberalize trade in goods and services and investments. Moreover, by working closely with or pressuring businesses that have investments in China, Beijing has attempted to inf luence mainstream media and politics in both Hong Kong and Taiwan.27 These efforts are part of the CCP’s familiar United Front strategy, whose three components are isolating and attacking the enemy, identifying and mobilizing a strong political base, and win­ ning over or at least neutralizing those in the middle of the political spectrum. These efforts have become more evident in both places in recent years.28 Tourism is also perceived to be an increasingly important engine for creating jobs and growth in both regions. Chinese tourists constituted nearly 76 percent of Hong Kong’s annual 58 million inbound tourists in 2017, and at its peak, con­ stituted 41 percent of Taiwan’s inbound tourists in 2015.29 However, tourism is

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a good example of Beijing’s ability to use economic interdependence as leverage over both Taiwan and Hong Kong. After the DPP’s landslide electoral victory in 2016, Beijing began to show its anger by restricting group visitors from China.30 In Hong Kong’s case, interdependence with the mainland is also ref lected in a rising number of mainland immigrants, which many view as facilitating Beijing’s efforts to dilute Hong Kong values. In a city with only 7 million population, mainland Chinese immigrants already constitute approximately a fifth of the city’s total.31 This number will continue to increase since 150 mainland Chinese are allowed to move to Hong Kong and establish permanent residency every day, and even more can move if they can find university placements or jobs. Taiwan has restricted immigration from China except for family and spousal reunions, but the number of spousal reunion applications has steadily increased.32 Beijing has also extended a wide range of benefits to Hong Kongers and Taiwanese who want to live or work in China. In early 2018, Beijing announced the “31 measures of preferential treatment for Taiwanese Compatriots,” which allow Taiwanese companies doing business on the mainland to participate in the “Made in China 2025” initiative, bid for infrastructure projects, and claim various tax incentives.33 In August 2018, Beijing further announced that Hong Kongers and Taiwanese can apply for Chinese “resident permits,” which entitle them to employment, participation in social insurance and housing schemes, and access to public services such as free primary and secondary education, basic medical care, and legal aid—basically the same rights enjoyed by mainland Chinese citizens.34 Contrary to Beijing’s hopes and expectations, however, the accelerated pace of social and economic integration has led not to a decline but to a rise in local iden­ tity. Young people continue to show declining support for unification, because they believe their values are different than those of the new immigrants from the mainland, the Chinese tourists who are visiting, and the Chinese whom they encounter on their own trips to the mainland or who they see in third places. While greater interaction with mainland Chinese tourists brought economic benefits to both economies, it also produced a rising local identity and increased tension between the two groups, as studies have shown in both regions.35 In recent years, the strategy of using economic benefits to appeal to Hong Kongers and Taiwanese has extended to the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), under which Hong Kong can act as a financial center.36 With Taiwan’s current DPP government, Beijing continues to marginalize the island internationally, but Beijing dangles the carrot of being more benevolent if Taiwanese vote for candidates or parties favorable to China. Many Taiwanese hope that a more accommodative China would then allow Taiwan to join multilateral organiza­ tions or sign free trade agreements to address the socioeconomic problems the Taiwanese economy faces. Beyond economic carrots, Beijing under Xi’s leadership has increased its use of hard line and top-down tactics. For Hong Kong, these include introduc­ ing national education and patriotic propaganda, denying visas to those who

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it believes are promoting a local identity, and outlawing a pro-independence party and imposing harsh prison sentences and bans on standing for election for those engaged in protests.37 However, neither the soft nor hard strategy has been effective in bridging the identity gap, especially in Taiwan where Beijing has no direct control.38 As China f lexes its muscles globally, it is trying to reduce Taiwan’s interna­ tional space in order to demonstrate that Taiwan has no choice but to ultimately unify with the mainland. For example, China has persuaded five of Taiwan’s “diplomatic allies”—Taiwan’s term to describe those countries with which it has diplomatic relations—to switch recognition from Taipei to Beijing in the past two years, leaving Taipei with only 17 allies.

How Hong Kong and Taiwan respond to Beijing’s pressure With local identities increasingly consolidated among young people, there have been unprecedented protests in both Taiwan and Hong Kong against their gov­ ernments’ accommodative policies toward Beijing. The most notable have been Taiwan’s Sunf lower Movement in March 2014, which opposed the ratification of an agreement on trade in services that would have promoted further economic integration with China. Soon after, in September 2015, Hong Kong’s Umbrella Movement demanded that Beijing modify its formula for nominating and elect­ ing Hong Kong’s chief executive in 2017. Taiwanese students held sunf lowers as a symbol of hope to effect change, while Hong Kong students held umbrellas to shield themselves from police tear gas. Both protests were led by young people, many of them students, some of whom expressed strong “anti-China” senti­ ments. This was despite the continuing efforts by Beijing to promote a Chinese identity among the young.39 Furthermore, the harsh economic realities for young people produced by the “high income trap” have not led them to embrace the economic incentives pro­ vided by Beijing.40 Inequality has widened in both places in the last decade, especially after the introduction of CEPA and the ECFA.41 Studies have shown that economic inequality and the lack of opportunity for young people in Hong Kong are closely linked to the increase in mainland Chinese immigration after 1997 as well as to the deeper economic integration with the mainland.42 Taiwan may be a more middle-class society by comparison, but inequality has increased there as well, and there is a widespread perception that integration with the Chinese economy has again been a major reason. While business elites have ben­ efited from CEPA and the ECFA, professionals, the middle class, and the work­ ing class do not believe that tourism or trade has benefitted them.43 For students who are about to enter the workforce, jobs and opportunities at home appear to have been reduced because of economic and social integration.44 Unemployment is a particular problem for young people in both regions, and real wages barely increased as integration with China deepened, most likely because of lower labor costs in China. Finally, partially due to increased f lows of Chinese capital as

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a result of financial liberalization, asset inf lation continues unabated in both regions, leading to real estate becoming unaffordable for young people, who are then delaying forming families and having children.45 The leaders and governments of Taipei and Hong Kong have needed to play a nuanced two-level game between Beijing and their constituents. Successful negotiations with Beijing could be politically expedient to both governments, but they must keep a close eye on the opinions of domestic constituents despite their different political systems. Taiwanese politicians are directly accountable to the voters through an extremely competitive and democratic system. Having led the DPP to return to power in 2016 amidst popular sentiment that the Ma Ying-jeou government had become too close to China, President Tsai Ing-wen prepared the way for the DPP to win the 2020 presidential and legislative elec­ tions in a landslide. No political party or legislator on Taiwan can risk political support by promising further economic and political concessions to Beijing, even if such measures might be economically beneficial to certain party supporters. Tsai needs to walk a tight rope between keeping a distance from China and solving the socioeconomic problems associated with the high-income trap. Although the voters sided with the DPP in both the mayoral elections of 2014 and the presidential and legislative elections of 2016, the DPP suffered a serious defeat in 2018 municipal elections for both mayoral and magisterial posts, where the KMT won 15 out of a total of 22 seats and the DPP merely kept 6 because of the DPP’s poor governance record.46 However, throughout 2019, pro-democracy protests broke out in Hong Kong which led to serious concern in Taiwan about China’s efforts to exercise tighter control over Hong Kong and potentially over Taiwan. Therefore, despite so many important cities and counties controlled by the KMT, the DPP won the presidential and legislative elections in a historic landslide. It is also during the 2018 election that Beijing’s sharp power emerged to pos­ sibly be a powerful factor challenging Taiwanese democracy. As opposed to soft power, which tries to appeal and attract, sharp power is defined as the penetra­ tion of another country’s media, academia, and policy community to polarize or disrupt.47 Although there is no hard evidence that Beijing spread fake news favorable to KMT candidates on social media, many believe the KMT’s landslide victory in Kaohsiung, which had voted for the DPP for two decades, showed signs of Beijing’s intervention.48 Beijing’s pressure in Hong Kong is far more tangible and direct. Under the Basic Law, the Hong Kong government only enjoys a “high degree of autonomy” in internal affairs, implying that Beijing retains authority on what it regards as major issues. The Basic Law also created several institutional channels for inf lu­ ence. The government was to be led by a nonpartisan chief executive, with no accountability to the people but ultimately appointed by Beijing and highly sen­ sitive to its preferences. Beijing has also made clear that the Hong Kong govern­ ment would have no more leeway to negotiate political reforms, leading to more division in the city.

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Nor is there a mechanism to aggregate different societal interests or solidify political support. Elected by a broader segment of Hong Kong than the chief executive but still rather unrepresentative of the general population, Hong Kong legislators are neither fully accountable to the public nor bound by party loyalty. They provide oversight on executive decisions but cannot present their own ini­ tiatives and are primarily effective in rejecting government proposals. In the most recent by-election in November 2018 to replace a localist legislator disqualified from office, the pro-establishment candidate won, giving pro-Beijing forces a majority in the Legislative Council. This means pan-democrats will no longer be able to veto government proposals. Furthermore, the local turnout dropped from almost 60 percent in 2016 to just 44 percent this time, which indicates that many Hong Kongers no longer view legislative elections as meaningful.49 ProBeijing individuals including retired officials, local businessmen, and journalists frequently describe student-led protests as a foreign-assisted effort to promote a “color revolution.”50 As in Taiwan, Beijing’s United Front strategy in 2019 was infiltrating all walks of life and is further dividing the city.51

Implications for the future of democracy and identity Given these trends, is a common Chinese identity conceivable any longer? A Chinese identity of the sort Beijing prefers, which would accept limited auton­ omy in Hong Kong and promote unification with Taiwan, seems highly unlikely, given the consolidation of local identities in both places. A more plausible out­ come would be the emergence of mixed identities, wherein residents increas­ ingly see themselves as both Hong Kongers and Chinese or both Taiwanese and Chinese. Such mixed identities might emerge if the three governments adopt measures that ensure that economic integration provides more equitable ben­ efits for all the residents of both regions, regardless of political outlook. In both regions, Beijing would need to consult with a wider range of social and political groups, not just the business sector and sympathetic political leaders. None of this seems likely as Beijing is taking a hard stance toward both Hong Kong, suppressing rather than accommodating discontent, and Taiwan, where Beijing has refused to deal with the DPP government until it recommits to even­ tual reunification. Even if Beijing decides to become more conciliatory, China may find it impossible to increase the level of Chinese identity because neither car­ rots nor sticks have been effective thus far. More important, this chapter has also shown that civic values are more important than ethnicity and material interests in creating a common Chinese identity, especially among the younger generations. China may therefore need to propose a new more inclusive identity based on com­ mon civic values and develop a formula for governance that embodies those values and guarantees even greater autonomy to Hong Kong and Taiwan. Unless China embraces the values that people in Hong Kong and Taiwan hold dear, or at least respects and tolerates them as an element in a more diverse Chinese polity, neither Taiwanese nor Hong Kongers are likely to become more “Chinese.”

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People in Hong Kong and Taiwan bear responsibility as well. Democracy has already allowed Taiwanese to find their own voice and identity, but as Beijing continues to use sharp and hard power to discredit democracy and polarize Taiwanese society, Taiwanese must show that they can use their democratic insti­ tutions to make Taiwan even more inclusive and effectively address the highincome trap for the sake of younger generations. Hong Kong people do not have the same level of democracy that Taiwan enjoys, but they can create a stronger civil society, increase their political participation, and make their voices heard in their demands for a more accountable government and a more just society.

Notes 1 Eric Kit-wai Ma, Desiring Hong Kong, Consuming South China (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2001), 163–86. 2 Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme, The University of Hong Kong (POP), “People’s Ethnic Identity,” June 19, 2018, http://hkupop.hku.hk/english/p opexpress/ethnic/index.html. 3 Hong Kong University Public Opinion Programme, The University of Hong Kong (POP), “People’s Confidence in ‘One Country, Two Systems,’” September 18, 2018, http://hkupop.hku.hk/english/popexpress/trust/conocts/index.html. 4 Timothy Ka-ying Wong and Po-san Wan, “Hong Kong Citizens’ Evaluations of the ‘One Country, Two Systems’ Practice: Assessing the Role of Political Support for China,” in Hsin-huang Michael Hsiao and Cheng-yi Lin, eds., The Rise of China (London: Routledge, 2009), 270–83. 5 Alan M. Wachman, Taiwan: National Identity and Democratization (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1994). 6 Election Study Center, National Chengchi University (ESC), “Important Political Attitude Trend Distribution,” Trends in Core Political Attitudes among Taiwanese, August 2, 2018, https://esc.nccu.edu.tw/PageDoc/Detail?fid=7800&id=6961. 7 Naiteh Wu, “Will Economic Integration Lead to Political Assimilation?” in Peter C. Y. Chow, ed., National Identity and Economic Interest: Taiwan’s Competing Options and Their Implications for Regional Stability (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 187–202. 8 ESC, “Important Political Attitude Trend Distribution.” 9 Chong-hai Shaw, “The ‘One-Country, Two-System’ Model and Its Applicability to Taiwan: A Study of Opinion Polls in Taiwan,” Modern China Studies, Vol. 16, No. 4 (2009), 96–122 (In Chinese). 10 Center for Survey Research, Academia Sinica, Taiwan Social Change Survey. All past surveys can be found in the Survey Research Data Archive, Academia Sinica, https ://srda.sinica.edu.t w/browsingbydatatype _resu lt.php?category=surveymet hod &type=1&csid=2. Support for unification on a conditional basis was 54.1 percent in 1995, 48.2 percent in 2000, 37.5 percent in 2005, 29.6 percent in 2010, and 28.3 percent in 2015. 11 Thung-hong Lin, “China Impact on Government Performance: A Comparative Study of Taiwan and Hong Kong,” paper prepared for Taiwanese Sociological Association Annual Meeting at Taiwan Chengchi University, Taipei, Taiwan, November 30, 2013 (In Chinese); Shelley Rigger 2006, “Taiwan’s Rising Rationalism: Generations, Politics and ‘Taiwan Nationalism,’” Policy Studies, Vol. 26 (Washington, DC: EastWest Center Policy Study, 2006), 57. 12 Taiwan National Security Studies Survey 2017, Program in Asian Security Studies, Duke University, January 2018, https://sites.duke.edu/pass/taiwan-national-security­ survey/.

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13 Taiwan Foundation for Democracy, April 19, 2018, “Survey on Taiwanese Young People’s Political Attitudes,” www.tfd.org.tw/opencms/english/events/data/Event06 82.html. 14 Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, “CUHK Releases Survey Findings on Views on Hong Kong’s Core Values,” October 30, 2014, www.cpr.cuhk.edu.hk/en/press_detail.php?1=1&id=1915. 15 Syaru Shirley Lin, Taiwan’s China Dilemma: Contested Identities and Multiple Interests in Taiwan’s Cross-Strait Economic Policy (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2016), 21–28. 16 Auriel Croissant, “Democratization, National Identity, and Foreign Policy in Southeast Asia,” The Asan Forum, Vol. 6, No. 5 (2018), www.theasanforum.org/ democratization-national-identity-and-foreign-policy-in-southeast-asia/?dat=; Louis Goodman, “Democratization in Asia: Lessons from the Americas,” The Asan Forum, Vol. 6, No. 5 (2018), www.theasanforum.org/democratization-in-asia-lesso ns-from-the-americas/. 17 Syaru Shirley Lin, Taiwan’s China Dilemma, 209–10. 18 Syaru Shirley Lin, Taiwan’s China Dilemma, 214. 19 Frank C.S. Liu and Francis L.F. Lee, “Country, National, and Pan-national Identification in Taiwan and Hong Kong: Standing Together as Chinese,” Asian Survey, Vol. 53, No. 6 (November/December 2013), 1123–34. 20 Richard C. Bush, Hong Kong in the Shadow of China: Living with the Leviathan (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2017). 21 Edward I-te Chen, “Formosan Political Movements under Japanese Colonial Rule, 1914–1937,” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 31, No. 3 (1972), 477–97. 22 Syaru Shirley Lin, Taiwan’s China Dilemma, 31. 23 Syaru Shirley Lin, “Bridging the Chinese National Identity Gap: Alternative Identities in Hong Kong and Taiwan,” in Gilbert Rozman, ed., Joint U.S.-Korea Academic Studies, Asia’s Slippery Slope: Triangular Tensions, Identity Gaps, Conflicting Regionalism, and Diplomatic Impasse toward North Korea (Washington, DC: Korean Economic Institute, 2014). 24 Jisi Wang, “China’s Search for a Grand Strategy: A Rising Great Power Finds Its Way,” Foreign Affairs (March/April 2011). 25 “Xi Jinping zai shierjie quanguo renda yici huiyi shang de jianghua,” The Central People’s Government of the People’s Republic of China, March 17, 2013, http:// www.gov.cn/ldhd/2013-03/17/content_2356344.htm. 26 “Profile: Xi Jinping: Pursuing Dream for 1.3 Billion Chinese,” Xinhuanet, March 17, 2013, http://en.people.cn/90785/8170522.html. 27 An example of Beijing’s effort to inf luence Taiwan’s elections is the “Fruit Offensive Campaign,” detailed in William J. Norris, Chinese Economic Statecraft: Commercial Actors, Grand Strategy, and State Control (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2016). 28 “China Targets 10 Groups for ‘United Front,’” Taipei Times, January 15, 2018, www .taipeitimes.com/News/front/archives/2018/01/15/2003685789. 29 “Research & Statistics,” Hong Kong Tourism Board, https://partnernet.hktb.com/ en/research_statistics/index.html; Tourism Statistics Database, Tourism Bureau, Republic of China, https://stat.taiwan.net.tw. 30 Tourism Statistics Database, Tourism Bureau, Republic of China. 31 Mark O’Neill, “1.5 Million Mainland Migrants Change Hong Kong,” EJInsight, June 19, 2017, www.ejinsight.com/20170619-1-5-million-mainland-migrants-cha nge-hong-kong/. 32 For statistics on approvals granted for mainland Chinese families to emigrate to Taiwan, see Mainland Affairs Council, Cross-Strait Economic Statistics Monthly, No. 304, August 2018, https://www.mac.gov.tw/en/News_Content.aspx?n=CDC66413 93E172AE&sms=F3C4CDB291314363&s=CF031740DA2ABC9D.

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33 “Taiwanese Given ‘Equal Status’ on China’s Mainland, but Is Beijing Just Trying to Buy Their Support?” South China Morning Post, March 1, 2018, www.scmp.com/ne ws/china/policies-politics/article/2135291/taiwanese-given-equal-status-chinas-m ainland-beijing. 34 “New ID Card Will Give Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan Residents Same Access to Public Services as Mainland Chinese Counterparts,” South China Morning Post, August 16, 2018, www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/politics/article/2159989/new -id-card-will-give-hong-kong-macau-and-taiwan-residents. 35 Ian Rowen, “Tourism as a Territorial Strategy: The Case of China and Taiwan,” Annals of Tourism Research, Vol. 46 (2014), 62–74; Victor W.T. Zheng and Po-san Wan, “The Individual Visit Scheme: A Decade’s Review: Exploring the Course and Evolution of Integration between Hong Kong and the Mainland,” Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies Occasional Paper, No. 226 (2013) (In Chinese). 36 “Beijing Eyes Hong Kong and London for Fresh Belt and Road Funds,” South China Morning Post, April 12, 2018, www.scmp.com/news/china/economy/article/2141487 /beijing-eyes-hong-kong-and-london-fresh-belt-and-road-funds. 37 Recent examples of visa denial include foreign journalists, see “Financial Times Journalist Victor Mallet about to Leave Hong Kong after Visa Denial,” South China Morning Post, October 12, 2018, www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/politics/article/ 2168219/financial-times-journalist-victor-mallet-about-leave-hong. The latest case of disqualification is a Legislative Council member who was barred from running in a village election; see “Hong Kong lawmaker Eddie Chu disqualified from run­ ning in village election after being questioned twice on independence,” South China Morning Post, December 2, 2018, www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/politics/article/ 2176031/hong-kong-lawmaker-eddie-chu-disqualified-running-rural. 38 Syaru Shirley Lin, “Bridging the Chinese National Identity Gap: Alternative Identities in Hong Kong and Taiwan.” 39 Syaru Shirley Lin, “Sunf lowers and Umbrellas: Government Responses to StudentLed Protests in Taiwan and Hong Kong,” The Asan Forum, http://www.theasanforum. org/sunf lowers-and-umbrellas-government-responses-to-student-led-protests-in­ taiwan-and-hong-kong/. 40 Syaru Shirley Lin, “The High Income Trap and Taiwan,” paper presented at SOAS conference on “Challenges and Opportunities of Asian Economic Integration Facing Taiwan under the Impact of Globalization,” May 10, 2018; Syaru Shirley Lin, “Hong Kong in the High Income Trap,” FTChinese, June 29, 2017 (In Chinese), http://big5 .ftchinese.com/story/001073173?archive. 41 J. Michael Cole, Convergence or Conflict in the Taiwan Strait: The Illusion of Peace? (Abingdon and Oxon/New York: Routledge, 2016), 98. 42 Richard Wong, “The Roots of Hong Kong’s Income Inequality,” South China Morning Post, March 31, 2015, www.scmp.com/business/global-economy/article/ 1752277/roots-hong-kongs-income-inequality. 43 Thung-hong Lin, “China Impacts after the ECFA: Cross-Strait Trade, Income Inequality, and Class Politics in Taiwan,” in Wen-shan Yang and Po-san Wan, eds., Facing Challenges: A Comparison of Taiwan and Hong Kong (Taipei: Institute of Sociology, Academia Sinica, 2013), 287–325. 44 Kevin T.W. Wong and Jackson K.H. Yeh, “Perceived Income Inequality and Its Political Consequences in Hong Kong and Taiwan from 2003 to 2009,” in Wen-shan Yang and Po-san Wan, eds., Facing Challenges, 237–66. 45 “Hong Kong’s Sky-High Housing Prices Raise Alarms,” Nikkei Asian Review, June 19, 2017, https://asia.nikkei.com/Economy/Hong-Kong-s-sky-high-housing-prices -raise-alarms. 46 “Results Called DPP Failure, not KMT Win,” Taipei Times, November 27, 2018, www.taipeitimes.com/News/taiwan/archives/2018/11/27/2003705007.

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47 Christopher Walker and Jessica Ludwig, “The Meaning of Sharp Power: How Authoritarian States Project Inf luence,” Foreign Affairs, Snapshot (November 16, 2017), www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/china/2017-11-16/meaning-sharp-power; Christopher Walker and Jessica Ludwig, “Introduction: From ‘Soft Power’ to ‘Sharp Power’: Rising Authoritarian Inf luence in the Democratic World,” in “Sharp Power: Rising Authoritarian Inf luence,” New Forum Report, National Endowment for Democracy, December 5, 2017, www.ned.org/sharp-power-rising-authoritarian­ inf luence-forum-report/. 48 “Specter of Meddling by Beijing Looms over Taiwan’s Elections,” The New York Times, November 22, 2018, www.nytimes.com/2018/11/22/world/asia/taiwan­ elections-meddling.html. 49 “Voter Turnout Rate,” Government of Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, November 25, 2018, www.elections.gov.hk/legco2018kwby/eng/turnout.html?154 4416670005. 50 “Occupy Central: A Color Revolution,” Ta Kung Pao, October 14, 2014 (In Chinese). 51 Sonny Shiu-Hing Lo, “China’s New United Front Work in Hong Kong: Can It Win the Hearts and Minds of Hong Kong People?” Speech delivered at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, Hong Kong, June 26, 2018, www.fcchk.org/event/club­ lunch-chinas-new-united-front-work-in-hong-kong-can-it-win-the-hearts-and-m inds-of-hong-kong-people/.

PART 3

Four test cases in the struggle for democratization in East Asia

9 DEMOCRATIZATION, NATIONAL IDENTITY, AND INDONESIA’S FOREIGN POLICY Ralf Emmers

Indonesia has gone through a drastic transformation since the downfall of President Suharto in May 1998. Its national identity has evolved as a result of a process of democratization that has transformed Indonesia into the third largest democracy worldwide. The country also remains a rare example of a Muslim majority democracy. In light of its diversity and history, the issue of national identity remains critical to contemporary Indonesia. Since its independence, Indonesia’s national identity has mostly been a nationalist project driven by the search for unity, political stability, and economic strength. Over the last 20 years, it has included the promotion of an open and democratic society and respect for human rights. The process of democratization has also repositioned the role of Islam in the national identity. Indonesia’s domestic transformation has extended to its foreign policy as dem­ onstrated by its adoption of a normative agenda that encourages the promotion of democracy and respect for human rights in Southeast Asia and beyond. This chapter explores the existing connections between Indonesia’s process of democ­ ratization, its evolving national identity, and its foreign policy. It reviews how Indonesia has encouraged democratic values and respect for human rights in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) and through other insti­ tutional means like the Bali Democracy Forum (BDF) and the Bali Process to counter human smuggling and trafficking. Yet, despite its initiatives and some accomplishments, insufficient leadership, resource limitations, and ongoing resistance from other Southeast Asian nations have restrained Indonesia’s abil­ ity to promote democracy and human rights in the region. Indonesia seems, therefore, unable—or unwilling—to move beyond the projection of its own democratization experience and to become an inf luential source of advocacy for domestic policy transition within the wider region.

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Indonesia’s process of democratization Indonesia first experienced a short period of parliamentary democracy after its independence from the Netherlands in 1949 before being replaced by an executive presidency when its first president Sukarno introduced “Guided Democracy” in 1959.1 An abortive coup in October 1965, mounted allegedly by the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), was followed by Sukarno’s politi­ cal downfall. Lt General Suharto assumed executive powers in March 1966, which initiated a new era in Indonesian politics known as the “New Order,” which strictly controlled any form of political participation. Suharto limited the number of political parties and regulated their activities. No free elections were organized. Instead, Suharto and his government used a political organiza­ tion, Golkar, as an electoral vehicle to dominate parliamentary elections.2 Hence, Indonesia remained undemocratic for more than four decades, marked first by “Guided Democracy” and later by the “New Order.” The Asian financial crisis of 1997–1998 eventually contributed to the dem­ ocratic transition process in Indonesia and the introduction of new civil lib­ erties. The country was embarrassed and deeply affected economically by the strict conditions on loans imposed by the International Monetary Fund (IMF). Student demonstrations calling for Reformasi (reform) led to the resignation of Suharto in May 1998. It started the process of democratization and decentraliza­ tion that changed Indonesian politics and led to free elections. The first years of democratization were politically and economically tumultuous with three nondirectly elected presidents (B.J. Habibie, Abdurrahman Wahid, and Megawati Sukarnoputri). Habibie began liberalizing politics, dismantling state control over the media, and removing anti-subversion laws. A multitude of political parties emerged in this new democratic environment, including Islamist parties. Habibie also supported a referendum on self-determination in East Timor organized by the United Nations in 1999. The vote in favor of independence over autonomy led to violence and eventually to a UN peacekeeping operation. The country’s first direct presidential election was won by retired three-star general Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono in 2004, which brought to an end this tran­ sitional period in Indonesian politics.3 After years of socioeconomic instability, Indonesia started to experience steady economic growth by the 2000s, and the national economy recovered from the consequences of the financial crisis. After Yudhoyono’s reelection in 2009, the 2014 election of Joko Widodo, also known as Jokowi, further established the process of democratization, as he was the first elected leader not to originate from the country’s military or political establish­ ment. The initial results of the presidential election on April 17, 2019, pointed to Jokowi winning close to 55 percent of the popular vote against his oppo­ nent, Prabowo Subianto. With official results only due in late May, Prabowo contested the pollsters’ results and proclaimed victory. Barry Desker notes that Prabowo would have made “a major contribution to the institutionalisation of Indonesian democracy and strengthened the electoral process” if he had instead

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acknowledged his defeat.4 After it had been confirmed in late May 2019 that Jokowi had won 55.5 percent of the vote, Prabowo announced that he would challenge the official result in the Constitutional Court.

Indonesia’s evolving national identity As the fourth most populous country in the world, Indonesia has a large popula­ tion of 240 million that is spread across the largest vast land area in Southeast Asia. Indonesia also consists of an extensive maritime territory that derives from its status as an archipelagic state, and it is the largest Muslim nation in the world, with more Muslims than all of the Middle Eastern states combined.5 In terms of indigenous ethnicity, the country has approximately 300 distinct ethnic groups and over 700 local languages and dialects. Moreover, the Republic of Indonesia was not established based on a common historical unity or legitimacy but rather on its identity as a former Dutch colony. Michael Leifer explains that “Indonesia is a unitary republic without historical antecedent within its contemporary ter­ ritorial bounds, which were established by a waxing Dutch colonial rule from the end of the sixteenth century.”6 Indonesia’s national priorities have mostly remained constant since its war of independence against the Dutch colonial rule. They involve “maintain(ing) the integrity of its far-f lung territory, ensuring the cohesion of its diverse soci­ ety, and promoting the country’s economic interests.” 7 Security challenges to its sovereignty and territorial integrity have traditionally come from within its national boundaries, especially in terms of separatist movements in Aceh, West Papua, and other parts of the country. Indonesia continues, therefore, to focus on domestic stability and territorial unity in light of internal tensions and socioeco­ nomic inequalities. Over the last 20 years, the national identity has also evolved to include the promotion of democracy, respect for human rights, and the devel­ opment of an open political environment. When Sukarno first proclaimed Indonesia’s independence in August 1945, which was to be followed by a revolutionary struggle against the Dutch until 1949, he opted for a state philosophy, Pancasila (five principles), that ensured the equality of all religions, despite the fact that Islam is practiced by a vast major­ ity of the population.8 Sukarno, therefore, defined the identity of Indonesia as “neither theocratic nor secular.” The philosophy of Pancasila and Sukarno’s idea of “unity in diversity” (Bhinneka Tiunggal Ika) continue to symbolize Indonesia’s embrace of cultural and religious diversity. Suharto preserved this religious iden­ tity although he cultivated support from within the Muslim community by the 1990s for political gains.9 The demise of Suharto’s “New Order” was accompanied by a rise of national­ ist and religious movements. Democratization and the decentralization of politics increased the use of exclusive politics and accelerated fragmented religious and regional identities. One observed an increase in religious nationalism, as the unifying force of Islam became salient in Indonesia’s changing national identity.10

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The first few years of democratization also saw the rise of an unprecedented number of civil conf licts in West and Central Kalimantan, Central Sulawesi, and the Moluccas, fueled by religious and ethnic sentiments.11 While fears of such separatist groups have lessened in recent years, the risk of an ineffective political system in Indonesia remains a source of concern. Muslim identity politics has increasingly resulted in the mobilization of reli­ gion-based support. For example, it played a major role during the 2017 Jakarta gubernatorial election, when members of the Muslim community protested in large numbers against Governor Basuki “Ahok” Tjahaja Purnama, Jakarta’s first Christian and ethnically Chinese governor.12 Ahok was eventually given a twoyear sentence for blasphemy due to a speech delivered during the campaign. Jokowi’s decision to choose as his running mate in 2019 Ma’ruf Amin, an Islamic scholar who had testified against Ahok in his trial, was widely regarded as a move to bolster his Islamic credentials. Islam played an important role in those presidential elections. Both Jokowi and his opponent, Prabowo Subianto, cam­ paigned along religious lines, and the national election revealed signs of a more divisive society.

Indonesia’s foreign policy Indonesia’s approach to foreign affairs is best characterized by its so-called “inde­ pendent and active” (Bebas dan Aktif ) foreign policy; principles articulated in 1948 by Mohammad Hatta, then vice president. It is inf luenced by a “desire to put political relations with other nations on a footing of mutual respect.”13 The origins of the Bebas dan Aktif policy can be found in its Constitution of 1945, and its principles have served as the foundation of Indonesia’s foreign policy from Sukarno to the present day.14 It should be noted that Islam was never adopted as an official framework in the country’s foreign policy, nor has it served as the basis for the conduct of foreign relations. Foreign policy has not been a priority to most Indonesian presidents since the process of democratization started in the late 1990s. B.J. Habibie was over­ whelmed by domestic priorities and did not pay much attention to foreign pol­ icy. Abdurrahman Wahid sought to build closer relations with China, India, and the Middle East but with limited focus and success. Following her father’s legacy (Sukarno), Megawati Sukarnoputri “reaffirmed the place of nationalism and Indonesian independence in foreign policy.”15 Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, in contrast to his predecessors, placed foreign policy as a high priority. One of the most distinctive phrases used by Yudhoyono to describe his approach was his principle of “a million friends and zero enemies.”16 Donald K. Emmerson explains that Yudhoyono “broadened the rationale for Indonesian involvement in foreign affairs. A non-economic case in point has been his desire to leverage his country’s stature as the world’s third-largest democracy.”17 Finally, the Jokowi government has not given much importance to foreign policy beyond bilateral relations with great and middle powers focusing instead on addressing domestic

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socioeconomic challenges, such as infrastructural weaknesses and income ine­ quality driven by low human development indicators. Nevertheless, as an extension of its process of democratization, Indonesia has sought to project its own domestic experience and promote democracy and respect for human rights in Southeast Asia and beyond. Many observers have highlighted the connection between democracy and Indonesia’s foreign policy over the last 20 years. Amitav Acharya argues, for instance, that Indonesia has relied less on expanding its military and economic capabilities, and has instead “develop(ed) a positive virtuous correlation among three factors—democracy, development and stability—while pursuing a foreign policy of restraint towards neighbours and active engagement with the world at large.”18 Likewise, Dewi Fortuna Anwar has stressed that “Indonesia’s identity as the third-largest democ­ racy in the world needs to be constructed as the primary image of the country,” adding that democracy and the respect for human rights should serve as the basis for Indonesia’s foreign policy.19 The connection between democracy and foreign policy can be seen in Indonesia’s approach toward Myanmar. Jakarta repeatedly called on the military junta in Myanmar to move toward democracy prior to the release of Aung San Suu Kyi in November 2010 and the opening up of the country in 2011–2012. Jakarta preferred to seek a regional solution to the Myanmar question based on inclu­ siveness and dialogue, and it opposed the imposition of sanctions on the country by international institutions (the United Nations and the European Union) and external powers like the United States. More recently, Indonesia has attempted to mediate an ongoing sectarian conf lict between the Muslim Rohingya minor­ ity and the Buddhist majority in the Rakhine State of Myanmar. Yudhoyono, in particular, spoke out repeatedly in support of the rights of the minority group and offered Myanmar Indonesia’s own expertise in solving communal violence.20 Jakarta has long emphasized that it views the conf lict as a rights issue and a com­ munal problem, as opposed to it being a religious question. Indonesian foreign minister Retno Marsudi in the Jokowi government took the lead in Southeast Asia in visiting Myanmar’s leader Aung San Suu Kyi in 2017 to deal with the conf lict in Rakhine State.21 Within ASEAN itself, Indonesia insisted on references to democracy and respect for human rights in the ASEAN Charter adopted in November 2007. It also lobbied for an ASEAN Intergovernmental Commission on Human Rights, established in 2009, and an ASEAN Human Rights Declaration, signed in November 2012. Prior to that, the Indonesian government had been instru­ mental in including a human rights dimension as part of the ASEAN Security Community concept first proposed in the 2003 Bali Concord II.22 However, Jakarta’s overall success in promoting these values through ASEAN has remained questionable. All the ASEAN initiatives were eventually adopted in a compro­ mised and watered-down form to address the concerns of the less democratic Southeast Asian states.23 Their functional value in terms of institutional imple­ mentation is, therefore, open for debate. Indonesia has been disappointed by the

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resistance from some ASEAN members to endorse a more democratic form of domestic governance based on a common set of values. This state of affairs may have convinced Jakarta to move beyond ASEAN on certain matters. One of Indonesia’s most inf luential public intellectuals, Jusuf Wanadi, sums up the cur­ rent state of mind when stating that if the regional body “cannot move beyond its lowest common denominator, as defined by Laos or Myanmar, it is likely that Indonesia will seek to become more independent from ASEAN.”24 Beyond its own regional body, the promotion of democracy and human rights has defined several foreign policy initiatives adopted by Indonesia in recent years, although with limited success. Jakarta has attempted, for instance, to pro­ mote democracy through the Bali Democracy Forum. It launched the forum in 2008 as the first governmental or track-one forum for dialogue on democracy in Asia, and the process has continued since the 11th BDF held in December 2018. Evi Fitriani explains that the forum “was an important instrument for Yudhoyono to pursue his ambition of Indonesia becoming a respected entre­ preneur of normative change.”25 Likewise, the BDF has been referred to as the “pride of place in Indonesia’s public commitment to democracy.”26 It is held annually as an open intergovernmental platform seeking to promote democracy by focusing on dialogue, the sharing of best practices, mutual respect, and the principle of equality.27 The BDF can thus be regarded “as a means for Indonesia to share its experience as a recently transitioned democracy with countries that were, in its view, pre-transitional.”28 The announcement of the BDF, made within a decade of Indonesia’s own democratic transition, was welcomed internationally. Yet, the initial enthusiasm has been tempered by some concern over its structure and practices. Regional activists are worried that the BDF is merely a space where countries can share their views on democracy and that it provides nondemocratic governments with an opportunity to redefine and lower the conceptualization of democracy.29 Being a forum and not an organization with “measurable outcomes,” Donald Weatherbee argues that it is “difficult to avoid thinking of it as other than a ‘talk shop.’”30 Moreover, China, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam have been participants, leading critics to argue that the BDF gives legitimacy to undemocratic regimes. Former foreign minister, Hassan Wirajuda, the organization’s key architect, has rebutted such criticism by pointing out that the BDF was created as “an inter­ governmental forum about democracy, not among democracies.”31 Some ana­ lysts have, nonetheless, questioned if the BDF is largely ceremonial and whether Indonesia has the political will and necessary resources to translate a forum into concrete political action.32 Indonesia has also attempted to promote human rights by tackling the prob­ lem of human smuggling and trafficking in the region. Indonesia is one of the main transit countries of refugee populations in Southeast Asia and a key transit for asylum seekers hoping to reach Australia by sea. The authorities face the problem of identifying and differentiating between bona fide refugees and eco­ nomic migrants who are seeking refugee status to gain entry into a recipient

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country.33 Indonesia since February 2002 has co-organized with Australia the Ministerial Conference on People Smuggling, Trafficking in Persons and Related Transnational Crime. The so-called “Bali Process” brings together numerous countries from the Asia-Pacific, North America, and Europe as well as inter­ national agencies and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Meetings of the Bali Process were held in 2002 and 2003, followed by a gap until 2009 when the process was reactivated. The latest Bali Process Ministerial Conference was held in August 2018. The process has functioned as a platform for the dialogue and trust building among member states. Various factors explain why the Bali Process has so far only had a lim­ ited impact beyond the endorsement of nonbinding measures. The question of undocumented migration is politically sensitive, and national governments often prefer to react to crime at a national level, especially as human smug­ gling and trafficking touches on questions of national jurisdiction, the shar­ ing of information, extradition laws, and problems of corruption. Yet, some limitations of the Bali Process are linked to Indonesia’s own lack of leadership and limited resources. The infrequency of the meetings and the absence of a secretariat to oversee administrative work and coordination have undermined its impact. 34 Information sharing between participating states is lacking and “remains one of the major hurdles in improving coordination among the par­ ticipating problems.”35 As the co-organizer, Jakarta could have played a coor­ dinating role. The fulfillment of such a task has arguably been undermined by domestic constraints. At the national level, Indonesia’s borders remain porous, and authorities are reluctant to stop asylum seekers from leaving for Australia. Antje Missbach notes that Jakarta would have to significantly increase its bor­ der control budget to tackle the problem, and she claims that this “appears unlikely at the moment, because the Indonesian government does not consider the f lows of asylum seekers as a high priority.”36 The situation is made worse by the fact that human smuggling and trafficking have caused deep tensions between Indonesia and Australia and that they continue to this day to have a negative impact on bilateral ties. Finally, Indonesia has sought to promote interfaith dialogue in the context of rising religious fundamentalism and a widening gap between the Western and Muslim world. Rizal Sukma has suggested, for example, that Indonesia was in a position to play “a role as a global Islamic voice.”37 Jakarta launched the first regional interfaith dialogue in 2004 in Yogyakarta, and the Indonesian for­ eign ministry also set up similar initiatives through the Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM) and the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC). Indonesia has sponsored bilateral interfaith and intercultural dialogues with countries as diverse as Australia, the Vatican, the Netherlands, Canada, the United States, the United Kingdom, Lebanon, Chile, Argentina, Hungary, and Serbia. To do so, the Indonesian foreign ministry has worked with the country’s two larg­ est Muslim organizations: Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah.38 That said, Indonesia has faced challenges in acting as a bridge, as ethnic conf licts and acts

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of religious intolerance in Indonesia have sometimes marred the country’s claim as a moderate Islamic force.39 In short, Indonesia has sought to promote democracy and the respect for human rights beyond its borders. It has pushed its normative agenda through multilateralism and dialogue. The nexus between interfaith dialogue, human rights, and communal peace has also been explored. There is, however, some skepticism regarding the country’s ability to go beyond the simple projection of its experience in democratic transition. Sukma remarks that Indonesia faces a difficult challenge to be a democracy advocate as it is the “lone voice for democ­ racy in a region dominated by authoritarian and semi-autocratic regimes.”40 The politics of Southeast Asia are problematic for democracy promotion, as the ASEAN members remain diverse politically and value the principles of national sovereignty and noninterference in the affairs of other states above all.

The role of external powers The United States, arguably, inf luenced the process of democratization in Indonesia when it first started in the late 1990s. These countries had built close security and economic relations during the Suharto period. Yet, this partner­ ship did not stop Washington from applying an arms embargo and suspending military ties in response to abuses committed by the Indonesian armed forces (Tentara Nasional Indonesia) in East Timor during the 1999 post-referendum period. Restrictions on the Indonesian armed forces include prohibiting access to credits to purchase US military equipment and to participate in military edu­ cation training programs. In 2002, Assistant Secretary of State for East Asia and the Pacific James Kelly again criticized Indonesia for the government’s lack of accountability for human rights violations perpetrated in East Timor. The US position on Indonesian domestic politics was further inf luenced by the Bali bombings of October 2002, which highlighted the threat of radical reli­ gious terrorism in the country. Jemaah Islamiah ( JI) was held responsible, and it later claimed responsibility for the bombing of the JW Marriott Hotel in Jakarta in August 2003. Other terrorist attacks in Indonesia include the September 2004 bombing of the Australian Embassy in Jakarta and the October 2005 attacks in Bali. The United States, and others, put significant pressure on Jakarta to crack down on JI and other terrorist groups.41 Until the Bali bombings, the Indonesian government had denied the existence of a terrorist network within the country. For example, Megawati had refused to ban JI. Wise asserts that the reason was “the pervasive view that banning JI meant capitulating to Western demands.”42 The Bali blasts changed the country’s perception. After his election, Yudhoyono adopted a series of measures aimed at curbing domestic violence. Worth noting was the setting up of Counter Terrorism Task Force Detachment 88, an elite police group trained by American and Australian advisors. One may speculate whether the rising strategic and economic competition between the United States and China as well as the shift away from democracy

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and human rights promotion under the Trump administration has inf luenced Jokowi’s foreign policy. Unlike his predecessor, Jokowi’s initiatives have been driven less by a normative agenda. The current president has introduced a domes­ tic orientation to Indonesia’s foreign policy by emphasizing the need to protect the nation and provide security to all its citizens.43 Priorities now include bilat­ eral relations and attracting foreign direct investment (FDI) to support domestic infrastructure projects. Moreover, in light of Trump’s transactional approach to foreign affairs and the rise of China as a military and economic power, Indonesia is increasingly faced with the challenge of having to balance its relations with Washington and Beijing. Amid rising geopolitical competition, Indonesia still adheres to its traditional “free and active” foreign policy. This means that Indonesia continues to avoid taking sides between any competing blocs and refrains from forming military alliances. Yet the promotion of democracy and respect for human rights may well have become secondary in this uncertain stra­ tegic landscape. The Jokowi administration is instead apprehensive about trade and geopolitical rivalry and its effect on Indonesia and Southeast Asia. Jokowi announced during the 2019 campaign that he would continue to focus on large infrastructure projects, funded through joint ventures with China, Japan, and other sources. Analysts have speculated that Jokowi will open Indonesia’s door to foreign investment in his second term to build infrastructure projects and unlock economic growth.44 A greater reliance on Chinese FDIs has partly resulted from the new trade policy adopted by the Trump adminis­ tration, especially since the US president has called for a shift in trade imbal­ ances between the United States and its trading partners, including Indonesia. Moreover, the recent escalation in the trade war between China and the United States has affected Indonesia’s currency and financial market. The Rupiah has fallen, and Indonesian equities have weakened as foreign funds pull out of the country.45 With a potential slowdown of its economy, it will be more challenging for Indonesia to uphold its normative foreign policy and its role as a responsible follower of the “rules-based order.”46 Beyond geo-economics, the escalating tension between the United States and China has narrowed Indonesia’s room for diplomatic initiatives. For example, in response to the Free and Open Indo-Pacific concept promoted by the United States, the Jokowi administration proposed its own version of the term at the ASEAN summit in Singapore in 2018. Evan Laksmana explains that Jakarta was uncomfortable with an Indo-Pacific concept endorsed by Washington, Tokyo, Canberra, and New Delhi and offered instead an ASEAN-centric vision based on the body’s own principles and centrality in the regional architecture.47 Significantly, the Indonesian proposal for an alternative approach was turned down by the other member states, as they were concerned to be further embroiled in the US-China rivalry. In short, Indonesia’s policy options have been further narrowed by the rising competition between the United States and China and the ongoing trade war risks affecting its economic growth. Such regional circumstances will make it

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less likely for Jokowi during his second term to drive a normative agenda and promote democracy and respect for human rights in his foreign policy.

Future challenges for Indonesia’s democracy The process of democratization in Indonesia is likely to face a series of chal­ lenges in the coming years due to compromises made by the Jokowi government to Islamist voices and the military. Such challenges are the result of a changing national identity and suggest a grim evolving situation in Indonesian politics. As discussed above, the process of democratization has been accompanied by a rise of Muslim identity politics and the fragmentation of society. This was illustrated by the 2017 Jakarta gubernatorial election and Ahok’s conviction for blasphemy. The compromises made toward Islamist voices have included Jokowi’s ini­ tial decision to release Abu Bakar Ba’asyir, the JI mastermind, ahead of the 2019 presidential elections. It was widely speculated that the plan to release the extremist was motivated by electoral calculations, especially to guarantee the support of the conservative Islamist Crescent Star Party (PBB). Jokowi’s gov­ ernment had previously ignored requests calling for Ba’asyir to be released due to his deteriorating health or to be put under house arrest.48 Jokowi eventually retracted his announcement of early release after much protests, both domesti­ cally and from the international community.49 Arguably driven by identity poli­ tics, Jokowi decided to travel to Mecca in Saudi Arabia to perform the Muslim pilgrimage three days before the polls. Jokowi had attempted to promote closer ties with Riyadh, and the Saudi government announced during his visit its deci­ sion to raise Indonesia’s annual hajj quota by 10,000 to 231,000 pilgrims.50 Jokowi has also taken some conciliatory steps toward the military and its changing role in Indonesian politics. This has led to speculation regarding a potential return of the Dual Function (Dwi Fungsi) of the Indonesian National Military (TNI) as both a military and political force, as a system that defined Indonesian politics during the Suharto period. Jokowi has brought high-ranking military officers into the executive by, for example, appointing General Wiranto as coordinating political, legal, and security affairs minister, at the dismay of human rights activists.51 Jokowi has also indicated that there could be more posi­ tions in the executive branch for military officers in an attempt to appease the TNI.52 Johannes Nugroho explains that “the termination of dwifungsi for the past 20 years has been one of the key democratic achievements of Indonesia’s Reformasi” and that the return to a “policy resembling dwifungsi will be a setback for both democracy and military reform.”53

Conclusion Indonesia has relied on its status as the third largest democracy worldwide to push a normative agenda in its foreign policy, especially in Southeast Asia. Indonesia has encouraged democratic values in ASEAN and acted as a third-party mediator

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in Myanmar as an extension of its domestic politics; yet, the less democratic members of the regional body have contested its focus on domestic governance and interference in the affairs of other states. Hence, Indonesia’s support for insti­ tutional mechanisms meant to enhance a domestic form of democratic govern­ ance is not endorsed by all the other ASEAN members. The latter continue to operate based on different political systems, and disparate socioeconomic condi­ tions remain in Southeast Asia. These differences prevent ASEAN from forging a shared perception on ideational matters. Indonesia has also faced mixed results when implementing policy initiatives due to insufficient leadership and domestic constraints. This has created a gap between Indonesia’s ability at generating policy ideas and transforming them into implementable strategies. This gap has been illustrated, for instance, by its inability to enhance regional cooperation against human smuggling and traf­ ficking through the Bali Process. Likewise, Jakarta has so far not attempted to transform the BDF into a functioning organization. Indonesia’s capacity to move beyond the projection of its own democratization experience will depend on its own domestic resilience and long-term economic development. It will also depend on Indonesia’s ability to preserve some room for maneuver in a worsen­ ing strategic environment. The current struggle between the United States and China makes it less likely that Indonesia will be able to focus on a normative foreign policy in the coming years. Finally, the political situation and changing national identity in Indonesia need to be followed closely. Jokowi was viewed after his first presidential vic­ tory as a hope for democracy in Indonesia and Southeast Asia. Many compared him to President Barack Obama in the United States. Five years later, the pro­ cess of democratization is increasingly driven by Muslim identity politics, with presidential candidates campaigning along religious lines. The national election of 2019 also showed signs of a more divisive society. In addition, the political dynamics have evolved with a potential return of the military in sociopolitical affairs. Such developments are a source of concern as they may ultimately endan­ ger the overall process of democratization in Indonesia.

Notes 1 Michael Leifer, Dictionary of the Modern Politics of South-East Asia, 3rd edition (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 17. 2 Ibid., p. 18. 3 Edward Aspinall, “Elections and the normalization of politics in Indonesia,” South East Asia Research, Vol. 12, No. 2 (2005), p. 119, as cited in Harold Crouch, Political Reform in Indonesia after Soeharto (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2010), p. 35. 4 Barry Desker, “Indonesian presidential election 2019 – another term for Jokowi: some significant developments,” RSIS Commentary, No. 82, April 26, 2019. 5 Ann Marie Murphy, “Indonesia responds to China’s rise,” in Bruce Gilley and Andrew O’Neil, eds., Middle Powers and the Rise of China (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2014), p. 127.

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6 Michael Leifer, Dictionary of the Modern Politics of South-East Asia, p. 17. 7 Ann Marie Murphy, “Indonesia and the world,” in John Bresnan, ed., Indonesia: The Great Transition (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2005), p. 240. 8 The Pancasila philosophy puts forward the following: “Belief in one supreme God, just and civilized humanity, the unity of Indonesia, democracy guided by wisdom in the consultative and social justice for the entire principle of Indonesia,” Directorate of Foreign Information Services, Indonesia, Indonesia 1996: An Official Handbook, Department of Information (Perum Percetakan Negara RI, 1995/1996). 9 William Liddle, “Islamic turn in Indonesia: A political explanation,” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 55, No. 3 (1996), pp. 613–34. 10 Jajat Burhanudin and Kees van Dijk, Islam in Indonesia (Amsterdam: ICAS Publication Series, Amsterdam University Press, 2013). 11 Tim Huxley, Disintegrating Indonesia? Implications for Regional Security (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2002). 12 “Anti-Ahok to Anti-Jokowi: Islamist inf luence on Indonesia’s 2019 election cam­ paign,” Institute for Policy Analysis of Conf lict, IPAC Report, No. 55, http://file .understandingconf lict.org/file/2019/03/Report_55.pdf. 13 Mohammad Hatta, “Indonesian foreign policy,” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 31, No. 3 (1953), pp. 444–45. 14 Banyu Perwita Anak Agung, Indonesia and the Muslim World: Islam and Secularism in the Foreign Policy of Soeharto and Beyond (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2007), p. 8; Donald E. Weatherbee, Indonesia in ASEAN: Vision and Reality (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013), p. 11. Nasir Tamara, Indonesia Rising: Islam, Democracy and the Rise of Indonesia as a Major Power (Singapore: Select Publishing, 2009), p. 100. 15 Ibid. 16 “SBY: Indonesia has ‘A million friends and zero enemies,’” The Jakarta Globe, October 20, 2009. 17 Donald K. Emmerson, “Is Indonesia rising? It depends,” in Anthony Reid, ed., Indonesia Rising: The Repositioning of Asia’s Third Giant (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2012), pp. 49–76. 18 Amitav Acharya, Indonesia Matters: Asia’s Emerging Democratic Power (Singapore: World Scientific, 2015), pp. 1–2. 19 Dewi Fortuna Anwar, Menggagas Politik Luar Negeri Indonesia Baru ( Jakarta: LIPI, 2000), pp. 30, 37. 20 Donald Weatherbee, Indonesia in ASEAN, p. 53. 21 “Indonesian foreign minister Retno Marsudi to meet Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar,” Channel NewsAsia, September 3, 2017. 22 John Ciociari, “Institutionalizing human rights in Southeast Asia,” Human Rights Quarterly, Vol. 34, No. 3 (2012), pp. 695–725. 23 Rizal Sukma, “Domestic politics and international posture: constraints and possibili­ ties,” in Anthony Reid, ed., Indonesia Rising: The Repositioning of Asia’s Third Giant (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2012), p. 80. 24 Cited in Tan See Seng, “Indonesia among the powers: will ASEAN still matter to Indonesia?” in Christopher Roberts, Ahmad Habir, and Leonard Sebastian, eds., Indonesia’s Ascent, Power, Leadership and the Regional Order (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), p. 227. 25 Evi Fitriani, “Yudhoyono’s foreign policy: is Indonesia a rising power?” in Edward Aspinall, Marcus Mietzner, and Tomsa Dirk, eds., The Yudhoyono Presidency: Indonesia’s Decade of Stability and Stagnation (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2015), p. 80. 26 Donald Weatherbee, Indonesia in ASEAN, p. 30. 27 BDF’s official website, https://bdf.kemlu.go.id/about/what-is-the-bdf.

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28 Kelley Currie, Mirage or Reality? Asia’s Emerging Human Rights and Democracy Architecture (Arlington, VA: Project 2049 Institute, 2010), p. 22. 29 Ibid. 30 Donald Weatherbee, Indonesia in ASEAN, pp. 31–32. 31 As cited in Ann Marie Murphy, “Democratization and Indonesian foreign policy: implications for the United States,” Asia Policy, No. 13 (2012), p. 90. 32 Rizal Sukma, “Indonesia finds a new voice,” Journal of Democracy, Vol. 22, No. 4 (October 2011), p. 119; Wirajuda Muhammad Hadianto, “The impact of democ­ ratization on Indonesia’s foreign policy: regional cooperation, promotion of politi­ cal values, and conf lict management,” PhD dissertation (London: London School of Economics, 2014). 33 Ahmad Almaududy Amri, “People smuggling in Southeast Asia: Trends, challenges and way forward,” Australian Journal of Maritime and Ocean Affairs, Vol. 7, No. 2 (2015), p. 134. 34 Ibid., p. 145. 35 Ibid., p. 146. 36 Antje Missbach, “Doors and fences: controlling Indonesia’s porous borders and policing asylum seekers,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography, Vol. 35, No. 2 (2014), p. 240. 37 “Insight: debating Indonesia’s global role,” The Jakarta Post, March 11, 2010. 38 Azyumardi Azra, “Indonesia’s middle power public diplomacy: Asia and beyond,” in Jan Melissen and Yul Sohn, eds., Understanding Public Diplomacy in East Asia: Middle Powers in a Trouble Region (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), p. 146. 39 “Religious intolerance in Indonesia,” Congressional Research Service, October 10, 2018, https://fas.org/sgp/crs/row/IF11001.pdf. 40 Rizal Sukma, “Indonesia finds a new voice,” p. 119. 41 Amy Freedman, “Consolidation or withering away of democracy? Political changes in Thailand and Indonesia,” Asian Affairs: An American Review, Vol. 33, No. 4 (2007), pp. 195–216. 42 William Wise, Indonesia’s War on Terror (Washington, DC: The United States – Indonesia Society, 2005), pp. 47–48. 43 “Jokowi demands fair trade,” The Jakarta Post, November 13, 2014, www.thejakartap ost.com/news/2014/11/13/jokowi-demands-fair-trade.html. 44 “It’s now or never for Jokowi to fix Indonesia after election win, analysts say,” The Straits Times, April 18, 2019, www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/its-now-or-never -for-jokowi-to-fix-indonesia-after-election-win-analysts-say. 45 “Indonesia first in Asia to erase this year’s stock market rally,” The Jakarta Post, May 14, 2019, www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/05/14/indonesia-first-in-asia-to-erase-thi s-years-stock-market-rally-.html. 46 “Indonesia—a nation redivided,” Nikkei Asian Review, April 19, 2019. https://asia.ni kkei.com/Opinion/Indonesia-a-nation-redivided. 47 “Advancing democracy in the US free and open indo-pacific strategy,” The Diplomat, April 14, 2019, https://thediplomat.com/2019/04/advancing-democracy-in-the-us -free-and-open-indo-pacific-strategy/. 48 “Free Ba’asyir? Why now?” The Jakarta Post, January 21, 2019, www.thejakartapost.c om/academia/2019/01/21/free-baasyir-why-now.html. 49 “Ba’asyir early release plan cancelled: state palace,” The Jakarta Post, 23 January, 2019, www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/01/23/baasyir-early-release-plan-cancelled -state-palace.html. 50 “Indonesia, Saudi Arabia agree to further strengthen ties,” The Jakarta Globe, April 15, 2019, https://jakartaglobe.id/context/indonesia-saudi-arabia-agree-to-further -strengthen-ties. 51 “Indonesia names controversial ex-general Wiranto as security minister,” The Straits Times, July 27, 2016, www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/indonesia-names-contr oversial-ex-general-as-security-minister.

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52 “Indonesia’s military demands more positions in ministries and state institutions,” The Straits Times, February 4, 2019, www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/indonesias­ military-demands-more-positions-in-ministries-and-state-institutions. Antonius, Supriatma, “Jokowi and his generals, appeasement and personal relations,” Perspective, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Issue 2019, no. 23, www.iseas.edu.sg/images/pdf/ ISEAS_Perspective_2019_23.pdf. 53 “Will Indonesia’s military regain civilian roles?” Today, March 4, 2019, www.todayo nline.com/commentary/will-indonesias-military-regain-civilian-roles.

10

TRUCE AND TALES IN NEW MALAYSIA

Happy first anniversary Sophie Lemière

The expression “New Malaysia” or Malaysia Baharu emerged in 2016 as a seman­ tic capsule for the democratic aspirations of the movement for electoral reform Bersih (“clean” in Malay), whose rally in November of that year brought more than 100,000 people to the streets of Kuala Lumpur.1 “New Malaysia” soon became the leitmotiv of the entire opposition movement to overthrow the Najib Razak government (2009–2018) embedded in the world financial scandal 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB).2 On May 9, 2018, the opposition coa­ lition, Pact of Hope (Pakatan Harapan or PH), led by Mahathir Mohammad, won the general elections, slaying 61 years of single-party rule. Malaysia Baharu was born, and with it, the hopes of democratization. A year later, on May 9, 2019, the PH government celebrated the first anni­ versary of New Malaysia in Putrajaya, the administrative capital about 60 km south of Kuala Lumpur. Over the year, the expression “New Malaysia” has been institutionalized, and on that day, “Selamat Setahun Malaysia Baharu” (Happy First Anniversary, New Malaysia) was displayed on all banners, in and around the event hall. Foreign ambassadors are sitting next to state officials and civil servants, for whom, after six decades of United Malay National Organization (UMNO)-style rule, this transition poses numerous political and administra­ tive challenges. Ministers and members of the senate and the parliament on the front row are all eyes on Mahathir: they are first-timer ministers, former activ­ ists turned politicians, and even the UMNO old guard, who had left—or been sacked—from the previous government before joining PH. Alone on the grand stage between giant screens, Mahathir gives a speech emphasizing the victory of justice over kleptocracy, praising his government’s achievements and announc­ ing a new route for equitable development.3 He reads from translucent glass prompters: the speech is spotless, under control; the prime minister follows the script—restraining his natural tendency to go off it.

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It is in fact the 23rd year in power for the 93-year-old man who reigned over the country from 1982 to 2004, when he resigned. This time around, Mahathir has promised to stay in power for two years before handing the office to Anwar Ibrahim, his former heir turned archenemy with whom he reconciled in 2016. In 2015, Anwar had been jailed on politically motivated charges of sodomy for the second time; he was granted a Royal Pardon and released a week after the elec­ tions. “New Malaysia” is not just about an unexpected democratic turn but also is about a unique power transition between two charismatic leaders: Mahathir and Anwar. Old players in a new game, old friends and new enemies (and vice versa), what has really changed in New Malaysia? Do the practices of power meet the demo­ cratic agenda announced during the campaign? How can Mahathir, once seen as an authoritarian leader, maintain his legitimacy as a democratic icon?

From Malaysia to New Malaysia Before 2018: a democratic illusion While Malaysia has been independent since 1957, the federation never became a full-f ledged democracy. Instead, successive governments, run by the multieth­ nic coalition Barisan Nasional (National Front) and led by the pro-Malay party United Malay National Organization (UMNO), maintained the liberticidal and racialized inheritance of the British empire. The semi-authoritarian sys­ tem perpetuated by UMNO ensured its monopoly over power for decades.4 In 1987–1988, the judiciary crisis symbolized the height of the tensions between the government (then led by Mahathir) and the judiciary, allowing the former to enhance its control and blurred further the separation between powers. The existence of multipartite elections and the development of a vibrant civil society were used as arguments in favor of a democratic illusion, while over­ shadowing the extent of the unfairness of electoral competition5 and the partisan nature of civil society. To Ottaway,6 semi-authoritarian democracies are “ambig­ uous systems” that combine: (1) rhetorical acceptance of liberal democracy, (2) formal democratic institutions, and (3) “a limited sphere of civil and political liberties with essentially illiberal or even authoritarian traits.” She highlights the fact that, far from being a transitional process, this regime is the successful outcome of a deliberated strategy “to maintain the appearance of democracy without exposing themselves to the political risks that free competition entails.” 7 The emergence of the coalition Bersih in 2006, the first march of its supporters in Kuala Lumpur in 2007, and the relaunched Bersih 2.0 in 2010 raised the level of awareness of the many abuses of the electoral system by the ruling coalition. From 2006 to 2017, it organized no less than five street rallies to ask for electoral transparency, most of which were repressed by arrests, if not harassment, of its leadership and of anonymous citizens. The Bersih rally offers a useful perspec­ tive on the relative democratic nature of civil society. In general, civil society

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is perceived as a de facto, quasi-sacred, sign of democratization, while it may indeed be the opposite.8 Malaysia constitutes a great example of how civil society may be used by a government as an authoritarian tool. In 2015, for example, the Bersih rally was soon followed by a Red Shirt rally, led by UMNO member and leader Jamal Yunos. The violence occurring during other rallies organized by Bersih and/or other civil society groups like the Hindu Rights Action Force (Hindraf )9 or Article 11 (2006)10 was often the act of small groups of individuals, some registered UMNO members, affiliated with underground criminal net­ works operating behind umbrella NGOs linked to UMNO.11 This orchestration of violence and tensions was a main element of the System of Legitimation of Authoritarian Power (SLAP).12 Since its creation in 1946, the complex UMNO ideological and political machinery has been strengthened and expanded to all areas of power includ­ ing the economy.13 Manifestations in all sectors and propaganda reached a point where its own fate became inextricably intertwined with the fate of the entire Malay majority. In the 1970s after the formation of Malaysia and the exclusion of Singapore (1963), the anti-imperialistic and nationalist ideals previously shared with other ethnic-based parties acquired an ethnonationalist slant. Over dec­ ades, the UMNO-led governments pushed for a national narrative, submerging the historical role and social and economic rights of the Chinese, Indians, and indigenous minorities.14 Indigenous population from Sabah and Sarawak, the two northern states of Borneo on both sides of the Sultanate of Brunei, and the Orang Asli community of the peninsula, have been included in this ethnonationalist narrative as “sons of the soil” or Bumiputera. This inclusion was a way to secure UMNO votes—and favorable numbers for an ethnic census—to safeguard its monopolistic position and its narrative. Nevertheless, the economic and social opportunities of these populations never equaled those for the Malays.15 The successive economic poli­ cies implemented from 1971 in order to reduce economic disparities favored the development of a Malay middle class to the detriment of other Bumiputera and non-Bumiputera communities. The Malay and the indigenous people do have a special status protected by the Constitution referred to as “Malay Rights.”16 The economic interpretation of Malay Rights in the National Economy Policy (NEP) and its offshoots favored the majority in a wide range of areas, e.g., uni­ versities, public tenders, and finance, offering opportunities such as: higher rep­ resentation in public service, reserved quotas for universities, and shares in public companies. These policies reinforced the national narrative and nurtured a feel­ ing of both entitlement (among the Malay) and resentment17 (on all sides of the ethnic spectrum). The end of the Mahathir era (2004) was seen as an opportunity for more inclusiveness. Both Abdullah Badawi’s and Najib’s governments played the har­ mony card but on different tunes. The Abdullah government promoted inclusion through the religious universalist perspective of Islam Hadhari.18 The concept only appealed to a non-Muslim international audience and failed to attenuate

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ethno-religious tensions, opening the door to new forms of resentment. With the relative opening of civil society, NGOs created with the objective of sup­ porting the UMNO agenda mushroomed. Moral and religious controversies took center stage. In a country where close to 60% of the population is Muslim, and where religion is a primary marker of ethnic identity provided by Article 160 of the Constitution, religion is at the forefront of the expression of ethnic rivalries. The importance of the controversy about Muslims renouncing Islam was inversely proportional to the number of cases (huge controversy, small num­ ber of cases). Freedom of religion is guaranteed by Article 11 of the Constitution but is conditioned by state interpretations of Islamic law when matters are related to Islam. Article 11 created a schism within civil society (conservative Muslims versus liberal Muslims and non-Muslims), ref lecting political divisions between Malay parties (mainly UMNO and the Islamist Party PA34rS) and non-Malay parties (mainly Keadilan Rakyat or Keadilan and Democratic Action Party or DAP) on all sides of the political divide.19 Abdullah was pushed out of the government in 2008 after the worst elec­ toral results the Barisan Nasional coalition had faced in decades, allowing the opposition to win five states.20 Najib Razak, son of Abdul Razak and nephew of Hussein Onn (the second and third prime ministers) was propelled to the top of the party as premier in February 2009. Najib’s reform intentions, specifically related to Malay Rights, were debunked by the most ethnocentric voices of UMNO and their proxy NGOs.21 His economic and social plan, “1Malaysia,” to promote and celebrate harmony and diversity was encapsulated in one sim­ ple slogan—to be pronounced with a lifted finger to symbolize “one”—which was showcased on streets and corners everywhere with giant posters of a smil­ ing prime minister and also in the government owned media. “Good morning/ evening One Malaysia” became the greeting formula for all news presenters. It soon was imprinted in people’s minds, but Najib’s grand vision was doomed.

2016–2018: Bersatu or the reinvention of Mahathir The embezzlement of the state-managed fund 1MDB, one of the biggest cor­ ruption scandals in the world, burst into the limelight in 2015.22 In 2010, the public got its first glimpse of what would become the “1MDB scandal.” Initially designed to boost national economic growth, the development fund in practice became a cash cow for well-placed individuals, notably financier Low Taek Jho ( Jho Low),23 who succeeded in siphoning off more than $4.5 billion from the fund. By 2015, however, foreign authorities had opened no fewer than nine investigations into the 1MBD affair, most of which identified Najib as one of the protagonists.24 Criticism of Najib’s role in the scandal led to a purge from UMNO, the cabinet, and the judiciary.25 Muhyiddin Yassin, deputy prime minister; Mukhriz Mahathir, chief minister of the state of Kedah and son of Mahathir; and Shafie Apdal, minister of rural and regional development, among others, were sacked from the government and the party.

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The financial scandal took a dramatic turn. As Muhyiddin recalls: When Najib asked me to come to his office … [he had] set his mind that I have to go but he couldn’t say it right in front of me. I said, “What did you call me here for? … it is about the cabinet?” “Yes.” “Is it about you not wanting me to be reappointed as Deputy Prime Minister?” He said “yes” and … that’s it. … In one meeting. Then … Hishamuddin [party vicepresident, also defense minister and cousin of Najib] was asked to chair a special meeting to get me out … I wasn’t called to be present … because they had set their mind to get me out of the party. I did not receive any let­ ter; I was just informed through the media … Shafie [Apdal] was removed. And, Mukhriz … was removed. So, we … start thinking that [we] need to move on and then we have to fight together. And, at a certain stage, we went to see Tun [Mahathir] because he used to mention that he is fighting alone and someone said: “Sir, you are not alone.”26 Mahathir, Muhyiddin, Mukhriz, and the late Sanusi Junid (1943–2018) were the first elements of a new kind of opposition. As Muhyiddin explains it, the only voices that existed against the government were the opposition and Bersih,27 but to him, the two were “not cohesive enough.” These voices had also been fierce critics of them, during their time in the government. On March 4, 2016, the Declarasi Rakyat or the Declaration of the People was the first move toward the reunion of former enemies.28 A year after he had been sacked, Muhyiddin suggested to Mahathir the need to form a new party—a Malay party. Bersatu was formed in September 2016. The same month, Mahathir publicly sealed his reconciliation with his former enemy Anwar by appearing in Malaysia’s High Court in a show of support for a case brought by him. Mahathir had resigned from his position in UMNO on February 29, 2016. A few months before, in August 2015, the seasoned politician had tested his popu­ larity in the pro-opposition ranks by joining the Bersih 4 rally.29 This bold move proved that despite his autocratic image (at least among opposition supporters), the charisma of the leader was uncontested and was able to cross political divides. It also sent an extraordinary message to the masses: first, Mahathir, whose rel­ evance to contemporary politics had somehow faded, was back stronger than ever and second, his agenda had made a de facto incredible turn toward democ­ racy—a concept he has despicably criticized and associated with Western values over the years. Mahathir played on the extraordinary nature of his action to build momentum and his messianic narrative: in a country on the verge of bankruptcy, returns an unexpected savior ready for all sacrifices (including his own health) to save the people, end kleptocracy, and bring democracy.30 Previously, Anwar had been the embodiment of democracy, as the longawaited leader who would lead the country’s march to reform. The year 2018 was the 20th anniversary of this movement called “Reformasi,” which started in 1998 when Anwar was sacked by Mahathir, then jailed for sodomy and

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corruption. Twenty years later, the reconciliation deal between the two implied that the symbolism of reform had to be shared.31 Unexpectedly, Mahathir’s image successfully changed to a credible democratic visionary (credible enough to be trusted to lead the coalition to victory). From demonized authoritarian leader to celebrated democratic icon and champion of human rights, Mahathir’s suc­ cess in reinventing himself proved his unique aptitude for pragmatic politics by making the imagery of reform his own. With some limitations, a new image of Mahathir as legitimate democratic leader had emerged in people’s imaginations, as translated in the polls on May 9, 2018.32 Once the excitement of the campaign and momentum of victory has passed, how can this newly gained legitimacy be sustained?

Transition(s) on hold Democracy in stagnant waters A year after the historical twists and turns that led to unprecedented victory, New Malaysia is in stagnant waters. In fact, the 2018 PH electoral success had only marked the first step in the process of democratization. As explained by Aurel Croissant: democratization is a process of continual adjustment over rights and rela­ tionships in a political regime. In transitions from authoritarian rule to a political democracy, there are two transitions: first from autocratic govern­ ance to the installation of a democratic government, and only then, second from democratic government toward the effective functioning of a demo­ cratic regime, i.e., democratic deepening and consolidation.33 On May 9, 2018, Malaysia achieved its first transition and initiated a change, but, as highlighted by Croissant, the adjustments over rights and relationships are complex and continuous. The government, the opposition, civil society, and voters are in a push-and-pull game that has had a negative effect on public per­ ceptions and has slowed down, if not blocked, the government’s decisions. The stuttering of reforms has generated frustration among the public; a recent poll from the Merdeka Center indicated that the prime minister’s popularity had crashed down from 83% in May 2018 to 46% a year later.34 The iconic image of Mahathir has a dent. This is due, first of all, to his harsh criticism of civil serv­ ants, blaming them for the inefficiency of the state apparatus. In fact, without the support of the majority of the civil service, the PH coalition would have not won this election. Mahathir reproached the civil service with having kept ties and allegiance to the previous government, and hence these pockets of resist­ ance would be responsible for the “sabotage” of his government policies.35 The suspicion and responsibilities laid on the civil service added to the inexperience of first time ministers—but also experienced ones—working in an old system

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but applying “new rules” has created general confusion, more resentment, and finally, the sclerosis of the state apparatus. Second, most civil servants are Malays, and the announcement of a need for reform of the Malay quotas has created a sense of distrust in this government. Mahathir and his advisers Kadir Jasin and Daim Zainuddin have raised the sensitive question of the affirmative action policies for Bumiputera. While reform of these economic policies, which have shown their inadequacy, and the reverse discrimination they have engendered are justified, the rhetoric used by government leaders has laid the fault on the community itself rather than on the policies.36 In the name of democracy, corrupted civil servants are being hunted,37 a for­ mer premier is on trial, affirmative action is challenged, gender equality is pro­ moted (wishful thinking?), but at the same time, the prime minister complains about the lack of f lexibility of electoral rules regarding the use of government resources for campaigns,38 and the premier-in-waiting is reproached with abus­ ing electoral laws during his campaign for a parliament seat.39 Leaders are send­ ing contradictory messages to their voters, paving the way for critics from a rather weak opposition, which takes refuge in old ethno-religious rhetoric. In Malaysia, democratic transition has for long been associated with “liber­ alization,” a concept reinterpreted by some through a moral lens. For the most conservative part of Malaysian society, on which the new opposition tries to rebuild its support, liberalization is intrinsically linked to democratization and a challenge to traditional values. In this context, democratization is perceived as a celebration of a “liberal way of life” and understood by conservative elements as immoral Western practices. The challenges of this government are shown in the increase of violence both verbal and physical against the most vulnerable parts of society, and in particular the LGBTQ+ community.40 But the lack of coher­ ence of the PH democratic ambitions with its ministers’ policies, discourse, and practices is weakening the government’s democratic credibility. Amid the resur­ gence of violence against them, the deputy prime minister asked the LGBTQ+ community to not “glamourize gay lifestyle,”41 and rehabilitation centers for homosexual individuals were promoted by the department of religious affairs ( JAKIM)—this despite the fact that there are no gays in Malaysia, according to a statement of the minister of tourism at the world’s largest tourism fair in Berlin.42 This dichotomy between part of the civil society’s demands, voters, the government, and the ruling coalition as a whole reveals the extent of the chal­ lenges ahead.

The (im)possible reform of political culture Democratization is far from a universally accepted objective; its definition and processes remain unknown to most. During an informal discussion on May 9, 2019, outside of the hall where the first anniversary of New Malaysia was cel­ ebrated, an appointed legislator and social scientist by profession, when asked by us about the need for (re-)training parliament members about democratic

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rules and processes, explained that “there are more than 45 definitions of what a democracy is, most of us don’t know anyway.” To him, the question of “ethi­ cal politics” is more important and should be pushed because it fits “better” with Islam. He argues it is crucial for PH to “do more Islam,” for the lack of which the newly formed PAS-UMNO opposition is reproaching the govern­ ment. Religion has for decades been a “safe haven” for politicians in need of popularity. While the political solution offered by this legislator lacks forward thinking, it rightly points to the fact that PH is losing the Malay-Islam battle.43 But if the problem is rightly identified, the strategy of being more Islamic than the Islamists (for lack of better terms) has been used for (too) long and showed, at least in Malaysia, its inadequacy within the democratic agenda. My point here is not about the compatibility between Islam and democracy: first, religions, of any kind, are in no way antagonistic to democracy, and second, Islamist parties, as any other faith-based party from Ennahda in Tunisia to the Christian Democrats in Germany, are not positioning themselves against democratization but might indeed be one of its architects, as shown in Tunisia, and a fervent defender. In contrast to this call for more ethics and more Islam, Malaysian academics have pleaded for a “new national narrative.”44 But, is a new narrative a sufficient con­ dition for democratization? Democratization requires more than a mere rebrand­ ing of (hi)story. Also, the narrative as understood and constructed in Malaysia has led to a bitter battle over competing (hi)stories, and the successful one, the heteronormative, patriarchal, and ethno-religious centrist perspective promoted by UMNO for decades, has been at the origin of the self-identification chaos the country is now facing. For clarity, we need to look at the narrative from its departure and arrival points. Narrative is a constructed, if not fabricated, linear perception of poli­ tics in all its aspects. The narrative goal is to support, if not foster, a cohesive national identity. The monopoly construction of the national narrative by the state, mobilizing deep emotions in the private sphere, aims to inhabit people’s imaginary in a way that leads to the acceptance of its domination. The Malaysian national narrative has been built on a unique perception of the country’s (hi) story as recounted by the Malay nationalist UMNO. In the same way that East Asia does, Malaysia also suffers from a National Identity Syndrome (EANIS) as described by Gilbert Rozman.45 Despite different etiology, the symptoms are the same: in Malaysia, all attempts at reinforcing national identity ineluctably comes with the “forging of an atmosphere of defensiveness and highlighting symbols of danger to the nation.”46 Arguably, the idea and ideals of “national identity” have shown their limits. The concept of national identity is too narrow to encompass the complexity of most countries47 and, more specifically, a society as diverse as Malaysia. Also, the monopoly of national identity is one of the state but not of the people. While nationalism may have been a powerful mode of mobilization against impe­ rial powers, it has today reached its limits and poses challenges to democracies. Nationalist ideals are rooted in the strength of the emotions of individuals—the

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emotions of individuals at work for the interest of the state. The question is not how to build an inclusive national identity or a new narrative, but how to rewrite the history of the nation, in a more inclusive way to broaden the definition of who or what a Malaysian is. Democratization implies that Malaysia takes a dif­ ferent road, favoring the emergence of political culture cutting across all lines. The stagnation of reform in New Malaysia reveals the existence of a deep structural problem in Malaysian politics: the nature of its political culture. Politics is the base of the organization of power. Politics, by nature, consists of two main elements—political imaginary and political culture, defined here in these simple terms: (1) political imaginary is the association of myths and utopia (beliefs),48 and (2) political culture is the expression of political imaginary in discourse and actions. If politics had a human shape, the political imaginary would be the brain, and the political culture the body. One cannot function without the other one, and the two are interconnected by an intricate network of tangible elements that have an existence and a function of their own. Political culture is a window through which one perceives politics. It is entrenched in a society’s political imaginary, culture, and beliefs and contributes to the shaping of opinions and social and electoral behavior. It is the canal of expressions of political imaginary and omnipresent in every particle or actor of political life. It is the ground in which practices and behavior of power are rooted. The New Malaysia narrative seems to not have gone further than May 9. The complex 99 points of the PH electoral manifesto have overshadowed the necessity of crafting a new vision for the country. Democratic intentions have not materialized well through policies; the government lacks cohesion and fails in communicating its progress and agenda. In a context where the direction is unclear, the practice of power will not change, leaving ample space for corrup­ tion, cronyism, and also populist shortcuts. Political culture is the determinant factor of the ways in which actors will behave and the origins of the occur­ rence or recurrence of abuse of power at every level of society. The reinvention of Malaysia beyond the religious and ethnic divide is crucial for the success of the second phase of democratization—the more difficult one. The retraining of civil servants, the rewriting of textbooks and curricula, and a cohesive cul­ tural agenda are pressing reforms that need to be tackled along with economic reforms. Without the evolution of political culture, the question of reform of affirmative action (but not only that) will continue to antagonize part of soci­ ety. The stagnation of the democratization process lies in the (im)possibility of reshaping political culture, and with it, the culture of power.

Notes 1 Press Statement, November 20, 2016. “After BERSIH 5 Rally, the Fight for Free and Fair Elections and Institutional Reforms Continues,” accessed May 13, 2019 (www.b ersih.org/press-statement-20-november-2016-after-bersih-5-rally-the-fight-for-fr ee-and-fair-elections-and-institutional-reforms-continues/).

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2 “Timeline: How Malaysia’s 1MDB Financial Scandal Unfolded,” Aljazeera, April 3, 2019 (www.aljazeera.com/news/2019/02/timeline-malaysia-1mdb-financial-scanda l-unfolded-190211085205283.html). 3 A.R. Zurairi, “Three Things We Learnt from: Dr M’s Pakatan One-Year Anniversary Keynote Address,” Malay Mail, May 9, 2019 (www.malaymail.com/news/malaysia /2019/05/09/three-things-we-learnt-from-dr-ms-pakatan-one-year-anniversary -keynote-addr/1751398). 4 S. Lemière, ed., Illusions of Democracy: Malaysian Politics and People, Vol. II (Petaling Jaya: Strategic Information and Research Development Centre, 2017). 5 M.P.N. Othman, ed., Elections and Democracy in Malaysia (Bangi: Penerbit UKM, 2005). 6 M. Ottaway, Democracy Challenged: The Rise of Semi-Authoritarianism (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2003). For another perspective on “competitive authoritarianism,” see S. Giersdorf and A. Croissant, “Civil Society and Competitive Authoritarianism in Malaysia,” Journal of Civil Society 7(1) (2011), pp. 1–21. 7 S. Lemière, Illusions of Democracy. 8 J. Lorch, “Civil Society under Authoritarian Rule: The Case of Myanmar,” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 2 (2006), pp. 3–37; J. Lorch and B. Bunk, “Using Civil Society as an Authoritarian Legitimation Strategy: Algeria and Mozambique in Comparative Perspective,” Democratization 24(6) (2017), pp. 1–16; C. Froissart, “The Ambiguities between Contention and Political Participation: A Study of Civil Society Development in Authoritarian Regimes,” Journal of Civil Society 10(3) (2014), pp. 219–22; and S. Lemière, Illusions of Democracy. 9 A.R. Govindasamy, “Social Movement in Contemporary Malaysia: The Case of Bersih, Hindraf and Perkasa,” in M. Weiss, ed., Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Malaysia (London: Routledge, 2015). 10 S. Lemière, “Conversion and Controversy: Reshaping the Boundaries of Malaysian Pluralism,” in J.F.M. Feener, ed., Proselytizing and the Limits of Religious Pluralism in Contemporary Asia (New York: Springer, 2014), pp. 41–64. 11 S. Lemière, “Gangsta and Politics in Malaysia,” in S. Lemière, ed., Misplaced Democracy: Malaysian Politics and People (Petaling Jaya: Strategic Information Research and Development Centre, 2014); S. Lemière, “Malaysia: Gangster Boogie, Bosses and Politics,” in F.A.S. Gilmour, ed., Handbook of Organised Crime and Politics (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2019). 12 On the System of Legitimation of Authoritarian Power (SLAP), see S. Lemière, Illusions of Democracy. 13 C. Sue-Ann, “Control of Corporate M’sia Moves from Umno to Govt,” July 22, 2016 (www.theedgemarkets.com/article/%E2%80%98control-corporate-m%E2%80 %99sia-moves-umno-govt%E2%80%99); E.T. Gomez, Politics in Business: UMNO’s Corporate Investments (Kuala Lumpur: FORUM, 1990). 14 G. Wade, “The Origins and Evolution of Ethnocracy in Malaysia,” in S. Lemière, ed., Misplaced Democracy, pp. 3–26. 15 S. Edwards, “The Orang Asli in GE14: Towards Meaningful Political Engagement?” in S. Lemière, ed., Minorities Matter: Malaysian Politics and People, Vol. III (Petaling Jaya: Strategic Information and Research Development Centre, 2019), pp. 53–73. 16 See Article 153 of Malaysian Federal Constitution. 17 F. Fukuyama, Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2018). 18 “Islam Hadhari or Civilizational Islam: Promoting Good Governance within Societies and Goodwill between Peoples and Cultures Internationally,” May 26, 2006 (https://unu.edu/u-thant/badawi.html#overview). 19 B. Welsh and. J.U.H. Chin, eds., Awakening: The Abdullah Badawi Years in Malaysia (Petaling Jaya: Strategic Information and Research Development Centre, 2013); S. Lemière, “Conversion and Controversy.”

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20 J. Chin and C.H. Wong, “Malaysia’s Electoral Upheaval,” Journal of Democracy 20(3) (2009), pp. 71–85. 21 T. Fuller, “Malaysia to End Quotas That Favor Ethnic Malays,” The New York Times, July 1, 2009 (https://archive.nytimes.com/query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage9C 04E4DA173EF932A35754C0A96F9C8B63.html). On the ethnonationalist front, see S. Lemière, “Gangsta and Politics in Malaysia.” 22 K. Steiner, “Economics, Politics and the Law in Malaysia: A Case Study of the 1MDB Scandal,” in S. Lemière, ed., Illusions of Democracy, pp. 245–70; C. Gabriel, “The Rise of Kleptocracy: Malaysia’s Missing Billions,” Journal of Democracy 29(1) ( January 2018), pp. 69–75. 23 A Malaysia-based design company successfully launched a collection of items (t-shirts, mugs, and calendars) for the holiday season of 2018. Jho Low became an excellent sales product. See M.M. Chu, “How Jho Low ‘stole’ Christmas,” The Star Online, November 18, 2018, accessed June 12, 2019 (www.thestar.com.my/news/n ation/2018/11/18/how-jho-low-stole-christmas/). 24 S. Lemière, “The Downfall of Malaysia’s Ruling Party,” Journal of Democracy 29(4) (2018), pp. 114–28. 25 S. Teoh, “Najib Sacks DPM, Four Ministers and A-G,” 2015. Retrieved May 20, 2019, from www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/najib-sacks-dpm-four-ministers­ and-a-g. 26 Interview with Muhyuddin Yassin 06.05.2019 in Kuala Lumpur. 27 Ibid. 28 T. Leong, “Malaysia’s Mahathir and Opposition Sign Declaration to Oust Najib,” Straits Times, March 4, 2016 (www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/mahathir-and-opp osition-sign-declaration-to-oust-najib). 29 “Former Malaysian PM Mahathir Joins Bersih Rally Participants for the 2nd Time,” Straits Times, January 19, 2016 (www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/former-malaysian -pm-mahathir-joins-bersih-rally-participants-for-the-2nd-time; Mahathir joined the Bersih 5 in November 2016—this time along with Muhyiddin and Mukhriz— wearing the once banned Bersih yellow t-shirt). 30 This narrative is well illustrated by the campaign video promoted by the party and also in the numerous cartoons picturing Mahathir as Superman or Captain Democracy, see S. Chen, “CARTOON: Captain Democracy Flies to Malaysia’s Rescue,” The NewsLens, May 11, 2018 (https://international.thenewslens.com/article/95494). 31 For a more detailed account, refer to S. Lemière, “The Downfall of Malaysia’s Ruling Party.” 32 The reinvention of Mahathir is a dynamic process with different elements at play. This process has not occurred by the design of creative campaign strategists, but rather as a concurrence of demands and responses and the building of momentum. 33 See above, Aurel Croissant, Ch. 1, “Democratization, Identity, and Foreign Policy in Southeast Asia.” 34 “Getting into One Year after GE14: PM’s Approval Rating at 46%, Government at 39%,” MerdekaCentre, April 26, 2019 (www.merdeka.org/pages/02_research.html). 35 “Dr M: Culture of Sabotage Still Exists in Civil Service, but Decreasing,” The Star, November 25, 2018 (www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/11/25/dr-m-culture­ of-sabotage-still-exists-in-civil-service-but-decreasing/); “Daim to Gov’t: Start Trusting Civil Service or You’ll Be ‘Dead,’” Malaysiakini, May 6, 2019 (www.malay­ siakini.com/news/475166). 36 S. Lemière, “Introduction,” in S. Lemière, ed., Minorities Matter. 37 “Heads of Ministries Ordered to Probe Possible Sabotage against Malaysian Government,” Channel News Asia, July 27, 2018 (www.channelnewsasia.com/news/ asia/malaysia-civil-servants-sabotage-pakatan-harapan-government-10569390). 38 Z. Koya, “Bersih: EC Must Stand Firm against PM on Campaigning by Ministers,” The Star, May 15, 2019 (www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2019/05/15/bersih-ec -must-stand-firm-against-pm-on-campaigning-by-ministers/); “All Must Respect

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the EC,” The Star, May 16, 2019 (www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2019/05/16/ all-must-respect-the-ecfaisal-govt-including-the-pm-need-to-recognise-its-inde pendence/). 39 T.T.M. Carvalho, “Anwar Welcomes Bersih 2.0’s Report That He Committed Offences at PD Polls,” The Star, October 29, 2018 (www.thestar.com.my/news/n ation/2018/10/29/anwar-welcomes-bersih-20s-report-that-he-committed-offences -at-pd-polls/). 40 “A Brutal Assault and Rising Fear in LGBT Community,” Free Malaysia Today, August 24, 2018 (www.freemalaysiatoday.com/category/nation/2018/08/24/a-bruta l-assault-and-rising-fear-in-lgbt-community/); “5 Men Claim Trial to Injuring Transgender,” Free Malaysia Today, August 24, 2018 (www.freemalaysiatoday. com/category/nation/2018/08/24/5-men-claim-trial-to-injuring-transgender/); M. Kaur, “Academic Condemns Anti-LGBT Sermon,” Free Malaysia Today, August 25, 2018 (www.freemalaysiatoday.com/category/nation/2018/08/25/academic-con demns-anti-lgbt-sermon/); “We Have Experts to Help LGBT Return to ‘Right Path,’ Says Mujahid,” Free Malaysia Today, July 29, 2018 (www.freemalaysiatoday .com/category/nation/2018/07/29/we-have-experts-to-help-lgbt-return-to-right -path-says-mujahid/). 41 S.M. Kamal, “Wan Azizah: LGBT ‘Practices’ Must Be Kept Private,” Malay Mail, August 20, 2018 (www.malaymail.com/news/malaysia/2018/08/20/wan-azizah-l gbt-fine-as-long-as-kept-in-private-not-glamourised/1664056). 42 “ITB Berlin Tourism Partner Malaysia Claims It Has ‘No Gays,’” DW, May 3, 2019 (www.dw.com/en/itb-berlin-tourism-partner-malaysia-claims-it-has-no-gays/a-4 7781804). 43 N. Saat, “A Complicated Political Reality Awaits the Malays,” Perspective 40 (May 21, 2019) (www.iseas.edu.sg/images/pdf/ISEAS_Perspective_2019_40.pdf ). 44 Zurairi. “One year in.” 45 G. Rozman, “Comparisons of National Identities in East Asia,” Harvard Asia Pacific Review, Spring 2010, pp. 3–6. 46 Ibid., p. 5. 47 See G. Chakravorty, “Nationalism and the Imagination,” Lectora 15 (2009), pp. 75–98 (www.researchgate.net/publication/47362600_Nationalism_and_the_Imagination); G. Chakravorty, “Cultural Pluralism?” Philosophy and Social Criticism 42(4–5) (2016), pp. 448–55. 48 The concept is developed in S. Lemière, Illusions of Democracy.

11

MYANMAR’S DEMOCRATIC BACKSLIDING IN THE STRUGGLE FOR NATIONAL IDENTITY AND INDEPENDENCE Jonathan T. Chow and Leif-Eric Easley

When Myanmar’s ruling military junta transitioned to a nominally civilian gov­ ernment in 2011, observers around the world asked whether one of Asia’s most repressive regimes was finally breaking with its authoritarian past. In 2015, the opposition National League for Democracy (NLD) swept the general elections, winning the majority in the national assembly (Pyidaungsu Hluttaw) from the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP). Democracy icon and former political prisoner Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD formed a government in a power-sharing arrangement with the military (Tatmadaw), raising domestic and international expectations about Myanmar’s democrati­ zation process. However, that optimism was short-lived. Myanmar has exhib­ ited troubling signs of democratic backsliding and egregious rights violations. Democratization has increased political space for aggressive ethno-nationalists who spread hate speech via Myanmar’s new social media communities. Since 2016, sectarian violence in Myanmar’s Rakhine State has driven hundreds of thousands of Rohingya people into neighboring Bangladesh. Refugees have related horrifying accounts of rape, mass killing, and the razing of entire vil­ lages by Rakhine Buddhists and Tatmadaw soldiers. Such accounts have been supported by independent international investigations, resulting in accusations of crimes against humanity.1 To the dismay and growing outrage of Myanmar’s international supporters, the NLD-led government and Aung San Suu Kyi have largely rejected these accusations and stymied more transparent inquiries. Myanmar’s government has also fallen short of expectations that it would dissolve long-standing limits on civil liberties; instead, it has employed some of those junta-era regulations and expanded anti-defamation laws, restrictions on interreligious marriage and reli­ gious conversion, and discriminatory birth control laws.2 In response, various civil society organizations and governments have rescinded honors that they

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conferred upon Aung San Suu Kyi for her human rights advocacy, and there have been calls to revoke her Nobel Peace Prize. Democratic backsliding has also prompted some foreign governments to renew economic and political sanctions.3 As a result, Myanmar’s leaders are turning to China for support. What accounts for the regression of Myanmar’s politics and what are its impli­ cations? We argue that Myanmar’s democratic backsliding stems from its unfin­ ished nation-building. Aurel Croissant divides democratic transitions into two stages: (1) the transition from authoritarianism to electoral democracy and (2) the transition from electoral democracy to liberal and fully consolidated democra­ cies.4 In Myanmar’s case, the absence of agreement over national identity has thwarted the transition from a new electoral democracy to a consolidated liberal democracy. Specifically, tension exists between a vision of Myanmar as a func­ tioning civic polity inclusive of Myanmar’s great diversity and a cultural-ethnic polity centered on Buddhist and Bamar identity. This acrimonious and some­ times violent contestation involves different groups seeking to capture institu­ tions to further their own identity goals. Without agreement on the fundamental nature of the state, minority and civil rights, as well as civil-military relations, remain mired in identity-based conf lict. This matters because failed democra­ tization promises more bloodshed, greater repression, diminished international stature, and increased economic reliance on foreign partners that do not lecture on human rights but may exact a high strategic price for supporting Myanmar. This chapter takes stock of Myanmar’s democratic backsliding, unfinished nation-building, and challenges to national autonomy and concludes with pros­ pects for further democratization.

Assessing Myanmar’s stalled democratization The history of Myanmar’s democracy has been one of fits, starts, and long delays. Since its independence from Britain in 1948, Myanmar’s politics has struggled with colonial legacies, economic disparities, failed socialism, ethnic conf lict, and prolonged periods of military rule. Myanmar’s contemporary history suggests that the military knows how to maintain internal discipline and contain (if not totally defeat) its enemies, but not how to make peace or grow the economy. Yet, the seven-step roadmap to democracy, announced by the military govern­ ment in 2003, turned out to be much more than a piece of paper.5 Although the 2008 constitution enshrined the political power of the military and emerged from a less than democratic process, the junta led by Than Shwe dissolved itself in March 2011. Former general Thein Sein became president and presided over meaningful reforms and opening despite numerous setbacks, especially in the peace process with ethnic minority groups. The 2015 general election was freer and fairer than most critics expected. As in 1990, the NLD won a resound­ ing victory; this time, however, it was allowed to claim its seats in the national assembly and form a government. For many international observers, the 2012 byelections were a turning point because Aung San Suu Kyi entered parliament and

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the Tatmadaw demonstrated willingness to coordinate policy. For others, the watershed came in 2016 when the NLD-led government took over from the military-backed USDP and entered into a difficult but unprecedented powersharing arrangement with the military, which continues to strongly inf luence state bureaucracies. Regardless, both the military and the NLD bear responsibil­ ity for Myanmar’s policies and political future. Where does Myanmar’s democracy stand today? Wolfgang Merkel proposes a set of political characteristics that combine to constitute stable, embedded, liberal democracies: a democratic electoral system, political rights of participation, civil rights, horizontal accountability—the extent to which different parts of the gov­ ernment can scrutinize or limit each other’s power—and the governing effec­ tiveness of elected representatives.6 In all of these dimensions, Myanmar exhibits notable deficiencies and some evidence of backsliding after initial gains since 2011. Three issues contribute significantly to Myanmar’s democratic deficit: (1) defining citizenship in ethnic terms; (2) the use of restrictive laws to suppress political dissent and control ethnic minorities; and (3) governing structures that allow certain political actors to override or circumvent the constitution.

Problematic terms of citizenship The question of citizenship cuts across multiple dimensions of democracy. Citizenship determines who is able to stand for election (passive suffrage) and who is able to vote (active suffrage). Criteria for citizenship also determine who is eligible to enjoy full rights and privileges of participation in public life. When the Union of Burma was established in 1948, it was a multiethnic polity. The 1948 Union Citizenship Act defined citizenship in primarily civic terms. One did not need to belong to a particular ethnic group to become a citizen. In gen­ eral, a person could become a citizen of the Union of Burma if their ancestors had lived in any of its territories for at least two generations and if they and their parents had also been born there. Those born after the Union’s establishment could become citizens if they had been born to at least one citizen parent or if they applied for and fulfilled the conditions for naturalization—being at least 18 years of age, maintaining continuous residency for at least five years, possess­ ing good character and the ability to speak any indigenous language, and intend­ ing to remain in Burma permanently or else to work in the service of the Union government or in a religious, charitable, or commercial undertaking established within Burma.7 This civic conceptualization of citizenship has given way over time to an increasingly ethnocentric one.8 In 1982, Burma passed a new Citizenship Law that limited full citizenship to members of ethnic groups that the government had designated as present in Burma prior to 1823, the year before it became a British colony.9 Reasons cited for the law include the perception within Burma that Indians and Chinese had disproportionately benefited from British colo­ nization, as well as the belief that migrants from neighboring countries would

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overwhelm the indigenous population.10 Those who qualified for citizenship under the 1948 law but not the 1982 law could be granted associate citizenship, but only if they had already applied for citizenship under the 1948 law.11 An addi­ tional category—naturalized citizenship—was created for those who had resided in Burma prior to 1948, whose children were born in Burma, who had not applied for citizenship by the time the 1982 law was promulgated, and who could provide “conclusive evidence” of the foregoing.12 The law grants the government broad discretion to restrict the rights of associate and naturalized citizens as it sees fit, without any explanation, as well as to revoke such status altogether.13 As a result of the 1982 law, significant numbers of ethnic Chinese, Indians, Rohingya, and others are required to produce documentation demonstrating that their fam­ ilies had indeed resided in Burma before 1823 in order to claim citizenship—a barrier that many find insurmountable. Consequently, they are forced to accept abbreviated citizenship rights or in many cases are rendered stateless altogether, even if their families have lived in Myanmar for generations.14 In practical terms, associate and naturalized citizens may be prevented from obtaining certain pro­ fessional qualifications (e.g. law or medicine) and accessing higher education.15 While current election law allows associate and naturalized citizens to vote for members of the national assembly, only full citizens may stand for election.16 Even where formal rights to stand for office exist, de facto abridgment of those rights remains. For example, during the 2015 general election, no major political party (including the NLD) nominated Muslim candidates. This was partly due to the exclusion of Muslim candidates by election commissions that questioned their citizenship, but also due to fears among political parties that widespread anti-Muslim sentiment would harm their electoral prospects.17 Like the right to run for office, the right to vote is not universal, either, as illustrated by the mass disenfranchisement of ethnic Rohingya in the leadup to the 2015 general election. Though excluded from citizenship under the 1982 Citizenship Law, many Rohingya obtained temporary registration certifi­ cates (“white cards”) that allowed them to remain in Myanmar. The military junta allowed “white card” holders to vote in the 2008 constitutional refer­ endum and the 2010 election, allegedly in the hopes that it would boost the USDP’s votes.18 In February 2015, the Thein Sein administration brief ly granted “white card” holders the right to vote in a proposed constitutional referendum. However, facing popular outrage led by Buddhist nationalists, it quickly back­ tracked and declared that the “white cards” would instead be invalidated and collected. This move effectively disenfranchised hundreds of thousands of ethnic minorities, primarily Rohingya but also including large numbers of Chinese and Indians not eligible for automatic citizenship.19

Laws on anti-defamation, race, and religion Myanmar has also retained a number of laws that severely limit civil rights. The laws for the Protection of Race and Religion, which were passed in 2015 under

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the Thein Sein government and championed by Buddhist nationalists, required government permission to change one’s religion, restricted intermarriage between Buddhist women and non-Buddhist men, and allowed local govern­ ments to limit the number and rate of births in designated regions under poorly defined conditions.20 Such legislation has largely targeted Muslims. Also troubling has been the government’s use of broad-ranging legislation to arrest and prosecute journalists, activists, social media users, and others for criticizing the government or discussing sensitive topics.21 In December 2017, Reuters journalists Wa Lone and Kyaw Soe Oo were arrested in Yangon when they arrived at a meeting with purported police informants who claimed to give them documents relating to a mass killing of Rohingya in Rakhine State by Tatmadaw forces. Both reporters were charged with violating the 1923 Official Secrets Act and faced up to 14 years in prison. After more than eight months in pretrial detention, during which they were awarded the Pulitzer Prize for their reporting, they were each sentenced to seven years despite testimony from a police captain that they had been entrapped. Although both were released in May 2019, the episode is a high-profile example of how political and civil rights are not secure under the NLD-led government.

Institutional loopholes and the risk of constitutional override Myanmar’s democracy still struggles to specify and implement the rule of law. Transparency International rated Myanmar 29 out of 100 (where closer to zero is more corrupt) in its 2018 Corruption Perceptions Index, placing it in the bottom 30% of countries worldwide.22 Corruption remains endemic, especially in extrac­ tive industries and other areas that are poorly regulated or that were captured by cronies of the military junta. To consolidate democracy, Myanmar requires further institutional development. Notably absent are horizontal accountability and the effective power to govern being in the hands of democratically elected representatives. Although Myanmar’s constitution theoretically separates legislative, execu­ tive, and judiciary powers, reciprocal checks are weak in practice. The national assembly (Pyidaungsu Hluttaw), which comprises a 440-seat lower house (Pyithu Hluttaw) and a 224-seat upper house (Amyotha Hluttaw), has the power to make laws. However, one-fourth of the seats in each house is reserved for unelected representatives of the Tatmadaw.23 This effectively grants the military veto power over any constitutional amendment (which requires assent from more than 75% of the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw) and enables it to preserve its constitution­ ally mandated privileges.24 The president and first and second vice-presidents are not elected directly by the people but instead by an electoral college comprising Pyidaungsu Hluttaw members.25 On paper, the president is answerable to the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw.26 However, the Tatmadaw wields inf luence over the executive through the National Defense and Security Council, which comprises the president, both

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vice-presidents, the speakers of both Hluttaws, the commander-in-chief and deputy commander-in-chief of the Tatmadaw, and the ministers for foreign affairs, defense, home affairs, and border affairs.27 The latter three ministers are nominated by the Tatmadaw commander-in-chief.28 Additionally, because of how the president and vice-presidents are elected, one of the three is nomi­ nated by the military.29 Thus, at least six of the Council’s 11 members are closely aligned with the military at any given time, and the constitution allows the president to appoint Tatmadaw personnel to other ministerial posts, potentially allowing the military even greater inf luence on the Council.30 The constitution also stipulates contingencies of national emergency when the military is empowered to take over various governmental functions. These include threats to disintegrate the union or “national solidarity” or the loss of sovereignty owing to insurgency, violence, or “wrongful forcible means.” In such cases, the constitution allows the Tatmadaw commander-in-chief to assume full legislative, executive, and judiciary functions for the entire coun­ try. 31 While the constitution establishes a legal process for the president to transfer such functions to the military, it is ambiguous as to whether the mili­ tary must follow that process or if it can simply assert emergency control on its own initiative. 32 The precedent set by Aung San Suu Kyi as the first state counselor also raises concerns about the concentration of power in the executive and the ability of political actors to override the constitution. Pyidaungsu Hluttaw Law 26/2016, which took effect in April 2016, established the position of state counselor and appointed Aung San Suu Kyi to a term equal to that of the president (five years). 33 The position was explicitly intended to circumvent constitutional restrictions that barred her from serving as president. 34 The law, which is only two pages long, tasks the state counselor with providing advice in the interests of the state and citizens without contradiction to the constitution. 35 It also allows her to “contact with the Government, Departments, Organizations, Associations and persons to accomplish the objectives of this Law.”36 More important than the text is the manner in which Aung San Suu Kyi has func­ tioned as state counselor. Because of her concurrent posts as minister of foreign affairs and minister of the president’s office, she has been able to wield signifi­ cant power and assume a higher profile than President Htin Kyaw or his suc­ cessor, Win Myint, serving as de facto head of state and head of government. The primary compromise mechanism between the civilian government and the military appears reliant on the personal relationship between Aung San Suu Kyi and Tatmadaw commander-in-chief, General Min Aung Hlaing, rather than transparent checks and balances. In sum, Myanmar’s post-junta government is consistent with what Merkel calls a “defective democracy.”37 Although elections are increasingly regular, power is not equitably shared. Civil rights are tenuous and restricted. Government bodies have limited ability to check one another, and unelected officials can potentially wield vast political powers over the population.

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Unfinished nation-building and democratic consolidation Myanmar’s defective democracy can be attributed in large part to its unfinished nation-building. As a multiethnic polity transitioning from authoritarianism toward democracy, it is facing the challenge of binding together by mutual con­ sent what had previously been bound by force under the military junta. Central questions regarding membership in the body politic, the rights of members and non-members, and the relationship between the Union government in Nay Pyi Taw and local governments remain unresolved, helping to fuel Myanmar’s numerous ongoing ethnic conf licts. The February 1947 Panglong Agreement, signed by representatives of the Kachin, Chin, and Shan ethnic groups as well as by General Aung San, the leader of the Burmese government, had promised “full autonomy in internal administration for the Frontier Areas … in princi­ ple” and that “[c]itizens of the Frontier Areas shall enjoy rights and privileges which are regarded as fundamental in democratic countries.”38 The Panglong Agreement was a statement of principle, but agreement on implementation was never reached. Aung San was assassinated the following July. Armed conf lict between the Burmese government and ethnic armed organizations (EAOs) seek­ ing self-rule continued. In 1962, a coup d’etat led by General Ne Win initiated a half-century of military rule and prolonged conf lict with EAOs. This troubled history has made the “spirit of Panglong” a meaningful but contested symbol for national unity. Efforts at consolidating Myanmar’s governing authority have varied consid­ erably across different regions. In the northern highlands, beginning in 2009, the Union government employed a combination of bilateral negotiations and force to elicit compliance from EAOs and incorporated them into “border guard forces” under the authority of the Tatmadaw.39 In 2015, the Union government promulgated a Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA), which controversially purported to supersede existing bilateral agreements. As of May 2019, ten EAOs had signed on to the NCA, but many others have refused to sign, either because they have existing bilateral agreements or because they seek to renegotiate the terms of the agreement. The Union government hosted three meetings with NCA signatories— dubbed the “21st Century Panglong Conferences”—in 2016, 2017, and 2018. A fourth conference was originally f loated for December 2018 or early 2019 but as of early June 2019 had not yet been scheduled. At the first conference, the Union government excluded NCA non-signatories from full participation. Prior to the second meeting in 2017, several of the non-signatory groups, led by the largest EAO, the United Wa State Party, banded together under the auspices of the Federal Political Negotiation and Consultative Committee (FPNCC) in an effort to renegotiate the terms of the NCA. The FPNCC participated in both the second and third conferences as an observer. A main point of contention is that the NCA goes beyond merely establishing a ceasefire; it also purports to establish a framework for a permanent political

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settlement.40 Members of the FPNCC insist that principles of a political settle­ ment be negotiated first, before they sign a document agreeing to lay down their arms.41 In particular, the United Wa State Party controls what is effectively an autonomous statelet, supported by revenues from narcotics production, friendly relations with China, and the largest and most powerful military force among the EAOs.42 It also deeply mistrusts the Union government; hence, it is unwilling to give up a major bargaining chip by signing the NCA until its concerns about rights are discussed first.43 A look at the FPNCC’s General Principles reveals the chasm between the Union government and the non-NCA signatories’ respective visions of Myanmar’s democratic future. They call for, among other matters: (1) reallo­ cating the 25% of seats in the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw reserved for the military to “disadvantaged groups and ethnic minorities”;44 (2) eliminating the Tatmadaw commander-in-chief ’s ability to appoint Union-level ministers;45 (3) allowing individual “national states” within Myanmar to sign and implement agree­ ments with neighboring countries, to implement their own immigration control regimes in the name of the Union and to establish their own economic and trade institutions in neighboring countries, reporting to the Union government;46 (4) allowing ethnic armed organizations to maintain independent command struc­ tures and personnel arrangements from the Tatmadaw;47 (5) allowing ethnic states to autonomously formulate and implement their own industrial policies;48 and (6) strengthening Union government investment in medical care, education, transportation, and communication infrastructure.49 Many of these demands, if implemented, would require substantial amendments to the constitution. Until Myanmar’s central government and EAOs resolve this impasse, democratic con­ solidation will be difficult. The situation with the Rohingya in Rakhine State contrasts starkly with that in the northern highlands. Sectarian violence in Rakhine has prompted hundreds of thousands of Rohingya to f lee into neighboring Bangladesh, espe­ cially since 2016. The Rohingya have long faced resentment and accusations of being illegal migrants, leading to their political disenfranchisement.50 The Union government regards the Rohingya as illegitimate political actors. Even the term “Rohingya” is anathema to the Tatmadaw, Rakhine Buddhists, and their sympathizers, who insist that they should be called “Bengali” to emphasize their foreignness. International leaders and media organizations who employ the term “Rohingya” have faced protests or chosen to self-censor.51 Political change in Myanmar has brought to the surface long-simmering eth­ nic resentments in Rakhine State. Between September 2012 and April 2013, a Myanmar government commission of inquiry conducted interviews with 1,200 Rakhine Buddhists and 800 “Bengali” individuals following the outbreak of intercommunal violence. The commission reported that Rakhine Buddhists universally responded that they had been warned since youth by their elders about the ill intent of Muslims.52 The report attributed such sentiments to the collective memory of intercommunal violence following the Japanese invasion

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of British Burma in World War II and the resulting power vacuum, including an armed rebellion against the government by Muslim separatists in an unsuccessful bid to establish an autonomous Muslim territory in Rakhine State.53 Although the commission concluded that “there is no hard evidence to show that Bengalis are attempting to control Rakhine State,” it reported that 84.7% of Rakhine respondents believed that the 2012 violence was attributable to “alleged Bengali efforts to take over Rakhine State.”54 Complicating the already volatile situation is suspicion by both Rakhine Buddhists and Rohingya toward the Myanmar government, which they blame for failure to protect their respective interests. This has propelled a changing landscape of local ethnocentric political parties. In November 2018, the Arakan National Party (ANP) won a plurality of seats in the Rakhine State Hluttaw, following a merger with the Rakhine Nationalities Development Party and the Arakan League for Democracy.55 The ANP insists on referring to the Rohingya as “Bengali” and stridently opposes granting them citizenship. The electoral victory emboldened Rakhine Buddhist ethno-nationalists such that moderate voices are finding it increasingly difficult to receive a hearing, even though the moderate position on the Rohingya only favors granting them associate citi­ zenship on a case-by-case basis.56 Attacks by the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA) on Rakhine Buddhists, border posts, and police stations since 2016 have bolstered public support for the Tatmadaw and fed the narrative that the Rohingya are supported by Islamist jihadists.57 Cycles of violence will likely worsen ethnic polarization and further complicate democratic progress. As of March 2019, more than 909,000 Rohingya refugees were estimated to be living in camps around the town of Cox’s Bazar.58 Amidst mounting inter­ national outrage, an independent UN fact-finding commission concluded in 2018 that the Tatmadaw likely committed crimes against humanity and war crimes and acted with “genocidal intent.” It recommended that the Tatmadaw commander-in-chief, General Min Aung Hlaing, and five other generals be tried for crimes against humanity.59 Hundreds of thousands of Rohingya remain in refugee camps in Bangladesh, unable or unwilling to return to Myanmar for fear of further violence. For the NLD-led government, while turning a blind eye to the ethnic cleans­ ing and other atrocities in Rakhine harms its international reputation, adopting a more principled stance would likely undermine the government’s legitimacy with Rakhine Buddhists and the national Bamar majority, weakening the party’s position versus the Tatmadaw, whose cooperation it needs to achieve peace set­ tlements in other ethnic minority areas. The guarantee of 25% of legislative seats for the military means that the NLD will need to win more than two-thirds of contestable seats in the upcoming 2020 election to retain its majority in the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw. If ethnic parties form coalitions with the Union Solidarity and Development Party, they may be able to outf lank the NLD.60 Hence, Aung San Suu Kyi’s government appears to prioritize electoral politics, despite the costs in terms of human rights, nation-building, and international cooperation.

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Dilemmas of national autonomy Myanmar’s struggles over national identity strongly relate to its foreign policy, which prioritizes sovereignty and neutrality.61 The country’s autonomy vis-à-vis its neighbors is critical for the prospects of the military stepping back from poli­ tics. The Tatmadaw’s main principle is nationalism; the military considers itself the primary custodian of national unity and security.62 “Discipline-f lourishing democracy” is not just a framework for the military to maintain inf luence or control the speed of reforms; it also ref lects the legacies of a monarchal political identity with an almost religiously ordained concept of authority.63 A strong sense of national security and self-determination is thus needed for the Tatmadaw to yield space for democratic institutions and identities to develop. Myanmar’s democratization has a complex interaction with national auton­ omy and international alignment. Democratic reforms in the 2010s were largely motivated by the country’s overreliance on China. The junta’s crack­ down against pro-democracy actors since 1988 and its human rights abuses— over decades prior and since, especially in ongoing civil wars with ethnic minority groups—resulted in Myanmar’s status as a pariah state and isolation under economic sanctions. For trade, investment, weapons, and diplomatic support, the junta and its patronage class became increasingly reliant on China. By 2010, this reliance had reached a level where Myanmar’s leaders perceived that sovereignty and non-alignment were being significantly compromised.64 Democratic reforms and diplomatic opening were deemed urgent for eco­ nomic diversification. But as international criticism ramps up, especially over the persecution of Rohingya people, Myanmar is once again turning to China as the partner of last resort. Myanmar and China’s strategic interests in the bilateral relationship are well documented, largely stemming from a significant shared border, China’s energy and maritime access considerations, ethnic Chinese Burmese residents, and Myanmar’s need for a capable economic partner.65 Given Beijing’s strategic and economic priorities and long-standing relations with Myanmar’s military lead­ ers, China’s foreign policy has been cautious about Myanmar’s democratic transi­ tion. On the one hand, insofar as a democratic transition protects stability, rule of law, and business contracts, it could create a more favorable environment for Chinese investments. With a political structure conducive to economic devel­ opment, there would be even more need for upgrading infrastructure, stronger demand for Chinese goods and services, and greater returns for Chinese inves­ tors who entered the market early. On the other hand, democratization can increase uncertainty for Chinese interests. Many analysts saw Beijing as caught off guard by the scale and speed of political change in Myanmar.66 The indefinite suspension of the Myitsone mega-dam project is a case in point. Democratization increases the number of stakeholders and can open mar­ kets to greater international competition. Chinese efforts at building infra­ structure and boosting trade have often elicited domestic backlash because of

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local displacement, environmental degradation, and alleged corruption.67 With greater media and official scrutiny, growing political space for public demonstra­ tions, and more local and national veto players, Chinese investments are met with increasing political friction. Yet, China continues to benefit from its size, proximity, and sustained attention to Myanmar in comparison with the coun­ try’s alternative partners. ASEAN lacks diplomatic unity and geopolitical levers of enforcement, espe­ cially toward China, while Beijing is able to exploit divisions using economic incentives and diplomatic pressure. ASEAN is also divided by anti-democratic trends in other member states. India is rising in the region, but its domestic agenda is long, its Hindu nationalism does not make Myanmar a natural partner, and Pakistan and China are its foreign policy priorities. Japan and South Korea quietly but consistently engage with Myanmar, providing grants, investment, high-quality infrastructure, and planning. Investment and technology transfer are growing with new manufacturing plants, but Myanmar’s trade with these countries remains at a much lower level than with China. For the United States, Myanmar is primarily a human rights interest and can thus be easily eclipsed by other foreign policy challenges. The Trump administration has shown lit­ tle interest in human rights, and although it has expressed some concern about China’s growing inf luence in Myanmar, it has been less engaged than the Obama administration. Meanwhile, China has sought to strengthen relations with Myanmar in light of the latter’s political developments and renewed isolation on human rights. Beijing continues to support Myanmar at the UN against resolutions critical of its human rights record. China’s Belt and Road Initiative can offer Myanmar muchneeded economic cooperation at unmatched speed and scale. Chinese authori­ ties also serve as mediators (though not disinterested ones) with the Northern Alliance and FPNCC. However, China’s support may come at a price to Myanmar’s autonomy. Chinese actors seek unrivaled access to Myanmar’s market. China may help to shield Myanmar from external pressures for reform and accountability in the name of respecting sovereignty. But the China option may not be helpful for the development of democratic institutions because Beijing does not demand good governance standards of transparency and human rights. Moreover, Myanmar remains dependent on China in its dealings and maintenance of stability with ethnic minority groups near their shared border. For now, Myanmar and China both see a peace process as in their interests. But Chinese actors seem to play both sides in the various conf licts to preserve inf luence, ensure border security, and protect Yunnan-based businesses.68 Myanmar’s leaders recognize these trade-offs and worry that increasing reliance on China will make Myanmar more indebted to Beijing, beholden to support Chinese “core interests” such as the South China Sea, and eventually destined to follow a China-led regional order.

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Conclusion: envisioning a democratic Myanmar The trajectory of Myanmar’s f ledgling democracy is neither linear nor unidirec­ tional. In many respects, individual opportunity, national governance, and for­ eign policy have improved in the last decade. However, identities are in f lux and under stress, not just between ethnic and religious groups, but also between gen­ erations. Myanmar’s culture of daily life is changing quickly, especially among the youth, with evolving pop culture, expanded information f lows through social media and smartphones, and commercialization from increasing interna­ tional contact and globalization. In this context, the challenge of managing pub­ lic expectations about economic development and political reform is formidable. Social inequalities are severe, both within cities as well as between cities and the rural areas where a majority of Myanmar’s population still resides. A democratization of Myanmar’s international relations is gradually under­ way as citizens do more abroad. In interaction with international NGOs, there is growing domestic focus on gender and environmental issues and the role civil society can play in building social tolerance and economic capacity. But the government’s peace process with ethnic minority groups requires mutual respect of identities and sequencing of reforms in ways that do not damage fragile trust among parties. International assistance and mediation can help if well informed by conditions on the ground. Myanmar needs more international investment, trade opportunities, and technology transfer. Attracting greater engagement by Western countries and support from international financial institutions calls for Myanmar to improve human rights. For major ASEAN partners like Thailand and Singapore, and neighbors like India with interests in expanding economic relations, Myanmar’s business environment needs improvement, particularly concerning the rule of law. Regarding China, Myanmar’s main challenge may be to ensure that democratic progress and good relations with Beijing are not inversely related. Myanmar’s political institutions lack features that make for stable democra­ cies. Political participation and civil rights are protected on paper but are fre­ quently violated in practice. The 1982 Citizenship Law, with its emphasis on ethnic rather than birthright citizenship, requires large populations to live for generations without the ability to vote or hold public office. Not only does this breed resentment of the government by such populations, but it also strengthens the political forces that advocate for greater independence. The repression of journalists, activists, and other civil society actors stif les public engagement and discourse that can inform the policymaking process. A hallmark of democracy is the government’s accountability to the electorate. However, Myanmar’s governing structures provide numerous ways for political leaders to circumvent institutional constraints and public accountability. The constitutional criteria for declaring a national emergency are worryingly vague, and the military’s powers in such cases are vast and open to abuse. Indeed, the military operates as a virtually independent institution alongside rather than

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under the government, especially in the ethnic areas where it can create “facts on the ground” by employing force. The NLD-led government’s decision to vest Aung San Suu Kyi with broad governing powers not enumerated in the constitution opens a potentially dangerous path by which future governments can circumvent the constitution for their own ends. Both the emergency provi­ sions and the decision to establish such a powerful state counselor position fit Myanmar’s historical pattern of attempting to manage political crises by over­ riding institutions. Strengthening democratic institutions calls for a more unified vision of national identity. But Myanmar still lacks a coherent national identity, entailing an inclusive structure for political participation, a common culture of values, history, and norms that the nation is willing to defend, and an international status that defines a role in the world that is recognized by other countries.69 Questions as basic as who can become a citizen, what rights citizens and non­ citizens should enjoy, and what powers should be allocated to the central and provincial governments remain subjects of contention and even violence. Myanmar faces two very different political futures. In the less tolerant future, citizenship is defined as a function of one’s ethnic identity. Ethnocentric expres­ sions vary from Bamar chauvinism to the principles of the FPNCC that maxi­ mize autonomy from the Union and minimize Nay Pyi Taw’s inf luence, to the xenophobic narratives of Buddhist nationalist groups like Ma Ba Tha. Such iden­ tities drive the proliferation of ethnic political parties and even intercommunal violence, threatening to use democratic space to roll back democratization. In a more tolerant Myanmar, citizenship would largely be a matter of com­ mitment to common political values. One’s identification as a member of an ethnic group would be subordinate to, or at least not take precedence over, iden­ tification as a Myanmar citizen. Building this kind of cross-cultural solidarity requires a collective commitment to the idea that all citizens are equal under the law, that the law exists to safeguard fundamental rights, and that no one is above the law. It also requires robust institutions and a professional and politically independent legal system. The regular recitation of common narratives, symbols, and goals can remind the Myanmar people of core values and aspirations that transcend narrow ethnic and sectarian identities and help sustain the “imagined community” of a civic nation. For Myanmar, more democracy can yield greater security, prosperity, and autonomy. But internal changes, such as those likely to transpire around the 2020 elections, present dangers of foreign policy volatility.70 Looking further ahead, where will Myanmar’s democracy be post-Aung San Suu Kyi? There is still much she can accomplish for her country as the most popular politician domestically and the most recognized Burmese internationally. But democracy is about the people, not a person. Democracy requires functioning institutions: political parties that develop policy solutions and the next generation of lead­ ership, and state agencies that uphold rules and norms while accommodating diverse identities under a unifying national identity.

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Notes 1 United Nations Human Rights Council, “Report of the Independent International Fact-Finding Mission on Myanmar,” A/HRC/39/64 (2018), §33, §42, §88, §92. 2 Freedom House, “Myanmar,” in Freedom in the World, 2019. 3 Council of the European Union, “Myanmar/Burma: Council Prolongs Sanctions,” April 29, 2019; Edward Wong, “U.S. Places Sanctions on Myanmar Military for Abuses,” The New York Times, August 17, 2018; Holly Robertson, “Rohingya Crisis: Australia Imposes Sanctions on Top Myanmar Military Generals,” Australian Broadcasting Corporation, October 23, 2018. 4 See above, Aurel Croissant, Ch.1, “Democratization, Identity, and Foreign Policy in Southeast Asia.” 5 The Seven-Step Roadmap is accessible at: www.burmalibrary.org/show.php?cat =2378. 6 Wolfgang Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies,” Democratization 11(5) (2004), p. 36. Cited in Aurel Croissant, “Democratization, National Identity, and Foreign Policy in Southeast Asia.” 7 Union Citizenship Act (1948) as amended up to December 1, 1960, www.ibiblio.org /obl/docs/UNION_CITIZENSHIP_ACT-1948.htm. 8 Nick Cheesman, “How in Myanmar ‘National Races’ Came to Surpass Citizenship and Exclude Rohingya,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47(3) (2017), pp. 461–83. 9 Burma Citizenship Law (1982), §3. 10 Aung Kyin, “Burma in 1982: On the Road to Recovery,” Southeast Asian Affairs, 1983, p. 94. 11 Burma Citizenship Law (1982), §23. 12 Ibid., §42–§43. Naturalized citizenship can also be granted (irrespective of birth­ place) to those born to one parent who is a Myanmar citizen, associate citizen or naturalized citizen, and one parent who is a foreigner and to those born of one parent who is a naturalized citizen and the other who is an associate or naturalized citizen. In addition, one must be at least 18 years of age, “able to speak well one of the national languages,” and be “of good character” and “of sound mind.” Ibid., §43–§45. 13 Ibid., §8(b), §18–§22, §30(c), §35–§41, §53(c), §58–§64, §71. Full citizens may not have their citizenship revoked unless they become a citizen of another country. Ibid., §16–§17. 14 Ian Holliday, “Addressing Myanmar’s Citizenship Crisis,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 44(3) (2014), p. 409; Elaine Lynn-Ee Ho and Lynette J. Chua, “Law and ‘Race’ in the Citizenship Spaces of Myanmar: Spatial Strategies and the Political Subjectivity of the Burmese Chinese,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 39(5) (2016), pp. 904–5. 15 José María Arraiza and Olivier Vonk, Report on Citizenship Law: Myanmar (San Domenico di Fiesole: European University Institute, October 2017). RSCAS/ GLOBALCIT-CR 2017/14, p. 2. 16 Pyithu Hluttaw Election Law (2010), §6(a), §10(m); Amyotha Hluttaw Election Law (2010), §6(a), §10(m). 17 Austin Ramzy, “New Leaders in Myanmar Unlikely to Improve the Lives of Muslims,” The New York Times, November 19, 2015; Ei Ei Toe Lwin, “Election Commission Rejects Muslim Candidates En Masse,” Myanmar Times, September 1, 2015. 18 Peter O’Toole, “How the USDP Went from Courting to Spurning Rakhine State’s Muslims,” Myanmar Times, February 19, 2015; Lawi Weng, “Opposition Asks Tribunal to Review ‘White Card Holder’ Referendum Vote,” Irrawaddy, February 9, 2015. 19 Yola Verbruggen, “Ethnic Chinese Hope for an NLD Victory,” Myanmar Times, October 5, 2015; Observing Myanmar’s 2015 General Elections: Final Report (Atlanta, GA: The Carter Center, 2015), pp. 34, 104; “Myanmar’s Rohingya Stripped of the

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Right to Vote in Referendum,” Deutsche Welle, February 12, 2015. According to the Ministry of Immigration and Population, approximately 83% of the 797,000 white cards were issued to Rohingya in Rakhine State. Sandar Lwin, “Tribunal Rules White-Card Voting Rights Unconstitutional,” Myanmar Times, May 12, 2015. 20 Local governments have the authority “to request a presidential order limiting repro­ ductive rates if it is determined that population growth, accelerating birth rates, or rising infant or maternal mortality rates are negatively impacting regional devel­ opment,” or if there exists an “imbalance between population and resources, low socio-economic indicators and regional food insufficiency because of internal migra­ tion.” Shameema Rahman and Wendy Zeldin, “Burma: Four ‘Race and Religion Protection Laws’ Adopted,” Global Legal Monitor, September 14, 2015. 21 Dashed Hopes: The Criminalization of Peaceful Expression in Myanmar (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2019). 22 Transparency International, “Corruption Perceptions Index 2018.” 23 “Constitution of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar” (2008), §109, §141. 24 Ibid., §436. 25 Ibid., §60(b). 26 Ibid., §203. 27 Ibid., §201. 28 Ibid., §232(b). 29 The presidential electoral college is split into three bodies: (1) a group of Hluttaw representatives elected from regions and states; (2) a group of Hluttaw representa­ tives elected on the basis of township and population; and (3) a group of military Hluttaw representatives nominated by the Tatmadaw commander-in-chief. Each body nominates a presidential candidate, and the full electoral college votes. The winner becomes president, and the first and second runners-up become first and second vice-president, respectively. Ibid., §60. 30 Ibid., §232(b). 31 Ibid., §417–§420. 32 Cf. Ibid., §40(c). 33 “The Counsellor of the State Law,” Pyidaungsu Hluttaw Law 26/2016 (2016), §6. 34 Ei Ei To Lwin and Lun Min Mang, “Government to Create Powerful Post for Daw Su,” Myanmar Times, March 31, 2016. 35 “The Counsellor of the State Law,” §5(a). 36 Ibid., §5(c). 37 Wolfgang Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies,” pp. 49–52. 38 Panglong Agreement (1947), §5 and §7. 39 Regarding the Border Guard Force and related People’s Militia Forces, see John Buchanan, Militias in Myanmar (Yangon: The Asia Foundation, 2016), pp. 18–20. 40 “The Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement between the Government of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar and the Ethnic Armed Organizations,” October 15, 2015, §1(a). 41 Elliott Bynum, “Ceasefires and Conf lict Dynamics in Myanmar,” ACLED, May 13, 2019, p. 3. Stein Tønnesson, Ne Lynn Aung and Marte Nilsen, “Will Myanmar’s Northern Alliance Join the Peace Process?” PRIO Policy Brief (Peace Research Institute Oslo, 2019), p. 4. 42 Anthony Davis, “It’s Party Time for Myanmar’s Largest Armed Ethnic Faction,” Asia Times, April 9, 2019. 43 Bertil Lintner, “Myanmar’s Wa Seek Peace through Strength,” Asia Times, April 17, 2019. 44 Federal Political Negotiation and Consultative Committee, “The General Principles and Specific Proposition of Revolutionary Armed Organizations of All Nationalities upon the Political Negotiation,” 2017, p. 9. 45 Ibid., p. 10.

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46 47 48 49 50

51

52 53

54 55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

68

Ibid., pp. 15–17. Ibid., p. 20. Ibid., p. 15. Ibid., pp. 20–25. Most Rohingya were judged under the 1982 Citizenship Law not to have been present in Burma before 1823 and thus rendered ineligible for citizenship. Engy Abdelkader, “The Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar: Past, Present, and Future,” Oregon Review of International Law 15(10) (2013), p. 104 fn21. See, for instance: “Myanmar Army Chief Rules Out Rohingya Citizenship,” alJazeera, March 28, 2017; Feliz Solomon, “Why Burma Is Trying to Stop People from Using the Name of Its Persecuted Muslim Minority,” Time, May 9, 2016; Amanda Erickson, “In Bangladesh, Pope Francis Uses the One Word He Would Not Say in Burma: Rohingya,” The Washington Post, December 1, 2017. Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report of Inquiry Commission on Sectarian Violence in Rakhine State,” 2013, §4.16. Ardeth Maung Thawnghmung, “The Politics of Indigeneity in Myanmar: Competing Narratives in Rakhine State,” Asian Ethnicity 17(4) (2016), p. 531. Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report of Inquiry Commission on Sectarian Violence in Rakhine State,” §3.1.1, §4.15. Ibid., §4.9, §4.1. The ANP won 22 seats, the NLD won 9 seats, the USDP won 3 seats, and an inde­ pendent candidate won a single seat. The military retained 12 seats as constitutionally guaranteed. “State/Region Hluttaw Results: Graphics,” Myanmar Times, November 17, 2015. Ardeth Maung Thawnghmung, “The Politics of Indigeneity in Myanmar,” p. 541. C. Christine Fair, “Rohingya: Victims of a Great Game East,” The Washington Quarterly 41(3) (2018), p. 71. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, “Rohingya Refugee Crisis,” www.unocha.org/rohingya-refugee-crisis. Accessed June 15, 2019. United Nations Human Rights Council, “Report of the Independent International Fact-Finding Mission on Myanmar,” §87–§92. C. Christine Fair, “Rohingya,” p. 70. Maung Aung Myoe, “The NLD and Myanmar’s Foreign Policy: Not New, But Different,” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 36(1) (2017), pp. 89–121. Andrew Selth, “The Defense Services,” in Adam Simpson, Nicholas Farrelly and Ian Holliday, eds., Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Myanmar (Abingdon-on-Thames: Routledge, 2018), pp. 25–34. John Badgley and Ian Holliday, “Democracy,” in Adam Simpson, Nicholas Farrelly and Ian Holliday, eds., Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Myanmar, pp. 35–42. Jonathan T. Chow and Leif-Eric Easley, “Persuading Pariahs: Myanmar’s Strategic Decision to Pursue Reform and Opening,” Pacific Affairs 89(3) (September 2016), pp. 521–42, https://doi.org/10.5509/2016893521. David I. Steinberg and Hongwei Fan, Modern China–Myanmar Relations: Dilemmas of Mutual Dependence (Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 2012). Yun Sun, “China’s Strategic Misjudgement on Myanmar,” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 31(1) (2012), pp. 73–96. Jonathan T. Chow and Leif-Eric Easley, “Upgrading Myanmar-China Relations to International Standards,” Asan Issue Brief 4(21) (December 2015), pp. 1–24 (http:/ /en.asaninst.org/contents/upgrading-myanmar-china-relations-to-international-st andards). Shahar Hameiri, Lee Jones and Yizheng Zou, “The Development-Insecurity Nexus in China’s Near-Abroad: Rethinking Cross-Border Economic Integration in an Era of State Transformation,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 49(3) (2019), pp. 483–89.

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69 Lowell Dittmer, “Conclusion,” in Lowell Dittmer, ed., Burma or Myanmar? The Struggle for National Identity (Singapore: World Scientific, 2010), p. 364. 70 Mary Callahan and Myo Zaw Oo, “Myanmar’s 2020 Elections and Conf lict Dynamics,” United States Institute of Peace Peaceworks, No. 146, April 2019 (www.usip .org/publications/2019/04/myanmars-2020-elections-and-conf lict-dynamics).

12

DEMOCRATIZATION, NATIONAL IDENTITY, AND FOREIGN POLICY IN MONGOLIA IN 2019 Mendee Jargalsaikhan

Democracy came to Mongolia in the aftermath of the Cold War as one of the uplifting success stories of that era, and it has survived for three decades despite conditions that many regard as hostile. Given the legacy of communism and the pressures attributed to Beijing and Moscow, this sparsely populated, landlocked country has not been regarded as a likely stalwart of democracy in the 2010s when overall optimism about the course of democratization has been reced­ ing. Here, I consider the reasons for success in sustaining democracy as well as evidence of its vulnerability, paying attention to recent debates indicative of national identity as well as foreign policy factors that continue to operate. It is tempting to apply the criteria widely understood to be essential for strengthening democratic institutions to judge recent developments in Mongolia. After all, political leaders in the course of election campaigns or in their promises after electoral success trumpet these actions: fighting against corruption, sepa­ rating the executive and legislative branches, and increasing judicial independ­ ence. Yet, as again seen in 2019, the actual political equilibrium that emerges involves leaders, once firmly in power, taking all necessary measures to weaken their opponents and to advance their economic interests. For those with a less demanding definition of democracy, such deviations from the ideal are not suf­ ficient grounds to alter the verdict that Mongolia is the only Asian communist state, which not only successfully gained a democratic identity, but ranks close to South Korea and Taiwan on various democratization scales. Political power is transferred, over and over again, between two main political parties by free, fair, and inclusive elections, putting Mongolia firmly in the ranks of electoral democracies. Unusual circumstances have enabled democratization to proceed, but they stand in the way of its deepening. This chapter makes three arguments: first, the favorable external environment has been a crucial factor for the democratization process since the mid-1980s. A

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geopolitically neutral Mongolia serves its neighbors’ interests; therefore, Beijing and Moscow have been reluctant to make any moves to trigger the traditional security dilemma, even if their shadows do not facilitate deepening the process. None of Mongolia’s new-found “third neighbors” has been dragged into unnec­ essary geopolitical confrontation over it, either in support of steps that further democratization or in confrontations that could be used to set democratization further back. Second, the survival of the ruling communist party, the Mongolian People’s Party (MPP), is a key constructive factor for the consolidation of the electoral democracy. The party initiated the political reform process while serv­ ing as an anti-incumbent platform for opposition parties as well as preventing a populist takeover, especially during the formative years of democratization. Similar to the Kuomintang (KMT) in Taiwan, the MPP successfully transitioned from a Leninist party—the oldest Asian communist party (established in 1921)— into a parliamentary party. Third, of late, corruption poses an increased threat to the country’s democratic institutions. It becomes more difficult to reform judi­ cial institutions amid intense power struggles than earlier in the transition. Now political actors are more concerned with gaining or increasing their political power through political parties, the legislature, and the cabinet, while attempt­ ing to control or inf luence the judiciary and law enforcement agencies. If, for a time, peaceful democratization was facilitated by keeping the massive security forces politically neutral in 1987–1996, now competitive attempts to use the security forces and law enforcement agencies for parochial interests are more vis­ ibly endangering democratic institutions. An example of complicated democratic institutions is the case of Zorig Sanjaasuren, a prominent leader of the democratic revolution. Politicians in Ulaanbaatar began stirring the pot again in March 2019 after a period of rela­ tive calm. Recalling the Stalinist-type tortures in the 1930s, Minister of Justice and Internal Affairs Nyamdorj Tsend made a public apology for the torture of wrongfully convicted suspects for the 1998 murder of Zorig.1 Yet, his death, which brought to the surface the intense competition for power among politi­ cians and business factions, lingers as an unfinished agenda for populists. A few days after the empathetic statement of Nyamdorj, MPs watched the torture video (CCTV of the detention facility) just before debating the presi­ dent’s bill to empower the three-member National Security Council (NSC) to recommend changes in the line-up of judges, prosecutors, and leaders of the Independent Authority Against Corruption (IAAC). As the public began to question whether the bill is unconstitutional, the same video was shown to media representatives, but journalists were allowed only to talk about some of its con­ tents. Following passage of the bill, presumably in consultation with two other members of the NSC (i.e. the speaker of parliament and the prime minister), the president sent his list of nominees for top judges, chiefs, and deputies in the prosecutor’s office as well as the IAAC for parliamentary approval. Claiming that support for the presidential bill is the only way of saving the nation from falling into the hands of a corrupt, unaccountable judiciary and law enforcement

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officials, the majority of MPs not only voted in favor of the bill, but “rubber stamped” the list of new candidates. In the following weeks, the police arrested Khurts, the former chief of intel­ ligence and deputy chief of the IAAC, along with other officers in connection with the torture of the wrongly convicted suspects in Zorig’s murder. Then, the media were overwhelmed by corruption scandals related to former presidents, prime ministers, and cabinet ministers, fueling rumors on the street. It turns out, however, that none of the new appointees had made any promises of investigat­ ing current MPs for their alleged misuse of the authority to allocate billions of tugrug loans from the Small and Medium Enterprises (SMEs) funds, for the disbursement of bonds and loans, and for the never-ending corruption scandals related to the state-owned enterprises (SOEs). If some progress was made by exposing past excesses, no confidence existed that recent and future excesses would be addressed. For critics, the path of deepening democratization ahead remains as uncertain as ever.

Democratization benefiting from geopolitical blessing Since the mid-1980s, the external environment for Mongolia has remained favorable for its domestic politics. Its powerful neighbors have prioritized their strategic partnership rather than engaging in direct geostrategic competition in Mongolia. Despite its growing inf luence over the Mongolian economy, Beijing is still reluctant to upset the Kremlin by making investments that could disad­ vantage the Russian strategic and economic interests in Mongolia. Similarly, Mongolia’s third neighbors, notably the United States, Japan, and Germany, have not made any effort to use Mongolia as an arena to engage in unnecessary, direct, geostrategic confrontation with either Russia or China. Rather third neighbors support the country’s democratic identity as a key foundation for their relations with Mongolia. Therefore, Mongolia’s domestic politics, especially the democ­ ratization process, has enjoyed 30 years of peace. Mongolia has sufficient democ­ racy to dissuade the third neighbors from thinking of it as a candidate for a “color revolution,” while it is advancing so little to a deeper level of democracy or a model for others that China and Russia, each wary of antagonizing the other, would find cause to intervene seriously. Two key points need be made to underscore the arguments about geopolitical factors. First, the most important external contribution to Mongolia’s democratization has been the Sino-Soviet agreement to end decades-long military tension. After several rounds of consultations that began as early as 1982, Soviet leaders finally accepted the persistent demand of China to remove the so-called three obstacles to normalize the Sino-Soviet relations, one of which was the Soviet military forces in Mongolia.2 Although Mongolian leaders were caught by surprise by the Kremlin’s decision to make a complete military withdrawal, this decision had a number of significant implications for Mongolian democratization. In order

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to normalize relations with China, the Kremlin removed Mongolia’s longest serving, ailing leader Tsedenbal Yumjaa, along with his politically inf luential Russian spouse in 1984. Not only had his hardened anti-Chinese stance become a major hurdle for Sino-Soviet rapprochement, but his ill-timed taunting of China just as Moscow was beginning to normalize relations aroused Beijing to send an emissary to Moscow to demand his ouster. Already Mongolia had become an arena for Moscow and Beijing to prove that they could find common ground in testing their ties. Preempting Gorbachev’s agenda of getting rid of the Brezhnev-era leaders of the socialist bloc, the removal of an authoritarian leader became important for the predominance before long of reform-oriented, moderate leaders in Mongolian domestic politics. Moreover, it removed the Chinese military threat, which had provided justi­ fication not only for the Soviet military presence, but also for the militarization and communist-type control of Mongolian society. Mongolia effectively had become a garrison state, which imposed three years of mandatory conscription and military reserve duties for all males under the age of 45, established military and civil defense training programs for all government and educational organiza­ tions, especially secondary and post-secondary schools, and strengthened intel­ ligence and informant networks. For instance, using the China threat, Tsedenbal purged a number of senior party officials who had criticized the corruption and incompetency of the Mongolian leadership, claiming they were part of an antiparty group with Chinese connections, even though none of these challengers touched on matters of foreign policy in the 1960s, 1970s, and even in 1984. The Sino-Soviet rapprochement created the most favorable external setting for democratization, parallel to the impact of Soviet normalization with the Western powers providing obvious breathing space for the transformation of domestic politics in European socialist states. Second, in the following three decades, Russia and China have remained neutral to the Mongolian democratization process although both have enormous power to pressure or interfere in its domestic politics. This is not because either of the great powers respects the sovereignty of small peripheral states, but because they understand the desirability of keeping Mongolia as neutral as possible for their respective geopolitical interests. The Kremlin’s priority in Mongolia appears to be to keep Mongolia in its sphere of inf luence, without triggering Chinese security concerns. During the Yeltsin period, Mongolia had disappeared from the Kremlin’s foreign policy map. In fact, it was unable to respond to Mongolia’s constant requests for the resumption of traditional bilateral relations. Then, since 2000, Mongolia reappeared in Russian foreign policy—mostly in connection to Putin’s Asia pivot strategy in its incipient form and, later, when it became offi­ cial. However, the Kremlin seemed more interested in defending its remaining “imperial” strongholds than interfering in the country’s domestic politics. The Kremlin successfully stopped Mongolia’s attempt to attract Western and Chinese investments in extending its railways, which could disadvantage Russian control

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over the only remaining “imperial” legacy in Eurasia. The move is clearly con­ nected to Russia’s wider geopolitical strategy.3 Similarly, the Kremlin pressured the Mongolian government to change its policies and even investment agree­ ments connected to uranium deposits. This move is also connected to Russia’s wider strategy to control its uranium production. Otherwise, the Kremlin’s interests in Mongolia are historically limited. By 2016, it realized the impracticality of its desire to participate in exploitation of Tavan Tolgoi coal, and it abandoned its largest joint venture (i.e. the Erdenet cop­ per factory) by selling its share to the Mongolian side and withdrawing Russian nationals.4 The resumption of their defense cooperation appears to be limited to less frequent exchanges and joint celebration of the anniversary of the Khalkhyn Gol (Nomonhan battle) of 1939, when Japan was defeated. In contrast, Beijing’s leverage over Mongolia has increased substantially. First, China became the only market for Mongolia’s commodity exports. A policy shift affecting land ports, customs and tariffs, or import quotas could trigger an adverse effect in Mongolia. For instance, since 2008, the most pressing issue for Mongolian presidents and prime ministers with Chinese leaders has been to increase, or at least maintain, the annual quota for Tavan Tolgoi coal. Second, Beijing’s provision of preferential policies—30-day visa free entry, access to medical facilities, reduced transit tariffs, and even access to seaports and transit facilities—have increased Mongolia’s dependency even further. Third, China became the only provider of funding and labor for Mongolia’s large projects, from roads to housing complexes to water treatment facilities. Interestingly, China made similar efforts in the 1950s–1960s, building a sports palace, bridges, major roads, and factories. Fourth, Mongolia has no option but to rely on Chinese financing for major infrastructure projects and loans/currency swaps as the country’s economy encounters crises due to inefficient clientelist economic policies. Yet, China rarely uses its leverage over Mongolian politics as long as leaders in Ulaanbaatar respect the Chinese core concerns regarding Taiwan, Tibet, the XinjiangUyghur area, and geopolitical neutrality of Mongolia from its strategic competi­ tors like Russia, Japan, and India. The Chinese government apparently has no problem working with any leaders and parties arising from Mongolia’s competi­ tive elections, patiently watching Mongolia’s domestic debates over the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) membership and projecting more institution­ alized soft power to ease historical anti-Chinese attitudes in Mongolia. The one irritant that prompted the use of China’s economic leverage was Mongolia’s spir­ itual ties with the Dalai Lama.5 Otherwise, Beijing is more concerned with its partnerships with Russia and interested in resources in Siberia and Central Asia. For Beijing, Mongolia can remain an insignificant, small, democratic neighbor, as long as Russian concerns matter and it keeps its behavior within clear limits. In the 1990s, Mongolia’s endogenous democratization process coincided with American geopolitical interests of spreading ideas of political and economic

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liberalization. Even though the democratization process was initiated under the ruling communist party, US Secretary of State James Baker played an inf luential role in providing the most necessary economic and humanitarian assistance at the brink of state collapse, urging US allies to support Mongolia to gain membership in international financial institutions, and insisting that non-reversal in democ­ ratization is a key condition for Mongolia’s relations with the United States and its allies.6 Because democracy strengthened Mongolia’s identity vis-a-vis China (similar to Taiwan versus the PRC and South Korea versus North Korea), pro­ vided an opportunity to gain full independence from the Kremlin and facilitated integration into the international system beyond its two neighbors, there was not any major opposition to accepting the non-reversal conditionality. Since that time, democratization has still served the interests of Mongolia’s third neigh­ bors, all of which have refrained from measures that could trigger unnecessary geopolitical competition with Mongolia’s two neighbors and, in the process, endanger that very democracy. Defense and security ties have been exclusively limited to activities supporting Mongolia’s peacekeeping capacity. A brief com­ modity boom in the first decade of the 2000s did not override the fundamental interests of the United States and other foreign investors in oil and gas deals in small states. Even Mongolia’s military deployments to Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kosovo did not produce “rentier state effects” as happened to Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan, where Western powers prioritized their security interests (e.g. mili­ tary logistical hubs) over a democracy agenda. Rather, Western interests in the Oyu Tolgoi mine provided more leverage for the public to pressure the gov­ ernment to increase transparency in its resource governance as well as increase Mongolia’s visibility in Western capitals and media. Mongolia’s peacekeeping deployments contributed to gaining full membership in the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), which now observes closely the country’s parliamentary and presidential elections. In other words, the coun­ try’s democratic identity has remained a cornerstone of its relations with third neighbors and served as a justification for their increased presence (i.e. the EU mission), for cooperation with international organizations (the EU, the OSCE, and NATO), and for bilateral relations with developed democracies. Accepting as a centerpiece in its national identity democratization, Mongolia has gained geopolitical balance and increased its capacity to affirm its distinctiveness versus China and Russia as well as Central Asian states or former Asian communist states (Laos, North Korea, and Vietnam). In a nutshell, the avoidance of direct geopolitical competition in and over Mongolia among great powers has provided a favorable external environment for the country’s domestic politics, especially the democratization process. Both neighbors are in favor of keeping Mongolia a neutral state and reluctant to make any direct investments to trigger each other’s security concerns. At the same time, electoral democracy has remained a key element of identity—linking Mongolia with the world beyond its expansionist neighbors.

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Competitive parties Within this favorable external setting, the survival of the ruling communist party has been a key factor for the consolidation of electoral democracy in Mongolia in several ways. Party leaders initiated political and economic reform by disman­ tling ideological controls, relying on a collective decision-making process, and empowering the legislature and state organizations. The ruling party did not take any measures to hinder the development of opposition parties in the 1990s, and it served as an anti-incumbent platform and organizational model for these new parties. Over three decades, the existence of an institutionally strong politi­ cal party has not only prevented hijacking by populist leaders, but also contrib­ uted to political stability, as explained by three arguments given below. First, in the crucial period between 1987 and 1990, the Mongolian commu­ nist party had taken measures opposite to those of its counterparts in Moscow and Beijing. Following the ousting of the authoritarian leader, new party lead­ ers created a favorable atmosphere for open debate and criticism, reaching out to the public through party organizations. Instead of taking preemptive or repressive measures against dissenting youth or critical intellectuals, the party removed ideological censorship by early 1988 and directed the Ministry of Public Security not to intimidate anyone challenging party leadership.7 This makes the Mongolian communist party different from all other non-European communist parties, but similar to Taiwan’s KMT. Furthermore, leaders of the communist party relied heavily on the party’s collective decision-making pro­ cess, which was institutionalized through the Politburo, Central Committee, and Party Congress—important for reforming the political party and increasing the legitimacy of its decisions. The party made clear its support for strengthening the legislature (People’s Great Khural) and the cabinet by appointing politically neutral technocrats to separate the party from these state organizations. This was not the case in the majority of Soviet republics, where communist parties were marginalized first by populist leaders like Gorbachev and Yeltsin and then generally banned in the aftermath of the August coup in 1991. As a result, the Mongolian political reform was backed up by political institutions; therefore, it acquired a broader base of support from the public than personalized reform— attached to a particular populist leader—or reform imposed from the outside by external powers. Second, the ruling party played a constructive role in the formation of the competitive party system. From 1988, communist party leaders did not delay or restrict the opposition’s institutionalization process, starting from the politi­ cal debate clubs to movements and to political parties. Party leaders permitted demonstrations, even provided facilities for their congresses and meetings, and maintained open channels with opposition leaders. The existence of a strong political party also provided an anti-incumbent impetus for opposition parties. All of the new parties may have lacked comprehensive election platforms and could not widely publicize their political agendas, but, due to the existence of a

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strong ruling party, they had an increased incentive to collaborate and challenge incumbents. The new parties could also simply adopt the organizational model of the ruling party as they began their institutionalization process. The survival of the ruling party also made Western party development assistance of the German Konrad Adenauer Foundation (KAS) and American International Republican Institute (IRI) more effective. If the ruling party was replaced by multiple small parties, there would have been too many lead­ ers to work with, and this would have been too challenging and costly for the international party assistance programs of either the KAS or the IRI, whose wherewithal was crucial for the opposition parties’ takeover of the presidency in 1993 and parliament in 1996. In fact, the ruling party did not restrict Western party assistance programs from the beginning, instead facilitating all of their requests to operate freely to develop the opposition parties. Third, the existence of a well-institutionalized party made the power (leader­ ship) transition process easier than in countries without strong political parties. Since the power transition procedure had been made clear for party elites and the strong party institution reduced any uncertainty, Mongolian political elites established the precedent of exiting and transferring power not only during a crisis (i.e. the first hunger strike in 1990), but also after regular elections. In fact, the Mongolian case demonstrates that a strong party can prevent a takeo­ ver or hijacking by a populist leader. Two notable examples are the removal from inf luential positions of the former president, prime minister, and speaker N. Enkhbayar in 2008 and the wealthy factional leader M. Enkhbold twice in 2007 and 2019. A similar claim could be made about the opposition party, but the party’s organizational strength is much lower in comparison to that of the former ruling party. In addition to their ability to prevent the emergence of a populist leader, the ruling party elites also sought out ways to collaborate with and accommodate opposition parties from 1990. Despite resistance from some of its conservative members and populist political forces, party leaders managed to work together with opposition leaders in the constitution-making process and jointly relied on the professional expertise of the nonpartisan, constitutional drafters. Also, after winning in the first multiparty elections, the new leaders of the ruling party welcomed opposition leaders by sharing key positions in the bicameral legislature and established a coalition government even though they held enough seats to establish a single-party cabinet. This was repeated in 2008, the MPP successfully convinced the opposition parties to establish a coalition government even after the party had more than enough seats in the legislature. The main reason behind this unusual type of collaborative behavior is apparently concern for political stability, linked to appreciation for the value of Mongolia’s democratic national identity for both internal and external purposes. The consolidation of electoral democracy arguably resulted from the survival of the ruling party, which played a constructive role and became an indispensable part of the new political system. Since the 1992 constitution made political parties

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the only vehicle for gaining political power through competitive parliamentary, presidential, and local elections, it became impossible for populist politicians to accumulate power as happened in the majority of the former Soviet republics, including Russia. Over three full decades, political power has been peacefully transferred between two major political parties—the MPP and the loosely united Democratic Party (DP). The former ruling party and the main opposition party were engaged in systematic competition to control the legislative and execu­ tive powers. However, the two have been reluctant to provide opportunities for other parties to compete. Under public pressure, they finally agreed to intro­ duce a mixed electoral system (i.e. 48 majoritarian seats and 28 proportional allocation seats) and a gender quota for nominations for the 2012 parliamentary elections. As a result, third parties won more seats that year. Although this was an important step toward promoting parliamentary democracy, leaders of the two major parties changed the rules back to the majoritarian system for the 2016 parliamentary elections. This resulted in a landslide victory for the former ruling party, which won 65 out of 76 seats. The Democratic Party won in the 2013 and 2017 presidential elections.8 However, both parties are struggling to gain popular support as they are unable to deal with growing clientalism and corruption. While their leaders have been pledging since as early as 2004 to fight against corruption, separate the blurred lines between the legislative and execu­ tive offices, and depoliticize the judiciary and law enforcement, none have taken bold measures. Instead, all have been concerned with controlling the legislature and the cabinet and, most of all, to strengthen their leverage over the judiciary, law enforcement, and other key agencies to the disadvantage of their political opponents while preparing for the next regular elections.

The challenge—the rule of law Like many other states, Mongolia’s primary challenge to democracy is corrup­ tion. Since his inauguration, the president twice asked parliament to dissolve itself before the elections in 2020 because he considered incumbent parlia­ ment members to have lost public confidence by not fulfilling their mandate to bring justice to Mongolia.9 Yet, members of the ruling party proposed instead collective resignation with the president since a number of allegations against him were still not cleared by the courts and law enforcement agen­ cies.10 Over the last decade, media coverage has been overwhelmed by unre­ solved corruption scandals, involving a majority of politicians, both in power and those now out of power. Politicians and political parties skillfully use the corruption scandals in their political maneuvering. Once they achieve their parochial objectives or reach deals, the scandals are left unresolved. At the most, the IAAC anti-corruption agency and the police would simply put the blame on the chief prosecutor’s office for either dropping the case or delay­ ing the investigation. For example, since 2016, major corruption allegations include the following:

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MPP’s “65 billion tugrug” scheme of selling public posts;

“Just” Bank’s loan with Erdenet Copper Mine (as a collateral);

A mysterious purchase of a 49 percent stake in the Erdenet Copper Mine;

Allegations about the Oyu Tolgoi (copper/gold) investment expansion

agreement; Allegations related to the Tavan Tolgoi (SOE) coking coal mine; Misuse of the ASEM (Asia-Europe Meeting) forum funds; Misappropriation of funds set aside for small and middle enterprises.

The rule of law is weak in Mongolia, which offers three important lessons for countries transitioning from a single-party state to an electoral democracy. First is the danger of neglecting judicial reform while giving more emphasis and resources to establishing the legislature, cabinet, and presidency, as well as elec­ toral institutions. The most significant judicial reform was the establishment of the Constitutional Court, which examines and settles any disputes related to the new constitution and is composed of three members nominated by the parliament, three by the president, and three by the Supreme Court. All nine members are supposed to serve six-year terms. As a result of politically affiliated nominations by winning parties and presidents, however, the Constitutional Court began to lose credibility as it failed to defend the principle of checks and balances, separat­ ing legislative and executive powers. Although the 1992 constitution established the General Council of Courts (article 49) to ensure judicial independence, the council was not able to reduce political inf luence. After 1993, there had been no major judicial reform until 2013, when comprehensive judiciary reform policies were launched to increase the transparency, professionalization, and independ­ ence of the courts. The salaries and funding for courts were doubled, marshal service (which is separate from the Soviet-style court decision implementation agency) was established, and new educational and training programs for judges and law enforcement personnel were introduced. However, the judicial reform backfired as it began to trigger a bureaucratic turf war among law enforce­ ment agencies and upset the political power equilibrium in control over the law enforcement agencies. By the 2016 parliamentary and 2017 presidential elections, a number of judicial reform decisions had been undone or shaped according to the interests of the winning political parties as well as varied political-business factions. Second, development of a genuine anti-corruption organization needs time, resources, and independence. In recognition of the prevalence of corruption and public discontent, the Law on Anti-Corruption passed in 2006 and the anti-cor­ ruption agency, known as the Independent Authority Against Cooperation, was established a year after in the hope it would be a central law enforcement institu­ tion. For the Mongolian case, the fight against corruption is not a new effort; it is rather an interrupted one. Historically, besides the communist party inves­ tigation commission (Намын Хянан Шалгах Хороо), there was the People’s Committee for Control and Investigation (Ардын Хянан Шалгах Хороо),

194 Mendee Jargalsaikhan

which reported to the Presidium of the People’s Great Khural. Similar to the current role of IAAC; the main duty of the committee was to investigate com­ plaints and potential corruption cases (mostly misuse of public offices and state property) and then to transfer them to law enforcement organizations and the judiciary for further investigation and prosecution. Under the Law on People’s Control and Investigation (1980), the People’s Committee for Control and Investigation had a main office (50 permanent staff ), branches in all provinces, major cities, and districts (90 permanent staff ), and support by 1,027–2,683 con­ trol groups in state industries and organizations, as well as 1,930–2,487 con­ trol posts in agricultural units; 26–30,000 people were elected to these control groups and posts.11 A fight against corruption requires institutionalization, not just personnel. For example, Mongolian political leaders made such efforts in the period 1972–1990. The People’s Committee for Control and Investigation was decommissioned in 1990, resulting in a loss of all experienced professionals, the dismantling of institutions, and even the dismissal of cases under investiga­ tion. In 1995, the parliament established a weak State Control and Investigation Committee; however, leaders and staff constantly changed following elections. It was understaffed and a nonoperational body. Then, another body, the State Auditing Agency, was established in 2003, but it remained less inf luential and dependent on politics. Similarly, the IAAC has been struggling to gain inde­ pendence from politics since its establishment. Under the recent bill, three mem­ bers of the National Security Council are entitled to change the chief and deputy chief of the IAAC even before their six-year terms have expired, thus weakening the fight against corruption. Third, the Mongolian case also demonstrates the benefits of keeping the security services, including the intelligence, the police, and the military out of politics, while maintaining professional leadership—particularly in the golden period of democracy (1987–1996). As early as 1987, General Secretary Batmunkh ordered the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Public Security to maintain neutrality on any political matters and to restrain any type of harassment regard­ ing dissenting and critical voices. This order was followed; no arrests were made against opposition leaders although the Ministry of Public Security was still under control for public safety concerns. In April 1990, the Ministry of Public Security, which consisted of the intelligence (the Committee for State Security), the police, border and internal troops, and the marshal service, was dismantled and the KGB-style informant networks disappeared. Also, in a similar timeframe, the People’s Great Khural made important decisions prohibiting political activities within security organizations as well as public servants, including uni­ formed personnel and diplomats, being involved in political party activities. As a result, the military, intelligence, police, and even diplomat service stayed out of the turbulent domestic political process, and all remained until 1996 under pro­ fessional leadership. However, the neutrality and depoliticization of the security services and key state institutions were undermined as the winning political par­ ties appointed party officials, who then used their power to bring party-affiliated

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officials and even business entrepreneurs to these state institutions in return for their support during the elections. This pattern continues today, as a result, the security services and key state institutions struggle to survive in this contested political terrain within a four-year electoral timeframe or even for a full year if competition for political power is intense. Despite laws with good intentions of providing at least six-year terms (i.e. beyond the election cycle), limiting the powers of political appointees and empowering public servants, political parties, politicians, and factions look for ways to change or revise them for their paro­ chial interests. The main objective is to seize power and impose their terms— instead of respecting the rule of law for a “fair” democratic game.

Conclusion Mongolia continues to enjoy its geopolitical blessing as all great powers avoid any direct geostrategic competition in this small, peripheral state. The brief commodity boom of 2005–2008 did not result in geo-economic competition among great powers. Rather the mismanagement of commodity revenue as well as of government bonds caused Mongolian politicians to accept another round of International Monetary Fund (IMF) conditionality and to seek funds from China and Japan. China’s initial expectations of promoting Mongolia as an exemplary case for its Belt and Road Initiative have declined due to several factors, includ­ ing the Dalai Lama’s visit in December 2016, Russia’s interest in protecting its dominance in Eurasian railways, and Ulaanbaatar’s unwillingness to join the SCO. In the meantime, US foreign policy concerns regarding Mongolia do not appear significant enough to reach the attention of the Trump administration. As a result, US commitment toward Mongolia remains almost entirely political, i.e. as a democratic outpost in an authoritarian neighborhood. Within this relaxed geopolitical setting, the presence of strong political parties has played a crucial role in maintaining the electoral democracy. If political leaders and parties are not able to uphold the rule of law, however, there is danger that a populist leader will succeed in discrediting the political parties and assert his control over the judiciary and law enforcement organiza­ tions. The frustrated public would likely prefer a strong hand rather than strong institutions. Therefore, Mongolian democratization could arrive at another crossroads, a critical one—whether to follow such positive examples as Taiwan and Romania by strengthening the rule of law or to follow the negative examples of the Philippines and Hungary, where the rule of law is failing.

Notes 1 Ц. Нямдорж, “С. Зоригийн амь нас хохирсон хэрэгтэй холбогдуулан эрүүдэн шүүлт явагдсан”; Б.Содномдаржаа, “Т.Чимгээ нарын ар гэрийнхнээс уучлал гуйж байна,” March 21, 2019, https://ikon.mn/n/1j0x. 2 John Garver, “The ‘New Type’ of Sino-Soviet Relations,” Asian Survey, Vol. 29, No. 12 (1989), pp. 1136–1152.

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3 See “Development Strategy of Russian Railway Holding for the Period until 2030,” May 27, 2019. 4 Lkhagva Erdene and Sergey Radchenko, “The Mysterious Sale of Mongolia’s Erdenet Mine,” July 9, 2016, https://thediplomat.com/2016/07/the-mysterious-sale -of-mongolias-erdenet-mine/. 5 Edward Wong, “Mongolia, with Deep Ties to Dalai Lama, Turns from Him toward China,” The New York Times, December 30, 2016. 6 Jargalsaikhan Mendee, “Small Islands of Democracy in an Authoritarian Sea: Explaining Mongolian and Kyrgyz Democratic Development,” (doctoral disserta­ tion, University of British Columbia, 2019), pp. 102–109. 7 Ibid., p. 69. 8 Sergey Radchenko and Jargalsaikhan Mendee, “Mongolia in the 2016-17 Electoral Cycle,” Asian Survey, Vol. 57, No. 6 (2017), pp. 1032–1057. 9 “Монгол Улсын Ерөнхийлөгч Х.Баттулга УИХ-ын чуулганы нэгдсэн хуралдаанд оролцож, үг хэллээ,” May 23, 2019, https://president.mn/9019/. 10 Л. Элдэв-Очир, “Ерөнхийлөгч огцорвол бид ч таръя,” May 23, 2019, https:// news.mn/r/2140503/; Ian MacDougall and Anand Tumurtogoo, “The Country that Exiled McKinsey,” May 14, 2019, www.propublica.org/article/the-country-that-e xiled-mckinsey. 11 Jargalsaikhan Mendee and Julian Dierkes, “IAAC: To Change Directors or Strengthen the Institutions?” Mongolia Focus, August 7, 2018, http://blogs.ubc.ca/ mongolia/2018/атг-leadership-institutions-corruption/.

INDEX

Abe Shinzo 28–9, 36, 83–4, 88 anti-Chinese sentiment 18, 20, 22, 88, 125, 132, 187–8 anti-communism 97, 129 anti-imperialism 14, 30–6, 105–11, 157 anti-Western sentiment 21, 112–16 Arab Spring 1, 113 ASEAN: collective identity 68, 141, 145–6; strength of 36, 148–51, 177–8 Asian financial crisis 14, 39, 113 Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) 48, 54 Asian values 53, 55 Asianism 82–3 Aung San Suu Kyi 167, 172, 179 Australia 2, 6, 147–9 Belt and Road Initiative (BRI, One Belt, One Road) 28, 39, 48, 53, 69, 131, 177, 195 Cambodia 12–19, 22 Candlelight Movement 99–101 China Dream 130 China model 2–3, 38–46, 55, 103, 114, 116 Chinese, meaning of 105–6, 114, 119–28, 130, 134 citizenship 14, 17, 25, 89, 93, 101, 169–70, 175, 179 civic national vision 13, 126–30, 134 civil rights 50, 53, 113, 167–72

civil society: extent of 31–2, 98–9, 135, 161, 178; resistance to 34, 46, 156–8, 167 Cold War: end of 29, 83; polarization of 1–3, 38, 81–7, 92, 97, 121, 184 colonialism as seedbed of nationalism 11–14, 21, 30 color revolutions 4, 28, 51, 115, 186 communism: and national identity 13, 30; legacy of 29–31, 34–7, 97, 112, 184 community of common destiny 28, 47 Confucianism: and liberalism 1–2; heritage of 4, 30–2, 36 corruption 71, 158, 161, 171–2, 184–7, 192–4; and China 5, 41–4, 112, 177 COVID-19 pandemic 1, 50 cross-cutting cleavages 72–3 cyberspace 50 de Tocqueville, Alexis 69–70 democracy, types of 60–1, 156, 162, 172 democratic peace 12, 68 democratization: as a continuum 3; meaning of 10–12, 97, 103, 162, 169, 176, 178, 184 Deng Xiaoping 40, 111–12, 125 East against West 82 East Asian Summit 36 economic dependence on China 36, 40, 53, 177, 188 economic globalization 1–2, 29

198 Index

economic miracle 4, 31 emperor 78–80 Free and Open Indo-Pacific (FOIP) 6, 28–9, 149 global financial crisis 39, 54, 65, 68, 84 globalization: faith in 3, 68 Gorbachev, Mikhail 34, 187, 190 Greater Eurasia 28 human rights: support for 5, 33–5, 44–8, 51–4, 141–6, 148–50, 161, 177–8, treaties 39 humanitarian assistance 32–3, 189 humanitarian intervention 51 India 2, 36, 144, 149, 177, 178 information revolution 1–2, 29 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 142, 195 Islam and national identity 5, 17–18, 141–7, 150–1, 158, 162, 175; and solidarity 22 Japan: conservatives vs. progressives 36, 80, 86–7; vs. South Korea 2, 30, 83, 88 Japanese-ness 89 Joko Widodo ( Jokowi) 142–5, 150–1 KMT (Kuomintang) 106–8, 111, 119–21, 126–9, 133, 185, 190 Kokutai 79–80 Korean War 92, 109–11 Made in China 2025 131 Mahathir Mohammad 155–61 military rule 15, 19, 63–6, 94, 143, 176 modernization theory 1–2, 92–3 Mongolia’s third-neighbor strategy 5, 185–6, 189 Monroe Doctrine 67–9 Moon Jae-in 88, 100 national identity: and otherness 5, 104–7; as prerequisite 9, 77, 127, 162–3; consensus on 70, 128, 179; definition of 10–11; dimensions of 3, 29–32 National Security Law for Hong Kong 4, 6, 45, 50, 52, 54, 121 New Zealand 2 Non-government organizations (NGOs) 31, 51, 54, 116, 157–8, 178 North Korea 32–6, 189

Obama, Barack 2, 151 occupation of Japan 80 One Country, Two Systems (OCTS) 120–1, 126–7, 130 Philippines 14–15, 18–19, 68, 95 Putin, Vladimir 187 Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership (RCEP) 48, 54 rule of law: 30–2, 61, 66, 70–2, 171, 176–8, 193–5; and China 38–42, 55, 113, 120, 126–30; plenum 47 Russia: democracy of 1, 61; idea of 33–4 Russian Far East 32–4 self-other boundary 103–7, 112–15, 129–30 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) 48, 188, 195 sharp power 3, 31, 35, 71–2, 133 Singapore 14, 17 Sinocentrism 3, 30 Six-Party Talks 35 soft power 31, 39, 55, 71, 133, 188 South China Sea 36, 49, 177 South Korea: conservatives vs. progressives 36 Soviet Union: collapse of 29, 40, 112, identity of 33 Sunf lower Movement 132 Taiwanese 121–31, 135 Thailand 14–15, 19–22, 95 Tiananmen 29, 82, 112 Tibetans 44, 50, 52, 69, 104–5, 109, 113, 129; and Dalai Lama 115, 188, 195 Timor-Leste (East Timor) 14–15, 18–20, 142, 148 trade wars 28, 149 Trump, Donald: and democracy 2, 177, 195; and US inf luence 48, 84, 100, 149; repudiation of 6 Tsai Ing-wen 133 Umbrella Movement 50, 121, 132 United Nations 47–54, 69, 71, 142, 145 United States leadership 6, 47, 65–6 universal values 32, 46, 53, 84–5 Uyghurs (and Xinjiang) 44–5, 49–52, 69, 113–16, 129, 188 Vietnam 19, 22, 68; politics of 61, 145, 189

Index

war on terrorism 22 Washington Consensus vs. Beijing Consensus 40, 65, 68 World Trade Organization (WTO) 54

Xi Jinping 40–53, 69, 115–16, 130–1 Yeltsin, Boris 32, 34, 187, 190

199