Parliamentary Representation in Central Asia: MPs Between Representing Their Voters and Serving an Authoritarian Regime 9780367409012, 9780367809751

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Parliamentary Representation in Central Asia

This book explores the nature of parliamentary representation within the autocratic regimes of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. It argues that although many parliaments are elected under flawed or non-competitive elections, autocratic governments are nevertheless aware of the need to appear representative and accessible to the demands of citizens and that even limited parliaments manage to represent their voters, sometimes in ways not intended by the regime. The book examines how élites structure, manage and organize representation, how they foster the desired kind of representation, and how they limit the ways in which parliaments fulfil their representative functions. The book concludes that Kazakhstan is a more hegemonic form of autocracy and the Kyrgyz Republic a more competitive form; and that the degree to which parliaments fulfil their representational functions and how much room for manoeuvre individual MPs have depends largely on how much parties control candidate selection and the daily schedule and administrative resources of parliaments. Esther Somfalvy is a Research Fellow in the Research Centre for East European Studies at the University of Bremen.

Central Asian Studies

The Afghan-Central Asia Borderland The State and Local Leaders Suzanne Levi-Sanchez Kyrgyzstan – Regime Security and Foreign Policy Kemel Toktomushev Legal Pluralism in Central Asia Local Jurisdiction and Customary Practices Mahabat Sadyrbek Identity, History and Trans-Nationality in Central Asia The Mountain Communities of Pamir Edited by Carole Faucher and Dagikhudo Dagiev Critical Approaches to Security in Central Asia Edited by Edward Lemon Russian Practices of Governance in Eurasia Frontier Power Dynamics, 16–19th Century Gulnar T. Kendirbai Practices of Traditionalization in Central Asia Edited by Judith Beyer and Peter Finke Uzbekistan’s International Relations Oybek Madiyev Parliamentary Representation in Central Asia MPs Between Representing Their Voters and Serving an Authoritarian Regime Esther Somfalvy For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ asianstudies/series/CAS

Parliamentary Representation in Central Asia MPs Between Representing Their Voters and Serving an Authoritarian Regime Esther Somfalvy

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 Esther Somfalvy The right of Esther Somfalvy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her 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 A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-40901-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-80975-1 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of tables List of figures Acknowledgments Note on transliteration Abbreviations and glossary

vi vii viii x xi

1

Introduction: MPs between serving the regime and representing the voters

2

Parliamentary representation under autocracy: A framework for analysis

26

3

Becoming party candidate and MP in limited competitive elections

62

4

Who are the representatives?: Parliament’s composition and group representation

81

5

Nation, occupation or village?: Finding a constituency focus in a proportional electoral system

105

6

MPs acting for citizens: Where can they make a difference?

115

7

Conclusion: Patterns of authoritarian parliamentary representation

148

Bibliography Annex 1: List of interviewees Annex 2: Interview guide for expert interviews with members of the parliaments in Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic and Russia Annex 3: Structure of the coding frame Index

1

161 185 189 192 195

Tables

1.1 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 3.1

Regime patterns in the post-Soviet region Formalistic representation disaggregated Criteria for assessing descriptive representation Determinants of descriptive representation Constituencies Constituency-related activities of MPs by type and scale Determinants of substantive representation Number of interviews conducted Overview of data sources Kazakhstan: parliaments elected under the following electoral rules 3.2 Kyrgyz Republic: parliaments elected under the following electoral rules 4.1 Parties represented in parliament (Kazakhstan) 4.2 Representation of ethnic groups in Kazakhstan during the fifth convocation 4.3 Turnover rates of MPs in the Mazhilis 4.4 Parties represented in parliament (Kyrgyz Republic) 4.5 Seats in parliament and vote shares, 2010 4.6 Representation of ethnic groups in the Kyrgyz Republic (fifth convocation) 4.7 Turnover in the Kyrgyz parliament 6.1 Topics of letters addressed to the Mazhilis 6.2 Legislation introduced into the Mazhilis, by initiating body 6.3 Parliamentary questions submitted by MPs, by faction 6.4 Activity profile of MPs of the Mazhilis 6.5 Distribution of letters by recipient 6.6 Topics addressed in letters to MPs of the Kyrgyz Republic 6.7 Letters forwarded by the Speaker 6.8 Legislation introduced into the Jogorku Kenesh, by initiating body 6.9 Parliamentary questions in the Jogorku Kenesh by addressee 6.10 Parliamentary questions in the Jogorku Kenesh by faction 6.11 Activity profile of MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic 7.1 Representation in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic

18 34 38 39 43 47 54 57 59 64 72 85 89 92 94 94 99 102 123 126 127 128 134 137 139 140 142 143 145 153

Figures

2.1 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6

The components of parliamentary representation Seat distribution in the 2012 Mazhilis Seat distribution in the 2010 Jogorku Kenesh Seat distribution in Kazakhstan’s parliament: share of pro-presidential parties and others Kazakhstan’s MPs by gender MPs’ previous occupations – administrative positions Average age of MPs MPs in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by gender Representation in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by ethnicity

29 65 71 84 86 90 91 95 100

Acknowledgments

This book is based on my doctoral dissertation that I wrote between 2012 and 2016. Over the course of my doctoral studies I was sometimes joking that my acknowledgments would have to be longer than the actual dissertation, due to the many people who somewhere along the way contributed to my work. An additional 80.000 words would not suffice to express the gratitude I feel towards them; nevertheless, I will try to be slightly more concise. Apologies to anybody I might have forgotten to mention. I would like to thank Ulrike Liebert, Heiko Pleines and Christoph Stefes, for being part of my supervisory committee and for their constant support and feedback during the years I was working on the dissertation. I would particularly like to thank Heiko Pleines for always finding time in his busy schedule to discuss my chapters and also for encouraging me to become part of the community at the Research Center for East European Studies. Many years ago, the plan for my project was kickstarted during a phone conversation with Uwe Kranenpohl. I owe him for the idea to revisit questions posed in “vintage parliamentarianism studies” in the context of non-democratic countries. Some sections of this book are based on extensive fieldwork in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic, and I would like to thank the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) for providing the funding. I am also grateful to the institutions that hosted me: Al-Farabi Kazakh National University and there in particular Mara Gubaidullina and my roommate, research assistant and friend Alexandra Yurchenko. At the American University of Central Asia, I would like to thank my hosts from the Central Asia Studies Institute, Svetlana Jacquesson and Aigul Kanybekova. Furthermore, I owe gratitude to Medet Tiulegenov, Karlygach Nurmanbetova, Aigerim Azimova and Malika Kudaybergenova for their invaluable help during my time in Bishkek. Additionally, I owe Medet Tiulegenov and Bermet Tursunkulva for sharing their Kyrgyzstan elite dataset with me. I also thank Svenja Fluhrer, Sona Apbasova and Niklas Tietjen for their research assistance at home. During the preparations for my fieldwork, I was regularly confronted with the question “but what if nobody talks to you?” Fortunately, I met plenty of helpful individuals who were willing to share their experiences with me and took time off their busy schedules to meet with a rookie researcher. Although I cannot credit them by name because many of them requested to remain anonymous, I want to

Acknowledgments ix convey my heartfelt gratitude. Without them, this book could have never been written. That “institutions matter” is so much more than a commonplace title-fragment for scientific papers. I am very grateful to have been a fellow at the Bremen International Graduate School of Social Sciences (BIGSSS). I owe great debt to the support I received from the staff and faculty and feel very privileged for having had the possibility to work in such a supportive and positive environment. Among many others, my thanks go out to Mandy Boehnke, Margret Schreier, and Arndt Wonka. Foremost, however, my time at BIGSSS was made special by my fellow doctoral students. I would like to thank all those fellows who provided comments to my project – the participants of the Field A colloquium, CEUS colloquium and these long Friday afternoon colloquium sessions at the Research Centre for East European Studies. I thank Marufa Akter, Tatia Chikhladze, Mareike zum Felde, Gulnaz Isabekova, Ina Lehmann, Julian Waller and Christina Zuber for their comments on some sections of the text. While it is generally not the best idea to completely rewrite the final chapter in the night before submission, I want to thank Florian Wittmann for doing some last-minute proofreading. A shoutout goes to Michelle Hollman for introducing me to the burpee and to my fellow “selfhelpers” Clémentine Roth and Sarah Perumalla. Thanks for reading every bit of text, for your comments and equally for your friendship, encouragement, the food and the distractions. I also had some readers outside of my field who were my test audience. These were Sophia Kochalski and Meike Bechtold, who are now the natural scientists with the most extensive knowledge about Central Asian parliamentarianism in the world and who reciprocated with introducing me to fun facts about fish and proteins. While ultimately others will be the judge of its quality, this text is much better than it would have been otherwise thanks to the meticulous proofreading of Louise Keating de Miron. I (and you, my dear reader) owe her for making the text flow. Finally, I thank my sister Rita, for her friendship, her criticism paired with encouragement and her strong opinions regarding fonts, formatting and how a text should look. Equally, I am indebted to my parents Marta and Peter (even though they forbade me to visit home whenever I had a paper due) for decades of support of my curiosity and relentless wandering. This book is dedicated to the three of them.

Note on transliteration

Sources from several languages appear in this book. In choosing a system of transliteration, I have aimed for consistency across languages with regard to the spelling of people, places and specific local terminology. For texts in Cyrillic script (Russian, Kazakh, Kyrgyz) I stick to a modified version of the US Library of Congress system (LoC) without diacritical marks. Exceptions are wherever other spellings have become more familiar for the English-speaking reader or are already in use (Jogorku Kenesh instead of Zhogorku Kenesh). With regard to names, two different transliterations are in use throughout the work, where foreign-language publications by the person use a transliteration system other than LoC (e.g. LoC Nazarbaev; own publishing name Nazarbayev).

Abbreviations and glossary

AIST Bloc Agrarian and Industrial Workers’ bloc

Electoral bloc (kaz) formed by the Civic Party and the Agrarian Party. Both parties were later incorporated into Nur Otan

Akim Akimat

Head of regional administration, mayor (kaz) Local administration (provincial, municipal, or district level) (kaz) Political party, “Bright Path” – opposition party in Kazakhstan (kaz); also a completely separate political party in Kyrgyzstan associated with K. Bakiev (kg) Political party, “dignity” (kg) Assembly of the People of the Republic of Kazakhstan Socialist Party “fatherland” (kg) Political party, “fatherland” (lit. father’s yurt), (kg) American University of Central Asia Political party, merged with Nur Otan (kaz) Political party (kg) (lit. together) Central Electoral Commission Communist People’s Party of Kazakhstan “Kommunisticheskaia Narodnaia Partiia Kazakhstana” “Leader of the Nation”, honorary title bestowed upon President Nazarbaev “Civic”, “Civil” or “Citizens’ Party” (kaz), merged with Nur Otan Inter-Parliamentary Union Parliament of the Kyrgyz Republic Political party (kg) Parliament of Kazakhstan, lower chamber Regional parliament (kaz) Political party “Light of the Fatherland” (kaz) Region

Ak Zhol Ar Namys Assambleia Naroda Kazakhstana Ata Meken Ata Zhurt AUCA Azar Bir Bol CEC CPPK El’basy Grazhdanskaia Partiia IPU Jogorku Kenesh Kyrgyzstan Mazhilis Maslikhat Nur Otan Oblast’

xii Abbreviations and glossary Obshchestvennye Sovety ODIHR Onuguu-Progress Otan OSCE OSDP Priemnaia Raion Respublika Rukhaniyat SDPK Toraga Vyezd Vlast’ Yntymak

Public councils (kaz) OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights Deputy group and later political party “Progress” (kg) “Fatherland” party, later developed into Nur Otan (kaz) Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe “Nationwide Social Democratic Party” (kaz.) Public reception, both countries District, county – administrative unit, smaller than Oblast’ Political party (kg), later fusioned with Ata Zhurt to form Respublika-Ata Zhurt (sixth convocation) Political party (“spirituality”) (kaz.), dissolved in 2013 Social-Democratic Party of Kyrgyzstan Speaker of the House (kg) Lit. “going out”, practice of traveling to the regions Power Deputy group, “Peace” (kg)

1

Introduction MPs between serving the regime and representing the voters

In early 2014, the construction work at Kyrgyzstan’s national children’s oncology in the capital Bishkek was suddenly halted, as the funds allocated to the repairs had run out. When the conditions became increasingly difficult on the unfinished construction site, with sick children being forced to stay on the corridors, concerned parents and medical professionals turned to their elected representatives for help. MPs from two different parties took up the issue: they raised the topic on the parliaments floor, invited the Ministers of Finance and of Health and approached the press (Vechernyi Bishkek 13.02.2014). One of the MPs lobbying for allocating additional funds to the project recounts her experience during the interview with this book’s author three months later: I kind of pressured them, and today I received the call that they got the whole money to finish this building, the construction. I was very glad. So I made [provided] practical help, and the whole conditions for kids will be better. (Interview KG_19) Likewise in Kyrgyzstan, the designers of the electoral framework wanted to foster the representation of diverse societal groups in the legislature. In order to achieve this goal, the electoral law stipulates candidate quotas for women, minorities, youth and the disabled (Constitutional Law on Elections, Art. 60.3). Adherence of the parties to the rules is checked during the pre-election registration of party lists with the electoral commission. Across the border, in neighbouring Kazakhstan, no mandatory quotas exist. However, in spite of the informal ways in which the party lists’ diversity is managed, over 27% of representatives in the parliament elected in 2016 are women (which is above the 19% of Kyrgyzstan). All of these examples – the Kyrgyz MPs rallying for their constituents in need, the introduction of elaborate quota designs to foster the representation of diverse groups, and the fact that Kazakhstan has a large share of women MPs – are glimpses into the diverse faces of parliamentary representation in Central Asia. The empirics clearly show that the governments of both countries care about representation. This becomes visible in the laws and regulations passed that facilitate contact between citizens and their representatives, in the allocation of funds towards MPs’ constituency visits, the implementation of quotas and recent transparency initiatives that foster reporting

2 Introduction on parliament’s activities. While we observe all of these representative practices, we lack yet an understanding of why they have evolved in countries where the re-election of MPs may not necessarily depend on voters’ satisfaction with their performance. Were Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic Western democracies, scholars would probably agree that the practices described earlier constitute parliamentary representation, with elected representatives interacting with and performing services for the citizens they are mandated to represent. Elected by popular vote, this “standard account” of parliamentary representation, members of parliament, acts as agents of their voters and represent their preferences within the political system (Pollak et al. 2009). Based on this, it is furthermore assumed that MPs try to be approachable for their voters to boost their chances of winning re-election. In authoritarian countries like Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan, however, elections are not fully competitive. MPs’ selection as candidates for the legislature and their subsequent election has less to do with their connection to the voters and more with them pleasing those at the top of the regime who are in charge of distributing the positions on the party list. Consequently, the possibility of authoritarian regimes devoting much effort towards improving the representative relationship and MPs spending a significant share of their time on activities that benefit their voters is something we would not expect. Using the ample evidence that such representative practices can be observed as departure point for inquiry, the guiding question this book explores is: How does the fact that MPs are not elected in fully competitive elections affect their relationship to their voters? One reason for the widespread blind spot regarding the representative function of legislatures under autocracy is based on the detachment of scholarly debates concerning parliaments and MPs in democratic and in authoritarian regimes. There seems to be a clear division between democratic parliaments, in which MPs represent their voters and authoritarian parliaments, in which they do not. While few of those scholars who have devoted serious attention to the inner working of parliaments under autocracy would dismiss them as “rubber stamps”, their focus is frequently on the question what purpose parliaments could serve for these regimes. According to a common perspective, authoritarian rulers establish legislatures in order to overcome a number of governance problems, e.g. to institutionalize power-sharing arrangements, to overcome the information deficit inherent to authoritarian regimes or to channel rents to a wide circle of elites (Gandhi/ Przeworski 2006, 2007; Magaloni 2006; Boix/Svolik 2013). And the legislatures do seem to benefit the regime; autocracies that established multi-party legislatures are more stable than regimes that rule without them (Wright 2008). What is largely missing from the debate is attention towards the representative function of parliament (see Malesky/Schuler 2010; Truex 2016 for exceptions). When the focus is on parliaments’ ability to act independently or perform their function as representatives of the people, assessments of parliaments in authoritarian regimes stand in sharp contrast to the positive evaluation of their purpose for the regime. It is mostly from the perspective of the citizens that legislatures1 in authoritarian regimes have been variously dubbed “an expensive, useless toy”,2 “window dressing” that provides the regime with a democratic facade or “an out-of-control

Introduction 3 printer”3 that incessantly passes prefabricated legislation at the whim of the government. What these labels reveal is the perception that parliaments and their members are not much more than the extended arm of the executive. Parliaments, more than any other institution, embody the contradiction between the top-down governance associated with authoritarian regimes and the bottom-up representative ideal. Consequently, MPs in autocracies are perceived predominantly as agents of the regime, without much research interest in how they represent citizens or how they use their room for manoeuvre vis-à-vis the executive for independent action. Contrary to the regime-centred view of parliaments under autocracy, high normative expectations are associated with legislatures’ ability to link governments and citizens in democracies. Legislatures have a larger, more diverse membership than the executive and therefore “offer the possibility to both represent more accurately the range of diversity in the polity, and to foster closer connection between representatives and voters” (Carey 2006: 432). Parliament performs the dual function of being both a direct link connecting the citizens to the political sphere and an intermediary communicating the government’s actions to the public (IPU/UNDP 2012: 13). Their ability to link government and citizens is the basis for the claim that parliaments are the “most democratic” among the political institutions4 (IPU/ UNDP 2012: 10). In the words of Mezey: Representation makes a nation more authentically democratic, not simply because of its capacity to constrain excessive executive power, but also because of its capacity, through the interactions between representatives and their constituents, to connect government with a large and diverse society composed for the most part of people with low to moderate levels of political interest and involvement. (Mezey 2008: 17) The alleged benefits of representation, according to Mezey, include rendering a regime “more authentically democratic” – by constraining the executive and by forging linkages between the government and the diverse citizenry (Mezey 2008: 17). However, the question remains open as to whether genuine representation actually needs democracy as a precondition. The literature on parliaments of present-day electoral autocracies remains inconclusive on the matter, as it rarely devotes any attention to the possibility of representation under authoritarian conditions or even treats democracy as conditio sine qua non for representation. The empirical reality, however, does not allow for treating representation and autocracy as contradiction in terms. Modern authoritarian regimes5 usually rule with the full set of political institutions (constitutions, constitutional courts, parties and elected multi-party legislatures) that have become common features in the political landscape since the “Third Wave” of democratization started receding.6 Subsequent decades have shown that such regimes are no transitional phenomena, which democratize within a few years. Instead, modern autocracies have institutionalized limited power-sharing and rule with the same set of institutions as their democratic counterparts, although the functions of the institutions may

4 Introduction be restricted. We can, for example, observe the full variety of modern, authoritarian rule in the former Soviet republics: with the exception of the Baltic states, all successor states of the former Soviet Union combine elements associated with democracies (i.e. the full set of seemingly democratic institutions) with varying degrees of authoritarian rule (Köllner/Kailitz 2013: 2). The goal of this book is to reconcile the contradictory views between the democratic parliamentary ideal and the perception of legislatures and their members as vicarious agents of their authoritarian rulers. In order to do so, it is necessary, first, to address the research gap regarding parliamentary representation in autocracies. Little systematic research has been conducted to explore what parliaments in autocracies and their members actually do – how they conduct their everyday activities, how they interact with citizens and which mechanisms are available for citizens who wish to get in touch with their MPs. To address this gap, the first purpose of this study is to explore how parliaments in autocracies represent the people. It is based on the broad concept of representation developed in Hanna F. Pitkin’s influential 1967 book that breaks up representation into its components, of which formalistic, descriptive and substantive representation will be studied in this book (Pitkin 1967). Moreover, it facilitates exploring representation within the political and institutional context in which it takes place. Legislatures are studied in their inter-relationships with other institutions, because the latter may take over tasks that we might expect the legislature to perform and vice versa (Boynton/ Kim 1975: 16).

Differences between competitive and full autocracies Not all non-democratic regimes are the same (Geddes 1999). Assuming that regimes that are more authoritarian operate according to a fundamentally different logic than “milder” forms of autocracies, the second goal of this study (beyond identifying patterns within the regimes) is to link them back to the institutional context. Of particular interest is the question as to whether forms and practices of representation can be explained by whether they take place in a hegemonic, fully authoritarian or a milder, more competitive case. In short, can the type of regime explain patterns of representation? I assume that parliaments are constrained in their activities to different degrees – depending on how “authoritarian” the regime is. Will parliaments that are more limited in their independence then pursue more limited forms of parliamentary representation? Will stronger limitations to, for example, legislative power equally affect other aspects of representation? Or will the opposite be the true so that MPs who are aware of their limited power in one area focus more on other kinds of representation, where they know they can make a difference? I argue that studying Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic can provide insight into all of the previous questions. Foremost, the cases can help us explore the representative practices and patterns that develop under two distinct kinds of authoritarian regime. Although Kazakhstan has a bicameral and the Kyrgyz Republic a unicameral parliament, the two cases share many features of theoretical relevance.

Introduction 5 Both share historical and cultural ties and, most importantly, have a proportional electoral system with one single electoral district. This allows us to control (at least partially) for the determinant of representative behaviour that features most prominently in the literature: the electoral system (Carey/Shugart 1995; Ingall/ Crisp 2001; Benoit 2007; Heitshusen/Young/Wood 2005). In contrast to the similarity of the two electoral systems, the country cases display maximal difference in terms of their party systems: Kazakhstan’s party system is dominated by one wellinstitutionalized presidential party, whereas Kyrgyzstan’s volatile, fragmented system is inhabited by a large number of weakly institutionalized parties. Furthermore, while the Kyrgyz Republic is characterized by instability, a weak state and considerable political pluralism, Kazakhstan has more stability but is also more authoritarian. Both cases come . . . with their specific institutional configurations and rationales that drive MPs’ actions. My aim is to show how these combined institutional features affect representation. The focus of this study is not only on the regime-level but also takes into consideration differences between individual MPs. Even if their activities are heavily influenced by the regime context, MPs are still agents with their own motivations and goals, which they will pursue within the boundaries provided by the framework in which they operate. This approach rests on insights from the “new institutionalist” study of authoritarian regimes (Bracanti 2014; Pepinsky 2014; Schedler 2009). It is likely that boundaries within which MPs operate are narrower in more authoritarian regimes. The within-case analysis will explore how large the room for manoeuvre of individual MPs is. Some observable actions of parliaments are outside the scope of this study, but the boundaries are sometimes difficult to determine. MPs undertake a multitude of activities for the citizens – but how do we know whether they constitute representation or not? It is important to keep in mind the fact that it is not always clear from observing practices whether they actually constitute representation or are an expression of an entirely different phenomenon. In fact, as “representation” and “authoritarian” are perceived as a contradiction in terms by many scholars working in the field of competitive authoritarianism studies, they describe many phenomena, which in democratic countries would be subsumed under “representation” in entirely different terms. For example, in autocracies, the inclusion of opposition actors in the legislature is often discussed as being a sign of their co-optation into the regime (Schmotz 2015); the delivery of goods by MPs to their constituencies is seen as an expression of clientelism, even “competitive clientelism”, where MPs compete for voters on the basis of their access to the government and their access to resources, which they can channel to their constituencies (Kitschelt 2000; Koehler 2008; Lust 2009). I do not contest the fact that some of the practices under scrutiny in the study of authoritarian parliamentary representation may also be subsumed under such labels. However, I argue that discussion how parliaments serve to co-opt certain groups or whether the exchanges between MPs and citizens are clientelistic in nature (and therefore presumably an expression of something that should not be called representation) only reveals one part of the dynamics of politics in

6 Introduction authoritarian regimes. The complex dynamics between regimes, parliamentarians and citizens may be analysed from different perspectives. I argue that MPs who were elected in a process designed to co-opt them into the regime may nevertheless still represent the citizens, and that any MP may choose to do so in ways not anticipated by the regime’s elites. In this book, I show that representing the people and serving an authoritarian regime is not necessarily a contradiction for parliaments and their members. I argue that elections adhering to democratic standards are no precondition for the development of a representative relationship. Instead, I assume that more or less electoral competition indicates that different kinds of non-democracies operate according to different logics. This is then reflected in the forms and practices of parliamentary representation that develop as MPs adjust to the institutional framework they operate in. First, I explore what parliaments and individual MPs in authoritarian regimes actually do to represent the people and develop a novel analytical framework for this purpose. The second goal of this study is to identify patterns within the regimes and link them back to the institutional context. Particular focus is on the question whether forms and practices of representation can be explained by type of authoritarian regime. Exploring practices of representation will give us insight into the dual role of parliaments and their members between serving the regime and representing its citizens, beyond the purpose the regimes allegedly created the parliament for.

Theoretical issues: What do we know about parliaments in autocracies? Before delving into the central argument of the book, I outline three intertwined theoretical issues in the study of parliaments under autocracy. First, I summarize the literature discussing how distinct kinds of autocracies can be distinguished from one another. Then, I focus on the question what role parliaments play under authoritarian conditions, before bringing these considerations together in order to discuss how differences in regime type might affect the role of parliaments. Classifying authoritarian regimes Since Arendt (1951) and Friedrich and Brzezinski (1965) first outlined the characteristics of totalitarian regimes, the field has evolved towards an ever-finer subdivision of the concepts. Most influentially, the concept of “authoritarian regimes” was coined by Juan Linz to capture the middle ground between democracies and totalitarian regimes and describe the heterogeneous field of regimes that are not democratic but fall short of totalitarian control of all aspects of life (Linz 2000). However, the area covered by this concept is wide, as “different kinds of authoritarian regimes differ from each other as much as they differ from democracy” (Geddes 1999: 121). Hence, a wide body of research has developed with the goal of establishing appropriate sub-categories, which capture the distinctive characteristics of the different regimes, including concepts like “hybrid regimes” (Diamond

Introduction 7 2002), “bureaucratic authoritarian regimes” (O’Donnell 1979) or “sultanistic regimes” (Chehabi/Linz 1998).7 Most modern-day non-democratic regimes are situated between the most closed authoritarian type and liberal democracies. Other influential concepts within this “grey zone” include semi-authoritarian regime (Ottaway 2003), semi-democracy (Diamond/Linz/Lipset 1995) and illiberal democracy (Zakaria 1997). All these concepts cover different parts of the spectrum between full democracy and closed authoritarian regime. Their relationship to each other was mapped by Gilbert and Mohseni, whose study reveals that most concepts overlap (Gilbert/Mohseni 2011). A different, qualitative system of classification is chosen by Geddes, who distinguishes autocracies based on the “control over access to power” and distinguishes between military, personalist and dominant-party regimes (Geddes 1999: 123). Hadenius and Teorell, building on Geddes’ work, distinguish authoritarian regimes by the mode of succession (Hadenius/Teorell 2007). Gandhi (2008) uses a similar approach to assess a regime’s character but distinguishes between civilian, military and monarchical dictatorships. Another classification that tries to capture these features is offered by Carothers, who claims that “feckless pluralism” and “dominant power regimes” are the two most common empirically relevant patterns (Carothers 2002: 10–12). Feckless pluralism is characterized by “significant amounts of political freedom, regular elections, and alternation of power between genuinely different political groupings” (Carothers 2002: 10).8 While elections are generally competitive, there is widespread manipulation in between elections (Rakner/ Svåsand 2013: 366). In spite of alternation in power, democracy in these countries remains “shallow”, the state weak and political participation low (Carothers 2002: 10). The second pattern, the dominant power regime, lacks alternation in power. Comparatively well institutionalized, the state, nevertheless, remains weak, and corruption is widespread. Furthermore, what Carothers calls the “blurring of the line between the state and the ruling party (or ruling political forces)” is characteristic for such regimes (Carothers 2002: 12). For the post-Soviet states, Hale (2018) argues that cross-sectional observation of how “authoritarian” or “democratic” a regime at a given point in time is obscures a dynamism within the regimes that reflects where in a neopatrimonial regime-cycle the case is situated. This approach is interesting because major differences in regime-dynamics are found between cases with a constitution with a divided executive and without this feature (Hale 2018). As I explain in the case selection, Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic also represent two distinct types with this regard. The classification that this study settles for is one that believes the key distinction between regimes to be based on whether genuine electoral competition exists or not. It emerged after the transition perspective, which had dominated research on authoritarian regimes during the 1990s and early years of the 2000s, gave way to a paradigm shift in the face of a new empirical reality, in which modern authoritarian regimes established themselves as stable alternatives to democracies (Carothers 2002). In line with this development, current research focuses on the phenomenon of stable authoritarian regimes, which show no inclination to democratize. Such regimes usually hold elections that are not free and fair and

8

Introduction

hence, are not an instrument of democratization but rather facilitate the stability of authoritarian rule. Due to the focus on the presence of (multi-party) elections, the term “electoral authoritarian regime” was broadly accepted by scholars (Schedler 2006).9 Electoral authoritarian regimes are defined as “regimes which conduct regular multi-party elections at all levels of government, yet violate basic democratic standards in serious and systematic ways” (Schedler 2010: 69). Admitting plural elections, even if subjecting them to manipulation, changes the inner dynamics of a regime (Schedler 2013: 1). Such regimes are outwardly indistinguishable from democracies, yet authoritarian rulers “compensate for . . . formal concessions with substantive controls” (Schedler 2010: 70–71). Regimes without minimally meaningful multi-party elections are dubbed as “closed authoritarian” (Schedler 2006: 5). The outward resemblance to democracies of such regimes poses both an opportunity and a challenge to research, as it justifies using an established set of measures to analyse their functions. It also complicates capturing those features that make regimes essentially “authoritarian”. I focus on the differences in representative practices between regimes in which political pluralism is very limited and those that are a more competitive form of authoritarian regime, believing that allowing for meaningful electoral competition will lead to regime dynamics that differ from those where elections lack such competition. The theoretically relevant distinction concerns the institutional configurations and consequences associated with the political dynamics in autocracies. The question concerns not so much the degree of authoritarianism found in a regime but rather how particular kinds of authoritarianism manifest themselves in specific “rules of the game”, which then affect how individuals act in relation to them. However, I also believe that those differences can (partly) be captured by established terminology delineating regime types. The different levels of electoral competition that affect how candidates contest elections constitute one step towards an understanding of the different regime dynamics that influence patterns of representation. Several studies have shown that the presence or absence of genuine electoral competition is a decisive factor in shaping politics in autocracies: Manipulation strategies used to secure electoral victories differ by regime type, with more authoritarian regimes relying more on excessive electoral manipulation than competitive authoritarian ones (Simpser 2013: 7). Moreover, regime-level differences in electoral competitiveness are reflected in policy outcomes (Miller 2015) and the susceptibility to external pressure to democratize (Donno 2013). Similarly to these studies, I argue that the limited or altered electoral competition faced by MPs in authoritarian regimes affects the way in which parliament represents the citizens. In my analysis, I focus on the differences between regimes in which political pluralism is very limited and those that are a more competitive form of nondemocratic regime. To distinguish the two types from one another, I borrow the terminology from Levitsky and Way, who distinguish regimes where competition during the elections is merely a façade (from here on hegemonic or fully authoritarian) from those where competition is “real but unfair” (competitive authoritarian) (Levitsky/Way 2002, 2010: 3). To put it simply, we can distinguish between the two types of autocracy based on whether incumbents merely use their

Introduction 9 advantage to influence elections in their favour or, in the fully authoritarian cases, preclude other parties from having a chance of winning. What role for parliaments in authoritarian regimes? It has been widely noted that nearly all present-day authoritarian regimes do have a legislature (IPU/UNDP 2012; Svolik 2012). Legislative chambers in authoritarian regimes vary with regard to the tasks they perform and the influence they can exert. Yet, regardless of the specific political context and their power, “their presence appears to be essential to the idea of a state’s legitimacy and its ability to represent the public interest. In all of these contexts, the institutions provide the link between the populace and those in power” (IPU/UNDP 2012: 10). Thus, even in authoritarian settings, parliaments are the central link between representatives and represented. Research that helps us understand the nature of these links comes from two distinct traditions, namely research on parliamentarianism in non-Western or developmental contexts and a research tradition that focuses on authoritarian institutions. As these traditions have developed independently, the scholarship on authoritarian parliaments has lost touch with recent methodological and conceptual innovations, while scholars of autocracies hardly ever rely on the well-established “toolbox” of parliamentarianism in their research on parliaments. The research tradition studying legislatures across the world can teach us three main lessons: First, one frequent finding is that legislatures in autocracies across the world engage less in policy-making than most Western parliaments (Packenham 1970: 546); as a result, they are often dismissed as having little influence. At the extreme, they are described as a “collective body tasked with writing the rules that the central state . . . seeks to impose on the people” (Schedler 2010: 71), that is, easily controlled by the executive. Such an assessment, however, could be a result of measurement that overstates legislative initiative; most research in this area has been conducted with regard to policy-making – in other words, how much influence parliaments have on proposing legislative initiatives, on altering or rejecting drafts by the government (Russell/Benton 2009). Other, more informal forms of influence are more difficult to measure. For example, MPs can informally push for matters to be included in the agenda or stage and influence public debates. Moreover, the role of legislatures may change over time. A comparative study of African legislatures shows that those have become increasingly active and less likely to “rubber-stamp” legislation over the course of their tenure (Barkan et al. 2010: iii). Even in a military dictatorship, responsiveness to constituency demands fosters legislative behaviour of MPs that is not in line with the regime’s will (Desposato 2001: 310–311). Second, their relative legislative inactivity has to be put into the context of the abundance of other functions that legislatures perform. Already scholars of the Soviet Union at the time agreed that although “limited” in terms of legislative contribution, the legislatures nevertheless served a wide array of functions (White 1980; Hough/Fainsod 1979; Friedgut 1979).10 Saiegh shows that legislatures that have a limited capacity to contribute constructively to policy-making can still be

10

Introduction

important players through their power to constrict or veto the executive (Saiegh 2010: 48). Their ability to play a constructive role in the policy-making process seems to depend on their capabilities (Saiegh 2010: 49). Legislatures may play distinct roles in non-Western regimes; for example, more than for constraining the executive, they may be important for structuring political conflict, or mediating between the government and citizens (Boynton/Kim 1975: 18–21). Their function may be to provide services to the governments and to “sell” government programmes (Styskal 1975: 223). One task of the legislative assemblies that needs to be mentioned was to provide information on citizens’ concerns to the bureaucracy (Hough/Fainsod 1979: 370). In the Soviet Union, complaint-making was an established and widely practiced form of political participation (Henry 2012: 244). Usually, it took place via the writing of letters (Fitzpatrick 1996; Henry 2012). MPs may also put high emphasis on constituency service and representation, whereas they spend less time on oversight and legislative activities (Barkan et al. 2010: ii). Moreover, parliaments convey latent legitimacy to even the most authoritarian regimes (Packenham 1970; Allmark 2012: 184). In a case study of the Belarussian parliament, Trittel finds that the mere existence of a parliament allows the regime to present the executive-dominated legislative output as the common work of the executive, president and legislative, which endows the regime with legitimacy (Trittel 2010: 138). Third, it is necessary to include a number of additional determinants to “established” frameworks for assessing parliamentary activity, in order to capture the effect of the wider context and to understand the dynamics of parliamentary activity. How this could be done is shown by Morgenstern and Nacif, who review a large body of hegemonic research on parliaments, which was developed based on the case of the US congress (Morgenstern/Nacif 2002). Some features that are axiomatic to research into the US congress – the fact that US congressmen pursue re-election, the electoral procedures, the party system and the constitutional order on the basis of which congressmen operate – are included in the analytical framework as further independent variables (Morgenstern 2002a: 15–17). The authors of the edited volume also find that re-election may not necessarily be the goal of MPs, and hence, it is necessary to identify the career goals of MPs (Samuels 2002). Another interesting piece of research was conducted on the Vietnamese single-party parliament, in which delegates are nominated according to two distinct procedures. The authors of the study find an effect of nomination procedure on delegate responsiveness (measured by MPs’ use of parliamentary questions) (Malesky/Schuler 2009, 2010). In addition to the nomination procedures, competitiveness that MPs face for their seat, as well as professionalism, are found to influence delegate behaviour (Malesky/Schuler 2009: 6). A different research tradition that this book builds upon is the recently renewed interest from scholars who, adopting a new institutionalist perspective, perceive parliaments as one among the wide set of institutions modern autocracies rule with. At first glance, these institutions may look like their counterparts in democracies. Present-day authoritarian regimes have constitutions and constitutional courts (Ginsburg/Simpser 2014). Elections have become a common practice, and there is

Introduction 11 a trend, in authoritarian regimes, to control fewer seats in the legislature and allow a contestation of elections by several parties (Svolik 2012: 36). This development has drawn attention to regimes that display all the institutions and procedures commonly associated with democracy but violate basic democratic principles in their operation. Several accounts explain the mechanisms by which parliaments support regimes. First, they provide for the co-optation and control of opposition actors that are made predictable and cooperative by including them in official structures (Gandhi/ Przeworski 2006, 2007; Gandhi 2008; Wright 2008); parliaments, having a wider and more diverse membership than the “inner” circle of a regime, help to incorporate a larger number of actors into the regime. Moreover, legislatures can serve as a forum to discipline or punish cadres (Malesky/Schuler 2009). Second, they constitute an arena for bargaining, in which policy concessions can be negotiated (Gandhi 2008: 78). Signalling theories stress the fact that their presence helps authoritarian leaders identify all relevant actors and thus overcomes the information deficit perilous to their rule (Magaloni 2006, 2008). Finally, economic theories stress the role of legislatures for channelling rents towards elites (Boix/Svolik 2013) and different constituencies (Lust-Okar 2006). Wright and Escribà-Folch undertake a comprehensive study on how parties and legislatures affect regime survival and transition to democracy or subsequent autocracy, outlining the likely mechanisms. Legislatures make promises more credible, allow the co-optation of potentially threatening opposition actors and management of elites, and serve as a forum to punish cadres (Wright/Escribà-Folch 2011: 284–290). Recent scholarship zooms in on authoritarian legislatures by asking what the observations we make around law-making reveal about intra-regime processes (Noble online first 2018). Schuler examines public debate in the Vietnamese legislature and finds that while it takes place, it is mostly focused on those policy issues that have been delegated to government (Schuler online first 2018). Lü, Liu and Li show that in China, delegates serve as “proxy fighters” for different streams within the party elite and their distinct policy preferences (Lü/Liu/Li online first 2018). Truex finds an effect of internal infighting and public opinion on divisions in law-making and the variation in legislative outcomes (Truex online first 2018). What the majority of accounts in this tradition have in common is the belief that dictators have control over the establishment of institutions, which will serve the purpose they were established for. In contrast to this, I adopt a perspective informed by historical institutionalism, assuming that “human beings are both norm-abiding rule followers, as well as self-interested rational actors; how one behaves depends on the individual, on the context and on the rules” (Steinmo 2008: 127). This perspective is well-suited to the study of political outcomes, specifically the question of why particular forms of representation have prevailed (Steinmo 2008: 127). Similarly, it takes history seriously, inasmuch as it takes into account the fact that present, observable practices may be rooted in past experiences of the actors and may have emerged under a previous set of institutions (Peters 2012: 135). In a similar perspective, Pepinsky criticizes the rather functionalist take adopted by some scholars of authoritarian institutions, noting that because

12 Introduction institutions are political creations, analysts must distinguish between institutions as causes and institutions as epiphenomena (Pepinsky 2014: 633); in other words, the effects of institutions cannot be studied separately from the background conditions specific to the regime that influenced their development. In reality, authoritarian leaders usually have to work with an inherited set of institutions and rarely get to design them from scratch (Slater/Fenner 2011: 16). I agree with these assessments, and believe that in order to account for these background conditions, the overall setting, the “context” within which representation takes place has to be included in the assessment of representation (Ferree/Powell/Scheiner 2014; Moser/Scheiner 2012: 8). Regardless of the purpose the regime created them for, institutions (among them legislatures) can only fulfil it when they are provided with a certain degree of autonomy and power by the regime. The very existence of these resources makes them potentially dangerous for the incumbent, as they could serve to undermine the regime, and their very creation already “contain[s] the seeds of subversion” (Schedler 2010: 76). Authoritarian leaders, therefore, will make an effort to constrain institutions and not grant them excessive autonomy (Schedler 2010: 71). Authoritarian rulers keep the legislature under control by disempowering it, controlling the selection of members (or rather, the agents who select the candidates) and by fostering its fragmentation into multiple parties and factions (Schedler 2010: 71–72). They cannot, however, obtain perfect control, as “institutions are not machines”, and attempts to establish absolute control would impede their ability to fulfil their tasks (Schedler 2010: 76, 2013: 73) Schedler calls this the “dilemma of authoritarian institutional concessions” (Schedler 2010: 77). Parliamentarians’ actions are driven by a complex bundle of potentially conflicting ideas and goals. In pursuing them, they will constantly seek to expand their room for manoeuvre – unless they are hindered in this by the regime (Patzelt 2002: 21–22). This may lead to the regime creating a legislature and then attempting to curb its functions (Patzelt 2002: 21). In a study of northern African autocracies, Axtmann looks at the interplay between the rationale of establish a democratic façade while minimizing political risks (Axtmann 2007: 45). The author finds that although reforms strengthen the input side to some degree, minimizing political risks remains the imperative, and this rationale precludes a genuine “parliamentarisation” of the system (Axtmann 2007: 45). That legislatures are no complacent instrument of authoritarian rulers is illustrated by the observation that “when forces in a society seek to restore authoritarian rule, among their first steps is to either intimidate or close down the legislature” (Mezey 2008: 17). In sum, in order for them to operate effectively, authoritarian regimes need to provide legislatures with sufficient resources. If they choose to do so, the legislatures can establish themselves as potential rivals. In spite of the fact that they exist across all kinds of regime types, legislatures are the institutions most widely associated with democracy: “it is precisely because legislatures are both representative bodies and instruments for horizontal and vertical accountability that an institutionalized legislature is a defining attribute of all established democracies, and why they contribute to the overall process of

Introduction 13 democratization” (Barkan 2009: 1). However, establishing a legislature in itself is not sufficient for facilitating a regime’s transition towards democracy; Fish finds that “the presence of a powerful legislature is an unmixed blessing for democratization” (Fish 2006: 5). Note that the emphasis is on powerful legislature, one that is able to constrain the executive; legislatures that “lack muscle” cannot prevent presidential abuse of power, something that happens frequently (Fish 2006: 12–13). Moreover, weak legislatures undermine the development of political parties (Fish 2006: 13). This resonates with Mezey’s observation that weak parties cannot support the legislature, while excessively strong parties tend to smother it (Mezey 1975: 107). Moderately strong parties, so it seems, are most frequently associated with strong parliaments and a prospect of transition towards democracy. All in all, the relationship between how authoritarian a regime is and the strength and independence of its legislature is complex, and the “development of legislature is both a dependent and independent variable in relation to democratization” (Barkan 2009: 1–2). Hence, there seems to be a mutually re-enforcing relationship between the strength of a country’s legislature and how authoritarian the regime will become in the medium term.

The progression of the argument The connection between MPs and voters in authoritarian regimes is different from the representative relationship in democracies, not just because the elections are flawed but because the extent to which the elections are flawed contributes to the development of different dynamics between the representatives and their voters. There is abundant research on parliamentary representation, the majority of which focuses on democratic parliaments.11 Most researchers assume (without further discussion) that the processes that lead to the election of MPs broadly adhere to democratic standards. Such an “electoral connection” exists between MPs elected in free and fair elections and their voters (Mayhew 1974); MPs will undertake actions on the voters’ behalf on the basis of this connection, either because they want to honour their campaign promises or because they are pursuing re-election. This account is heavily simplified, but the central message is clear: Democratic procedures lead to MPs who will serve the interest of the citizens they are elected to represent. It is in this aspect, in particular, where I expect to find the fundamental difference between the democratic and autocratic representative relationship: when elections in autocracies do not determine who wins the mandate, as their competitiveness is limited, how will this affect MPs’ behaviour vis-à-vis their voters? In order to establish how the representative relationship in autocracies differs from the “democratic ideal”, this book focuses not only on the electoral system but also on the ways in which the electoral framework is complemented by formal and informal rules that affect electoral competitiveness and on the type and degree of uncertainty faced by parties and individuals contesting the elections. Yet, even though elections are flawed and formal aspects of representation are expected to be compromised, this does not imply that MPs do not represent the citizens in other ways. First, elections are not entirely meaningless imitations of

14 Introduction democratic procedures, even in the most authoritarian regimes. For the Soviet Union, the prime example of an authoritarian regime, elections were the “test of the apparatus’ ability to deliver in style, along with the proof of ability to choose a good candidate” (Friedgut 1979: 145; original emphasis). This implies that the range of possibilities is limited and that deviations from the democratic ideal may not be blatant, otherwise they would compromise the regime’s ability to derive legitimacy from the arrangements. If elections are minimally competitive, which may be confined to the stage of candidate selection (Hermet 1978), it is plausible to expect that MPs will engage in at least some minimal representation. Second, even if the lack of electoral competition inherent in autocracies imply that what we observe differs from representation in the traditional sense, both at the regime level and at the level of individual MPs we find practices that outwardly resemble representation. This is evident when comparing parliaments, which regardless of the country they are in, display a multitude of characteristics and activities that link them to the citizens. There are clear limitations to what is perceived as representation and what is not. Parliaments in all kinds of regimes are remarkably similar, as most of them were modelled on the Westminster parliament, on the continental European or the US legislative model (Weinbaum 1975: 31). These international norms and practices are transferred to an indigenous set of practices, which will then alter their consequences. In the words of Styskal, the challenge is “measuring the effectiveness of an ‘imported,’ relatively formalized representative body that has been juxtaposed with a less formal but nevertheless fully articulated set of indigenous norms for directing interactions between leaders and followers” (Styskal 1975: 233). Hence, some representative practices will be the same as those found across the well-researched Western democracies; others will be different and context-specific. Although it is beyond doubt that many practices across autocracies resemble established forms found in democracies, in some regards they are different. In addition to facing limited electoral competition, parliaments in authoritarian regimes have less power to act independently from the executive. Often, they can be characterized as “limited” legislature (Nelson 1980; White 1980). This, however, does not mean that they cannot act independently at all. Individual MPs have different reasons for their actions that are influenced but not determined by their context. On the regime level, allowing for semi-competitive elections and any meaningful power-sharing arrangements inevitably creates ambivalence and uncertainty for authoritarian rulers. As Schedler argued, incumbents attempt to minimize the uncertainty they face by carefully designing institutions in a way they think will lead to the parliament acting according to its wishes (Schedler 2006, 2013). Moreover, I find that the regimes do care about the deficit in formal representation and employ strategies to compensate for it. For example, they may focus on strengthening representation components that are unproblematic to authoritarian regimes, inasmuch as they are relatively cheap to establish, are not fundamentally challenged by the lack of democratic procedures and do not threaten the stability of the regime. In other words, they want representation but the right kind of representation – representation than is managed in a top-down

Introduction 15 way, by tightly regulating the channels of contact between MPs and the public or by controlling the resources MPs have at their disposal for independent action. This phenomenon has been described by Truex as “representation within bounds” (Truex 2016). To what degree it is the case in a competitive and a fully authoritarian case will be explored in the chapter on substantive representation (see Chapter 6). Incumbents may also choose to disguise the lack of democratic competition by downplaying the deficits or by focusing on other forms than formalistic representation in their representation discourse. In particular, this is expected to be descriptive representation (see Chapter 4), achieving a legislature the composition of which resembles the social and demographical composition of society. This component of representation is relatively simple to establish in autocracies, in particular in regimes where one individual actor or party controls the allocation of parliamentary seats. In contrast to research that has a top-down perspective on parliamentary representation in autocracies, I assume that parliaments are more than just the institution. Parliaments consist of individuals with their own goals and perceptions; regardless of the attempts to channel MPs’ activities and emphasize aspects of representation which benefit the regime (or what decision-makers believe benefits the regime), MPs’ activities are not determined by what the regime wants them to do. Instead, the link to the population is influenced by structural factors, which are bound to differ based on the type of regime. Even if it were true that authoritarian regimes create parliaments to fulfil specific tasks, this does not imply that all MPs necessarily further the interests of those regimes. Instead, they pursue their own personal, policy and career goals within the framework that the institution provides. Moreover, they are exposed to expectations about what parliamentarians should do, both from the citizens of their own countries and from their international peers. Modern-day legislatures are not isolated from international practices, and MPs engage in international parliamentary diplomacy that exposes them to international good practice. The overall structure of the regimes and certainly the level of authoritarian control will affect the size of MPs’ room for manoeuvre vis-à-vis the executive. In order to account for differences between individual MPs, one of the foci of the study is to find out who the representatives are, both by gathering biographical data and by asking MPs to explain their actions (see Chapter 6). Sometimes, the representational outcomes may be quite unexpected and contrary to what the regime had intended the MPs to do. Nevertheless, they are not arbitrary actions but can be explained. An interesting aspect of MPs agency concerns their choice which constituency to claim and provide services to. Both Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic elect their representatives in a single-district closed-list electoral system. This electoral system does not prescribe any electoral constituency other than the totality of the citizens. Based on the electoral system alone, we can expect MPs in such proportional systems to have more agency in picking their constituency than their peers from mixed-member or majoritarian systems. Consequently, an exploration of constituency choice in these cases can help us understand the dynamics between regime type and MP-constituency relations (see Chapter 5).

16 Introduction To what extent are the tools developed for the study of representation in democracies appropriate for measuring and describing practices and patterns of parliamentary representation in autocracies? The most important thing is to base exploration on a broad understanding of parliamentary representation, which allows us to account for the specific regime characteristics that affect representative practice, as well as the mechanisms that connect these practices. The proposed framework will be applicable to parliaments in countries that are neither democratic (as there is a well-developed toolbox to study these) nor entirely closed authoritarian regimes. Only regimes that hold regular, multiparty elections to the legislature are studied, even if the elections may be an instrument of authoritarian control instead of true competition (Schedler 2006). For the entire spectrum of non-democratic parliaments, I assume that legislatures have less power and opportunity to engage in independent policy-making than their democratic counterparts. The “legislative weakness” not uncommon even among democratic parliaments is expected to be the norm rather than the exception in authoritarian regimes (Baldwin 2004). Such parliaments can be classified as limited legislatures (Mezey 1979: 151). However, I would argue against prematurely dismissing such legislatures as “rubber stamps”,12 as such a label would obscure the fact that parliaments in all kinds of regimes and their members engage in a wide range of activities – including policy-making. Therefore, instead of asking the question Mezey once posed, how much policy-making power do parliaments have, I focus instead on the re-examination of the issue stated by Arter, namely how parliaments and their members perform their tasks (Arter 2006: 463). Research foci to answer this broader question include policy-making but also other activities associated with parliamentary representation, such as outreach and service delivery. The second focus of this book – after mapping patterns of representation – is to distinguish between modes and practices in different kinds of autocracies. Based on two case studies of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, I show that very different representation patterns have developed and attempt to link them back to the fact that the cases are authoritarian in different ways. How is it reflected in the form of representation that a regime is a milder form of competitive autocracy or a hegemonic, fully authoritarian form, in which a party tightly controls all political spheres? What are the main characteristics by which we can distinguish between different kinds of authoritarian regimes? I focus on the differences in representative practices between regimes in which political pluralism is very limited and those that are a more competitive form of authoritarian regime. In this respect, this study departs from established research. It argues that the limited or altered electoral competition faced by MPs in authoritarian regimes affects the way in which parliament represents the citizens. However, how competition is limited is not a question of regime “type”, and the institutional configurations that constitute the differences are not captured by the established regime typologies. The different levels of electoral competition that affect how candidates contest elections constitute one piece of the puzzle of the different regime dynamics that influence patterns of representation. A first step in the research will therefore be to establish how competitive the electoral process is in

Introduction 17 the given setting and the mechanisms by which the election and selection of MPs takes place (see Chapter 3). To capture the theoretically relevant differences in intra-regime electoral dynamics, the cases for this study were selected to represent one that lacks genuine electoral competition (Kazakhstan) and another one that has genuine competition (Kyrgyzstan).

The post-Soviet region: putting the cases on the map The comparative study was conducted in two countries and their respective parliaments: Kazakhstan and its lower house, the Mazhilis and the Jogorku Kenesh of the Kyrgyz Republic. As I discussed before, the two cases help us understand what kinds of representative practices develop under two distinct kinds of authoritarian regimes. In addition to the fact that the book adds to our knowledge of these two rarely explored cases, it also advances our understanding way beyond the region. As Radnitz has argued before, the countries of Central Asia “lend themselves to generating and testing theories” due to the fact that the countries share many cultural and historical ties, and, due to their Soviet legacy, they had the same set of political institutions at the time of their independence (Radnitz 2010: 9). Hence, the selection of cases from Central Asia allows to control for a multitude of intervening variables (Gschwend/Schimmelfennig 2007b: 23). The two cases also represent both diverse and most similar cases, although not in their pure form (Gerring 2007: 89–90; Rohlfing 2012: 70–71). The analytical framework is characterized by a “contextualized comparison”, which looks for “analytically equivalent phenomena” across different contexts, recognizing that they may be expressed in substantively different terms (Locke/Thelen 1998: 11, original emphasis). This strategy contributes to high conceptual validity, which is a central strength of comparative case study research (Locke/Thelen 1998: 11). Moreover, following George and Bennett (2005: 20–25), this kind of case-based study design is adequate for deriving new, unexpected hypotheses and for assessing complex causal relationships – both of which are central aims of this book, even if coming at the price of only providing tentative conclusions about the strengths of causal effects. The cases also stand for a particular configuration of authoritarianism, party system structure and legislative autonomy. In the post-Soviet region, the degree of authoritarian control and party system institutionalization appear to be correlated (Stykow 2015: 415–416). Equally, the degree of autonomy that legislatures enjoy, as well as their level of “discipline”, differs according to regime type (Stykow 2015: 411). These findings suggest that in the post-Soviet region at least, the lack of “discipline” of the parliament matches the lack of consolidation of authoritarian (party) rule, leading to more autonomy of MPs and more political pluralism (Stykow 2015: 398). Findings about the connection between party system development and legislative strength offer a plausible explanation for the observed inter-dependence: Legislatures will be weak in systems with the very strongest and the very weakest parties, and legislatures will be strongest in systems with political

18 Introduction parties of only moderate strength. These are parties strong enough to support the legislative institution, but not strong enough to dominate it. (Mezey 1975: 107) The explanation for this observed U-shaped relationship between the strength of political parties and that of the legislature is that “very strong political parties will tend to coopt the legislators and the prerogatives of their institution, and thus subordinate the legislature” (Mezey 1975: 109). Hence, the cases from the postSoviet region might provide insights about dynamics between regime, parties and legislatures that go beyond the region. In sum, in the post-Soviet region the two different regime patterns can be distinguished by the presence or absence of a dominant, well-institutionalized party. If such a party is present, this occurs together with less political pluralism and a parliament that is not autonomous. It also must be noted that the study has some real limitations regarding data quality and availability, temporal scopa and sampling of interview partners. In particular, the accounts of MPs’ activities outside the capital city rely heavily on interviews and media reports. An ideal study would add in observations of interaction between citizens and MPs on the ground, as Fenno did in his pioneering study on US congress members in their constituencies (Fenno 1978). However, participant observation was not feasible in the case due to concerns with anonymity of MPs in the Kyrgyz case due to the practice of acting as a custodian to only one area. In Kazakhstan, MPs themselves were less involved in organizing their travels at the time of field research, and it would have been difficult to obtain the necessary permission from the party leadership. The interview data was gathered over a comparatively brief period of two months in each country. Media accounts of electoral campaigns in Kyrgyzstan claim that politicians have a particular tendency to distribute goods to local communities during the pre-election period. Therefore, the activity profile of MPs may differ profoundly over the duration of a legislative period. Hence, a longer data-gathering period would help to clarify how the MP–citizens relationship varies across the legislative period. Nevertheless, I consider the study in its present form a departure point for a better understanding of how authoritarian regime dynamics and representative practices might be linked. I now proceed to a brief introduction of the two cases, Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic. In the following sections, I do not aim for completeness but

Table 1.1 Regime patterns in the post-Soviet region

Authoritarianism Party system Legislature Political pluralism

Kazakhstan

Kyrgyz Republic

Hegemonic Well-institutionalized presidential party Disciplined Less

Competitive Fragmented Autonomous More

Introduction 19 focus, rather, on the state of the political system, the structure of society and how it translates into political cleavages, as these are the aspects that are most relevant for understanding patterns of political competition and representation. For a more thorough discussion of the development of the legislature and electoral system please refer to Chapter 3. Kazakhstan Kazakhstan gained its “unexpected independence” from the Soviet Union on 20 December 1990 (Olcott 1995: 249). The population did not oppose the Soviet Union, and independence came “not through liberation but by default” (Cummings 2006: 177). The period after independence was characterized by economic collapse in 1996, severe regional disparities between the industrialized north and the rural rest of the country and the challenge of state- and nation-building. State- and nation-building were complicated by the fact that at the time of independence, ethnic Kazakhs were a minority in the country (Cummings 2006: 177). Therefore, nation-building attempts had to balance the desire of upgrading the status of the Kazakhs with the danger of alienating the other nationalities (Olcott 2010: 31). After independence, researchers had expected Kazakhstan to be a likely candidate for the emergence of inter-ethnic tensions (Schatz 2000). The fact that such tensions did not emerge is explained not only by government policy but also by the structure of Kazakhstan’s society: A large part of the country’s territory of 2,725,000 square kilometers is covered by steppe, which played the central role for the development of the once-nomadic and tribal Kazakh society. Historically, Kazakhstan’s tribes have been structured into three zhuzy (hordes) since the late seventeenth century (Eschment 2007: 180). Each horde has a unique area of settlement, and certain characteristics are ascribed to its members, who are linked to the settlement area (Otarbaeva 1998: 424). Both the Kazakh as well as the Kyrgyz societies have been described as “clan-based” (Collins 2003). Indeed, Collins states that clan identity perseveres in Central Asia and poses limitations to the potential to mobilize on ethno-national or religious grounds and to establish new collective identities (Collins 2003: 186–187). The relocation of the capital city from Almaty in the south to Astana in the Kazakh steppe that took place in 1997 can also be understood in the context nation-building: Astana (now Nur-Sultan) is not only at the geographic centre of the country, it is also located closer to the northern border region to Russia, an area that in the early days of independence was faced with potential separatism (Schatz 2004: 129). The relocation simultaneously brought economic opportunities to a region that might otherwise have harboured sympathies towards a separatist north (Schatz 2004: 129). Although categories of identity and nation building are important considerations when understanding post-independence Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, note that I do not consider clans to be a category of ethnic identity for several reasons. First, it is still disputed in the literature whether clans constitute a category of ethnic identity at all (Chandra 2006: 398). Second, it seems that clan identities do not shape political identities and become salient only at specific times; this is the case

20

Introduction

both for Kazakhstan and for the Kyrgyz Republic. In this, I follow Engvall, who finds that clans are a catch-all term for heterogeneous groups of informal ties such as patron–client relationships, kinship networks or regional ties (Engvall 2011: 77–79). Third, Soviet identity has rendered clan politics largely meaningless, replacing it with a regional identity (Jones Luong 2002). In sum, the political significance of clans is limited and is mitigated by a large number of other social cleavages (Schatz 2005: 234). Therefore, I will not examine them within my framework. In addition to all of the reasons mentioned previously (which apply equally to both countries), politics in Kazakhstan is rarely clan-based, because that would automatically exclude the large population of Russian and European descent (Olcott 1997: 202). Instead of relying on ethnic categories for nationbuilding, Kazakhstan’s government has fostered the construction of a “Kazakhstani” (instead of “Kazakh”) citizenship, which was designed to be an inclusive term (Cummings 2005: 78; also see Dave 2007). The second challenge faced by Kazakhstan’s post-independence government after nation-building was the consolidation of the economy. After independence, an initial economic downturn followed, which combined with mass emigration of non-Kazakhs (that resulted in a change of the country’s ethnic composition in favour of the Kazakhs) led to a declining standard of living (Olcott 2010: 201– 203). That economic prosperity and stabilizing the country have to come first – even at the expense of democratization – is a central element of the legitimation strategy of the regime. For example, President Nazarbaev, in an address to both chambers of parliament, justified the extensive constitutional reform package in 2007 by saying that Kazakhstan had reached a new step in its development towards a democratic policy; after an initial focus on consolidating the state and developing the economy under the auspices of a strong presidency, now that the “parameters of national modernization” had been determined, the next step was to be the redistribution of power in favour of the parliament and the switch to a presidential-parliamentary republic (Nazarbayev 2007). 25 years after independence, Kazakhstan was a middle-income country, fully integrated into the world economic system, and it had the highest per capita income within the region. As of 2018, it is no longer a recipient of IBRD loans. The country is rich in resources, with extractive industries mostly located in the country’s west, and it is an aspiring regional power (Schmitz 2009). However, the country’s economic downturn between 2014 and 2017 showed the limitations to a legitimation strategy primarily based on the promise of economic growth and meritocracy and forced the regime to react with a combination of repression and responsiveness to citizens’ demands (Schiek 2019: 7–9). Politically, the post-independence period has been intertwined with the presidency of Nursultan Nazarbaev. As Kazakhstan has a presidential political system (Kazakh Constitution, Art. 2), power used to be centred on President Nazarbaev, who was in office from the country’s first independent elections in 1991 until 2019. Even before independence, Nazarbaev was first secretary of the Communist Party of the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic (Olcott 2010: 249–255). Nazarbaev routinely won presidential elections with an electoral margin above 95%.

Introduction 21 A personality cult developed around the president, who was declared “Leader of the Nation” (el’basy) in 2010, a title he keeps even after retiring. In addition to an exemption from the limit to two terms in office, Nazarbaev and his family are protected against libel and criminal prosecution (Constitution, Art. 42.5). Members of Nazarbaev’s family hold key political and business positions; the eldest daughter, for example, Dariga Nazarbaeva, served as speaker of the Mazhilis from 2014– 2015, before she was appointed as deputy prime minister. She replaced KassymZhomart Tokaev as chairperson of the senate in March 2019, when he succeeded Nursultan Nazarbaev as President. The second daughter Dinara together with her husband controls a large proportion of Kazakhstan’s media and the oil industry. The constitution, initially adopted in 1995, has been amended several times (1998, 2007, 2011, 2017). The frequent changes have inhibited it from performing a stabilizing function (Gumppenberg 2002: 133). The overall trend of constitutional changes has led to an ever-increasing monopolization of power by the president to the disadvantage of the legislature. The resulting “de-parliamentarization” reached its peak in 2007, when proportional representation was introduced, and independent candidates were banned (Schiek 2014: 155–157). Kazakhstan has been found to be a full autocracy since its independence;13 media freedom is restricted, and independent media have faced harassment. Although the 2017 constitutional amendments redistributed some power to parliament at the expense of government, scholars still see deficits in the parliaments’ ability to provide checks and balances (Kapyanov 2018). At the time of the writing of this book, Kazakhstan has yet to conduct elections that are judged “free and fair” by the OSCE (OSCE/ ODIHR 2007a, 2012, 2016, 2019). Kyrgyz Republic The Kyrgyz Republic is a landlocked country in the heart of the Eurasian continent, bordered by Kazakhstan, China, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. A large part of its area of 200,000 square kilometers is covered by the mountains of the Tien Shan. Its geography has shaped its political development, as it hinders movement between the north and south and has entrenched the political north–south divide of the country (Anderson 1999: xi). The north of the country, the area around Bishkek in particular, has the highest share of citizens of Russian and European descent. Naryn, in the centre of the country, is the most ethnically homogenous Kyrgyz part of the country, inhabited by semi-nomadic farmers (Anderson 1999). The south, home to large Uzbek and smaller Tajik minorities, is more conservative than modern and comparatively liberal Bishkek. Moreover, several Tajik and Uzbek enclaves in the south regularly lead to border disputes with the neighbouring countries. Traditionally, the nomadic Kyrgyz society was organized around large kinship groups. The groups remained equal in size, no single groups gained dominance, and attempts to unite the Kyrgyz failed (Engvall 2011: 12–13). During the Soviet period, traditional kinship networks did not become obsolete but evolved into a system of patronage. Kinship networks and regional ties were officially deprived

22 Introduction of political influence. Informally, local leaders could tap into them to consolidate their position (Engvall 2011: 14). As a result of this societal structure, a unified power-centre did not emerge, and power remained dispersed among local elites. Kyrgyzstan gained independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. Without statehood prior to the Soviet period and with no independence movement as there had been in many of the other Soviet Republics, Kyrgyzstan was one of the former Soviet Republics “least prepared for independent statehood” (Engvall 2011: 18). Under these unfavourable conditions, it is not surprising that post-independence politics were characterized by political instability. Popular discontent swept the first two presidents, Askar Akaev and Kurmanbek Bakiev, from office. Akaev, who led Kyrgyzstan to independence from the Soviet Union, was appointed by the Supreme Soviet as president, subsequently elected by referendum and won re-election twice, in 1995 and 2000. The initial years of Akaev’s presidency in the 1990s were characterized by economic and political liberalization. However, Akaev subsequently privatized state assets, tightened control over state institutions and put family members into key positions. The elections of 2005 were met with protests by would-be candidates that quickly gained momentum.14 What would later be referred to as the “Tulip Revolution” led to the overthrow of the government and forced Akaev to flee to Russia. Two main opposition leaders, Bakiev, who had his power base in the south and northerner Felix Kulov took power. In accordance with their power-sharing agreement, Bakiev became President and Kulov Prime Minister. However, after a short time in office, Bakiev reneged upon their agreement and worked towards the consolidation of his power. When he pushed through a referendum that institutionalized presidential dominance in 2007, Kulov’s government had already stepped down in disagreement over a constitutional reform in 2006 (Graubner/Wolters 2007: 203). Another prominent politician, Ormukbek Tekebaev, was removed as Speaker of Parliament, following a rift with Bakiev (Graubner/Wolters 2007: 203). After winning re-election in 2009 with 76% of the votes and with family members in key government offices, Bakiev’s hold on power seemed firm in early 2010 (Huskey/Hill 2011: 876). Unexpectedly, in spring 2010, Bakiev was removed from office in a coup led by opposition members from the north, under the leadership of former ambassador Roza Otunbaeva. When supporters of Bakiev seized a local government office in the city of Jalal-Abad in June, the coup that had begun as a “standoff between representatives of the current and the former regime – and to some extent, between northern and southern ethnic Kyrgyz” assumed an inter-ethnic dimension (Huskey/ Hill 2011: 877). The resulting clashes between Uzbek and Kyrgyz communities resulted in 500 dead and 400,000 displaced (Huskey/Hill 2013: 239). The clashes were a replay of the bloody communal violence of the summer of 1990 (Anderson 1999). The history of inter-ethnic tensions comes into play whenever the adequate representation of minorities is under scrutiny. It also makes ethnicity a difficult issue to research. Just two weeks after the events of June 2010, the citizens of Kyrgyzstan were called to the polls in a referendum on the new constitution. In what many observers perceived as a vote for stability, the constitution was adopted with a 90% vote

Introduction 23 in favour (Huskey/Hill 2013: 239). The 2010 constitution incorporated lessons learned from 2005, among them a new move to institutionalize the power-sharing arrangement between different elite groups; after all, many of the leaders of the coup against Bakiev had already participated in the Tulip Revolution and had experienced first-hand the break-up of the order which they had previously established. One component of the power-sharing arrangement was the switch to a parliamentary-presidential system of government, which was a novelty in a region where concentration of power in the hands of the incumbents was the norm. Compared to its neighbouring states, Kyrgyzstan post-2010 is relatively liberal and democratic. However, in spite of some positive developments, such as two subsequent “free and fair” parliamentary elections (2010 and 2016), the country in 2019 remains only “partly free”.15 For example, a number of illiberal laws were initiated during the legislature’s fifth convocation (2010–2015) – e.g. an anti-gay propaganda law modelled on the Russian one and a foreign agents law that would have restricted the work of NGOs; the latter was ultimately rejected by the parliament. Moreover, recent years have seen the public falling-out between interim President Roza Otunbaeva with her successor Almazbek Atambaev, the arrest and sentencing of Omurbek Tekebaev (Ata-Meken) in 2017 on charges of corruption, and the exile and subsequent declaration of opposition leader Omurbek Babanov (Respublika) to stay out of politics in the future (Rickleton 2019). These developments and the public standoff between Atambaev and his protégé and successor Sooronbai Jeenbekov in summer 2019 that led to the arrest of the former president show that politics in Kyrgyzstan remains an unstable affair.

Outline of the book The book is divided into seven chapters. In the first chapter, I presented the research puzzle and the research question of the book. In a concise literature review in order to show how it links to existing research in the field I introduced the problems and theoretical gaps that relate to the micro-logic of parliaments in autocracies and the behaviour of their representatives. Background information on the two cases – Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan – is provided in order to show how they represent the two most common empirical patterns found among authoritarian regimes, namely a competitive and a fully authoritarian one. The second chapter develops an analytical framework based on the work of Hanna F. Pitkin, which conceptualizes parliamentary representation broadly, separating it into the three distinct but related views – formalistic, descriptive and substantive representation. The empirical analysis will be structured along the representation components, which cover the whole breadth of the representative relationship, starting from candidacies and elections under limited competitive elections to parliaments’ composition and finishing with patterns of MPs’ actions on behalf of citizens. The chapter also contains a brief methodological section. Chapters 3–6 constitute the empirical core of the book, based on two comprehensive case studies. Representation in this study is understood to have both procedural and relational components. The first empirical chapter explores formalistic

24 Introduction representation, focusing on the rules and legal provisions under which representation is established. The chapter revolves around the question of how citizens become candidates of their political parties and how they are subsequently elected MPs. In addition to the formal electoral framework, the chapter focuses on candidate selection procedures and factors that limit the competitiveness of elections. The latter is central to understanding how the representative relationship differs from what we know about democracies and where principal-agent models of parliamentary representation ultimately fail to capture authoritarian parliamentary representation. The chapter shows that while in Kazakhstan, the parties retain all power over candidacies and mandates, the unpredictability of the Kyrgyz electoral system reverses the logic of candidate selection, putting some influential candidates in the comfortable position to shop around for a party. The next chapter, Chapter 4, is devoted to descriptive representation, the representation by numbers. Focus is on who the representatives are who get elected. In this chapter, I establish how many MPs share certain socio-demographic and functional characteristics. As such characteristics are not neutral, an additional goal is to discuss which characteristics merit attention, which measures are employed to promote them and which categories are ignored or even intentionally suppressed. A central finding of the chapter is that the government of Kazakhstan is in a position to manufacture representative parliaments regardless of mechanical effects of the electoral system due to the fact that mandates are awarded to the party, not the candidate and that candidate lists are finalized after the elections. The Kyrgyz Republic has chosen to address group representation via candidate quotas, which are, however, oftentimes watered down by the time the parliaments first assemble. After clarifying who the representatives are in the previous chapter, the attention in Chapter 5 shifts to the represented, asking who the constituency is that MPs represent. This is particularly relevant as the two cases, Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic, both have a fully proportional electoral system, which limits geographical representation. Hence, I explore which constituencies MPs chose to represent: whether MPs feel responsible for a particular sub-constituency, provide services to clearly delineated functional or social groups and whether they are predominantly approached by particular sub-groups of the constituency. In this chapter, the findings show that Kazakhstan’s MPs have ceased to service geographically delineated constituencies and select functional constituencies based on narrow areas of expertise. Their Kyrgyz colleagues, while acknowledging that they should represent the entire nation, maintain close ties to a particular region. The last empirical chapter, Chapter 6, focuses on the most complex form of representation, substantive representation. Substantive representation refers to representation as activity, with MPs undertaking actions on behalf of their constituency. In addition to mapping all representational activities MPs undertake, the second focus of the chapter is on factors influencing their scope, intensity and form. In brief, Kazakhstan’s MPs pursue a top-down representation style, their activities being closely managed by their parties. In contrast to this, Kyrgyz MPs remain autonomous and lack co-ordination with their colleagues. While parliament engages in a whole range of tasks, its overburdening with citizens’ complaints and

Introduction 25 a general lack of resources result in a reactive style of representation that MPs themselves describe as “problem-solving”. The final chapter, Chapter 7, provides a synthesis of the empirical chapters and summarizes how the findings answer the initial research question. It is centred on the kind of representation we observe in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic and how the representation components influence one another. Moreover, it discusses whether based on the cases it is possible to distinguish distinct patterns of authoritarian representation.

Notes 1 In this book, I use “parliaments” and “legislatures” and “representative assembly” interchangeably (Kreppel 2014: 84). 2 Kazakhstan’s Mazhilis (Bazhkenova 2012). 3 The Russian State Duma was described in this way, due to the high number of legislative acts it passed (Shulman 2016). 4 Political institutions are understood in the sense of formal institutions (North 1991: 97). 5 Regime is defined as the formal and informal organization of the center of political power and of its relations with the broader society. A regime determines who has access to political power and how those who are in power deal with those who are not (Fishman 1990: 428). 6 The term “Third Wave” was coined by Samuel P. Huntington to describe the phase of democratization that lasted from the mid-1970s throughout the collapse of the Eastern Block in the 1990s (Huntington 1991). 7 For a review of these concepts, see Brooker (2000) or Albrecht/Frankenberger (2010b). 8 Regime typologies based on turnover would classify such regimes as democracies (Huntington 1991: 266–267). 9 For a review, see Morse (2012). 10 See also a special issue of Legislative Studies Quarterly 5(2) 1980. 11 An overview of the literature will be provided in Chapter 2. 12 The “rubber stamp” label is routinely applied to (and its appropriateness questioned for) authoritarian and democratic legislatures alike, for example across Latin America (Saiegh 2010), the post-Soviet region (Stykow 2015) or the Chinese People’s Congress (Truex 2016). 13 Freedom House Score 2015: Not Free (Freedom: 5.5; Civil Liberties: 5; Political Rights: 6). The Freedom House Nations in Transit scores between 2007 and 2016 show little variance (best: 6.32 in 2009 – worst 6.61 in 2016 for the Democracy score), placing it in the category of “consolidated autocracy” for the entire period (Freedom House Nations in Transit 2016). 14 For a detailed account of the Tulip Revolution, see Cummings (2010). For a description of the conditions that led to the protests, see Radnitz (2010). 15 Freedom House Score (2018): Partly Free (Freedom: 5.0; Civil Liberties: 5; Political Rights: 5). The Freedom House Nations in Transit study reports Democracy scores between 5.46 (highest, 2002) and 6.21 (lowest, 2010). The 2018 score of 6.07 puts the country into the “consolidated authoritarian regime” category (Freedom House Nations in Transit 2018).

2

Parliamentary representation under autocracy A framework for analysis

This chapter addresses the question how we can adequately conceptualize and measure parliamentary representation under autocracy. A central concern is how democracy (or rather, its regime-specific limitation) qualifies representation. I develop an analytical framework based on the work of Hanna F. Pitkin, which conceptualizes parliamentary representation broadly, separating it into the three distinct but related views or components – formalistic, descriptive and substantive representation. Together, they cover the whole breadth of the representative relationship, starting from candidacies and elections under limited competitive elections, to parliaments’ composition and finishing with patterns of MPs’ actions on behalf of citizens. The chapter also contains a brief methodological section that explains the multi-data approach chosen in this book in order to overcome the challenges posed by research in authoritarian contexts.

Parliamentary representation – conceptual foundations Political representation refers to the “activity of making citizens’ voices, opinions, and perspectives ‘present’ in the public policy-making processes” (Dovi 2011). The theoretical concept, although not a new one, was first unpicked in the influential work by Hanna Pitkin, the Concept of Representation (Pitkin 1967). As it is as underspecified as it is simple, representation is a heavily contested concept (Pitkin 1967: 4). Nevertheless, nearly all accounts of political representation encompass four elements: the representative, the party1 that is being represented, “something that is represented (opinions, perspectives, discourses, etc.)” and a context within which the representative relationship is embedded (Dovi 2011). Parliamentary representation occurs, put simply, where the representatives are elected or appointed members of parliament, a collective body with at least minimal legislative powers. Parliamentary representation in this work is understood in a broad way, to encompass a multitude of assemblies and practices. Pitkin’s (1967) language-analytical study still sets the standard for contemporary discussions of representation. She treats representation as a complex social phenomenon with four different components,2 which are interlinked. The four “views” of representation as identified by Pitkin are: formalistic, descriptive, substantive and symbolic representation (Pitkin 1967). Formalistic representation is concerned

Parliamentary representation 27 with the rules and procedures through which authority is transferred from the represented to the representative. Further down the representative relationship, based on the electoral connection between themselves and the represented, MPs undertake activities on behalf of the represented, conducting substantive representation, the “acting for others” (Pitkin 1967: 12; original emphasis). Pitkin’s other components of representation, namely descriptive and symbolic representation, refer to MPs who represent their constituency by standing for the represented (Pitkin 1967: 11–12). While descriptive representation means “the making present of something absent by resemblance or reflection, as in a mirror or art”, no such resemblance is required for symbolic representation, as parliaments stand for abstract concepts (Pitkin 1967: 11). I do not analyse symbolic representation within the scope of this book, as I am interested in how individual MPs represent citizens, whereas symbolic representation is concerned with how the parliament as institution stands for some more abstract category – such as the nation – and is the recipient of feelings it evokes (Pitkin 1967: 99). That said, descriptive representation does have some symbolic elements to it, which will be discussed in the appropriate section. Parliamentary representation is no stand-alone act but rather a practice embedded within a political system, where each nation has a system of representation not just composed of electoral representatives and those who elect them, but one that also includes other institutions and practices that, taken as a whole, define how its citizens are linked to their leaders. (Mezey 2008: 49) This basic assumption about representation can be made regardless of how democratic or authoritarian a system is. Which form of representation prevails in a given polity is not random; Loewenberg and Kim show that it is influenced by factors such as party systems and the political culture (Loewenberg/Kim 1978: 32). The central goal of this book is to find out how electoral representation is altered when the elections do not meet the standards expected from democratic elections. It is noteworthy that most advances in the theory of political representation occur on the basis of electoral democracy (Kuyper 2016). Theoretical and conceptual advances have, for example, been pushed by research on the supra-national EU parliament (Crum/Fossum 2009; Farrell/Scully 2007; Kohler-Koch/Rittberger 2007). Expansion of the concepts has happened with regard to who and what is being represented (Saward 2006, 2010; Rehfeld 2011). With regard to descriptive representation, the guiding question often concerns how to advance the representation of hitherto marginalized groups (Phillips 1995; Mansbridge 1999; Young 2000). Authors who want to go beyond electoral representation have broadened the scope to include unelected representatives (Kuyper 2016; Saward 2010). One example of a non-electoral mode of representative relationship is the “surrogate” representation mode in which MPs represent people who have not formally elected them, where the representative relationship is based on shared characteristics and experiences instead (Mansbridge 2003: 522–523). The centrality of representatives’

28 Parliamentary representation claims to represent a specific constituency and the acceptance of the represented of such a claim was introduced in a constructivist turn of representation (Saward 2006). The requirement of congruence between the claims of the elected and the non-elected marked the re-introduction of responsiveness to the “claims-making perspective” of representation (Severs 2010). The merit of all of these works is that they have broadened the representation concept and draw attention to hitherto underspecified components of representation. However, instead of expanding or looking for a new concept, I argue that Pitkin’s existing conceptualization is, in principle, suitable to accommodate authoritarian parliamentary representation. In particular one critique frequently levelled against concepts of representation based on Pitkin’s work does not hold here, namely the critique that the “standard account of representation” does two things at the same time: identifying who the representative is and identifying when a representative is democratic (Rehfeld 2006: 3). This is not the case in authoritarian cases, where elections help us to identify who the representatives are, but their democratic quality or degree of deviation from it can explicitly not be assumed and is hence assessed separately. Moreover, if we are serious about not taking the electoral connection between representative and represented at face value, we should also devote more attention towards discussing who those at the receiving end of the representative relationship are. I will do this by closely examining how the constituency is defined in the given cases.

Relationship between representation components The “views” in the work of Pitkin are not dimensions of a concept but rather represent different aspects of the totality of the phenomenon “representation”. The work also deals with a broader notion of representation than its modern, often Western, parliamentary form. I make several assumptions regarding the relationship between formalistic, descriptive and substantive representation. First, the components constitute different views on political representation and should be therefore treated separately. They will be discussed in detail in the current chapter. Second, the components of representation may influence one another. Therefore, the linkages between the representation components are included within the scope of the present research project. Third, for the purpose of this study, it will be assumed that some form of (minimal) representation takes place in all of these components in every case, as in all regimes except the most authoritarian ones governments do not ignore the public. Consequently, the framework developed for this study can be applied to all kind of cases except a few closed authoritarian ones. For all but the most authoritarian cases, the design of representative institutions is not completely at the discretion of regimes’ leaders. Leaders rarely design institutions from scratch but are constrained by the set of institutions that has developed over time (International IDEA 2005: 1). Moreover, only certain institutions are accepted as representative by the public, and consequently, legislatures across the world resemble one another inasmuch as they “generally provide a forum

Parliamentary representation 29

Formalistic How parliament is formed • (pre-election) candidate selection • electoral framework • factors that influence electoral competitiveness

• • • •

Descriptive Parliament’s composition represented groups not represented groups mechanisms leading to representation party system / representation of political diversity

Substantive MPs acting for consituency • activities of MPs • channels for outreach • input channels

Constituency • which characteristics represented • MPs act for it • demands representation

Figure 2.1 The components of parliamentary representation

for the articulation of public opinion, a transmission mechanism for feedback to the executive on public policy, and a means by which government can explain and communicate its actions” (IPU/UNDP 2012: 13). Fourth, the presence of a certain quality of representation in one component is not a necessary condition for the existence of representation in another component. This is implied by the previous assumption; however, it needs to be emphasized again as often studies generalizing from democracies treat sufficient formal representation – understood as democratic, free and fair elections – as conditio sine qua non for meaningful descriptive and substantive representation. This is not an underlying assumption here. However, representation components are linked, as all components rely on certain determinants (such as the electoral system), and one component may be a determinant of another. How the particular components are related will be included within the scope of this study. For example, what does the weakness in formal, electoral representation imply for the other aspects of representation? Will MPs elected in non-competitive elections resemble their voters with regard to certain characteristics, something usually attributed to a distortion-free transfer of people’s preferences into parliamentary seats? Will their activities performed for the citizens reflect whether they were facing competitive elections or primarily had to be concerned about re-selection by their party? And will they serve their formal, electoral constituency even under conditions where their re-election does not depend on it, or will they focus their attention on another group?

30 Parliamentary representation

What to expect from representation under autocracy? When investigating parliamentary representation in authoritarian settings, the key difference to democracies should be rooted in the fact that elections are not competitive, therefore are not able to establish the connection between MPs and those they are tasked to represent in the same way. In theories of representative democracy, free and fair elections are the central moment of contact between parliament and citizens (IPU/UNDP 2012: 2). They are regarded as the most effective means to secure that voters and representative are linked by “dependence and sympathy” (Hamilton/Madison 1788). As consequence of the focus on elections, for many years, parliamentary practice or research paid little attention to the representative relationship apart from elections (Leston-Bandeira 2012b: 269). However, in contrast to what the modern usage of the terminology might suggest, representation does not necessarily imply democratic practice. The representative can be chosen by election but also by custom or acclamation (Schmidt 2004: 612). Moreover, treating the presence of elections as a necessary and sufficient condition for engendering and maintaining a feeling of being represented falls short of reality for several reasons: Elections by themselves are neither sufficient to hold government accountable (Manin/Przeworski/Stokes 1999: 50) nor is the feeling of being represented limited to democracies (Pollak et al. 2009: 1). Mezey takes up this critique by treating elections as a necessary condition for democracy, while making it clear that elections alone are not sufficient (Mezey 2008: 3). Some scholars draw attention to the fact that a large part of what is deemed parliamentary representation takes place between elections, instead of finding its culmination during the moment when representation is transferred (Esaiasson/Narud 2013: 2). Others state that connection based on elections is neither the “most critical, the most important, nor the most effective means to insure constituency influence” (Eulau/Karps 1977: 235). I follow this argumentation that the existence of a connection based on democratic elections is one among several determinants of parliamentary representation. When taking a broad representation concept as basis for the analysis, it is also noteworthy that elections are only the most critical point of contact between representatives and represented for some of its components. While this is certainly the case for formalistic representation, elections merely have the status of factors influencing the representative relationship for other kinds of representation and shall be treated as such.

How citizens become MPs – formalistic representation The first aspect of parliamentary representation is the process by which people become MPs. This component of representation has been labelled “formalistic” representation, because it is concerned with the formal procedures connected to the election or appointment of the representatives (Pitkin 1967: 39–55). Formalistic representation is the aspect of representation that is most closely associated with democratic electoral procedures. Hence, this section focuses on where in the

Parliamentary representation 31 process during which citizens are elected to parliament the idiosyncrasies that characterize authoritarian regimes are situated. Formalistic representation comprises two alternative perspectives that can be distinguished by the sequence during which authority is transferred from citizen to representatives and the latter formally receive their mandate: “where one group defines a representative as someone who has been elected (authorized), the other defines him as someone who will be subject to election (held to account)” (Pitkin 1967: 58). Pitkin labels the two perspectives “authorization view” and “accountability” view, respectively (Pitkin 1967: 39, 55). The “authorization view” concentrates on the transaction of authority taking place between the representative and the represented “before the actual representing begins” (Pitkin 1967: 39). As the authorization is the crucial moment in the representative relationship, elections are the key element in this perspective (Pitkin 1967: 43). Once they have been authorized, everything the representatives do within the boundaries of their mandate is representation. If MPs exceed their mandate, they no longer represent. Therefore, there is no such thing as “good” or “bad” representation (Pitkin 1967: 39). The other perspective subsumed under the formalistic view of representation focuses on “accountability”. In this perspective, elections serve the purpose of holding the representative accountable for their past actions (Pitkin 1967: 55). According to this aspect of representation, representatives do what they think their voters in the following elections would want them to do (Mansbridge 2003: 515).3 Formalistic representation under authoritarian conditions If the aim of the entire project is to explore how parliamentary representation depends on the quality of the “electoral connection”, the section on formalistic representation serves to establish how, to what extent and where the process during which citizens are elected to parliament differs from the democratic ideal theorized by Mayhew (1974). Empirically, it is concerned with the process through which people become representatives. It is conceptualized as rules (formal and informal) that regulate access to parliamentary mandates. This includes the legislation governing elections as well as the candidate selection process within parties that precedes elections and informal arrangements that affect the competitiveness of elections (Norris 2006: 205). In the following section I will discuss how we can accommodate for the idiosyncrasies of formalistic representation under conditions where electoral competition is limited in different ways and by varying degrees. Electoral system The component of formalistic representation that is immediately visible is the electoral rules that set the framework within which MPs compete for candidacies and for parliamentary seats. The electoral system then is comprised of electoral rules, determining the overall structure of the electoral system, size and number of electoral districts and structure of the candidate lists (Shugart 2005; Benoit 2007). Legislators also create rules that affect elections in favour of members

32

Parliamentary representation

of specific groups. Such provisions take the form of mandatory quotas, reserved seats and electoral thresholds. They also affect the likelihood of re-selection of individual MPs. As their effects manifest themselves in the composition of parliament, they will be examined more closely in the section on descriptive representation. Electoral rules are not neutral, and political parties attempt to shape them in their favour (Benoit 2007: 364). In regimes where political competition is low, the incumbents can make changes to the electoral system unopposed. Hence, a high frequency of rule changes can be a sign of those in power attempting to reign in a legislature that has previously expanded its room for manoeuvre (Patzelt 2002: 21). However, there are a number of alternative explanations for electoral system change, including ones focused on consolidation (for a review see Benoit 2007). The effects of electoral rules on the actual electoral process are not mechanical. Instead, their effects unfold depending on the wider institutional context (Moser/ Scheiner 2012). This should limit any regime’s ability to tailor the electoral framework to its needs and explain the large number of adjustments we observe in some cases. For example, the party system’s structure has been known to affect how the effects of electoral rules unfold and so has the party system institutionalization (Nohlen 2014: 503–504).4 We know that the existence of a stable and socially rooted party system that is able to articulate and aggregate societal interests matters for the quality of democratic governance.5 The party system is more than just a determinant or a mediating context to the way in which electoral rules unfold. Duverger’s powerful proposition states that two-party systems are usually associated with single-member plurality electoral systems, whereas proportional representation is associated with multi-party systems (Duverger 1951). However, subsequent scholarship found the relationship between electoral system and party system to be much more complex, as electoral system and party system mutually influence the development of one another.6 Therefore, it is more precise to say that the development of the electoral system cannot be separated from that of the party system. This relationship should be particularly relevant in autocracies, where an interrelationship between democracy and the state of the party system has been observed. In autocracies, very strong political parties, so the explanation goes, have the ability to subordinate other political institutions (Mezey 1975: 109). On the other end of the spectrum, weakly institutionalized parties lead to low levels of party discipline, which has a negative effect on democratic consolidation (Thames 2007: 456–457). How parties are included in the legislature affects their ability to manage political conflict (Ostrow 2000). Candidate selection Before elections take place, the pool of potential contenders for seats is narrowed down in the course of candidate selection procedures. Nomination practices differ widely across countries depending on the party systems and are formalized to varying degrees. Candidate selection encompasses formal candidacy requirements such as voluntary party quotas and informal rules (Rahat/Hazan 2001). Among

Parliamentary representation 33 the latter are de facto quotas and informal practices like seat buying (Norris 2006; Hale 2011; Engvall 2011). Candidate selection is usually less formalized than elections (Hazan 2014: 214). In some cases, labelling them the “secret garden of politics”, as done by Gallagher and Marsh (1988), may indeed be appropriate. Usually, parties select candidates who appeal to the voters and will win elections but who are also bound to remain loyal to the party (Ashiabgor 2008: 2). From the literature, we expect that a smaller selectorate pushes MPs to be more responsive to party actors than the general public (Hazan 2014: 218). Moreover, party discipline is lower – and switching more frequent – in countries with weakly institutionalized party systems (Mainwaring 1998: 79). In such party systems, (prospective) MPs have more control over their careers, using party switching to advance their careers if they do not expect to win a seat via their current party.7 In non-competitive settings, where the party in power can be confident to secure a high number of mandates regardless of the candidate pool, the question comes down to whether selection as candidate is a reward for loyalty to the party or is a way to co-opt candidates with an independent power base (Boix/Svolik 2013; Gandhi/Przeworski 2007; Wright 2008; Gandhi/Lust-Okar 2009; Schmotz 2015). Other considerations driving candidate selections may be the need to include marginalized groups or the wish to include candidates from the main societal groups. However, even this type of party has to care about the appeal of candidates to the public. Even in the most authoritarian regimes elections are more than meaningless imitations of democratic procedures (Friedgut 1979: 145).8 This implies that the range of possibilities is limited, and deviations from the democratic ideal compromise the regime’s ability to derive legitimacy from elections. In authoritarian regimes, pre-election candidate selection may be the only truly competitive stage of the electoral process, as different political streams compete for selection (Hermet 1978: 12). Competitiveness of elections Formal electoral rules only partially reflect how ordinary citizens become candidates, contest election and win seats. Per definition authoritarian regimes lack free and fair elections (Gandhi 2008: 8). However, the electoral rules by themselves are often not where problems manifest; rather, the lack of pluralism manifests itself in the “menu of manipulation” exploited by authoritarian rulers to make elections skewed towards the incumbents (Schedler 2009). Electoral fortunes are first affected by the distortions due to lack of competitiveness in elections (e.g. by electoral fraud) and second by restrictions on the activities of the opposition. Such “coercive contextual factors . . . involve blatant political interference that prevents rules from working as anticipated, thus limiting the extent to which the formal institutions are the real rules of the game” (Ferree/Powell/Scheiner 2014: 423). Many of the aspects that tilt the electoral “playing field” in favour of the incumbent fall short of outright electoral malpractice. Recent findings also suggest that manipulation strategies used to secure electoral victories differ by regime type (Simpser 2013: 7). Effects of limited competition can manifest themselves via mechanical and behavioural mechanisms

34 Parliamentary representation (Ferree/Powell/Scheiner 2014: 424). For example, electoral manipulation not only has a negative effect on the chances of winning a seat of opposition candidates. It also may influence the strategies that parties have for candidate selection and campaigning or the formation of electoral alliances. Opposition parties may decide to not run at all if they perceive their chances of success as marginal and the potential costs high. In such cases, a boycott may deprive the regime of the legitimacy that an election contested by opposition parties could provide. These considerations, in turn, may influence the structure of the party system. Further factors that influence how competitive elections are include the degree of party competition and the likelihood of defeating the incumbent (Loewenberg/ Patterson 1979: 85). Not all candidates have the same chances of winning a seat. Based on the literature, I expect the likelihood of it succeeding to be smaller in non-competitive than in competitive authoritarian regimes, while the risk associated with running will be larger (Boynton/Kim 1975: 92; Loewenberg/Patterson

Table 2.1 Formalistic representation disaggregated Variable

Component

Operationalization

Electoral system

Electoral rules

Provisions of electoral law • • • •

Parliamentary or presidential Proportional/majoritarian District size List structure open/closed

Electoral thresholds Reserved seats and mandatory quotas Candidate selection

Party system

Development Structure

Competitiveness of elections

Fairness Opposition

Historical context

Institutional legacies Democratic tradition

Intra-party formal selection procedures Voluntary party-level quotas Informal procedures relating to candidate selection (seat buying, implicit quotas) Existence of stable and socially rooted party system able to articulate and aggregate societal interests* Number of parties in legislature; seat distribution Number and strength of opposition parties Structured around what issues Party bans Records of electoral malpractice Legal restrictions, bans Boycotts Time since last major constitutional reform Previous institutional setting Length of experience with democracy

* Definition acc. to Bertelsmann Transformation Index, Var. 5.1 Own table

Parliamentary representation 35 1979: 85). Candidates, particularly from the opposition, are expected to take this into consideration before submitting their candidature, resulting in lower candidate numbers in less competitive settings. That said, the extent of opposition rights also affects whether any opposition candidate may win a seat. In line with Manin, Przeworski and Stokes (1999: 48), I maintain that the opposition has to be included in an analysis of representation. Furthermore, legislative turnover affects whether candidates can expect to have a realistic chance of winning a seat. If a large share of legislators returns for a second or third term, for prospective newcomers “the probability of acquiring a legislative seat, even if it is technically available, may not be great” (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 84). Finally, the historical context will be under observation in the form of institutional legacies and the existence of a democratic tradition (Leston-Bandeira 2012a). There are differences in how electoral rules unfold in “old” and “new” democracies (Moser/Scheiner 2012: 14). The emphasis here is not on the kind of system but its “newness” – after all, whether people have a lot of experience with the system, it should affect their behaviour and expectations – regardless of regime type. In sum, by looking at the policy framework surrounding elections and candidate selection within the regime context, I will show how the regimes’ specific characteristics find their expression in formalistic representation. The result will be an inventory of how the electoral connection functions under the conditions of competitive and fully authoritarian regimes.

Descriptive representation: who represents? Descriptive representation is concerned with social and demographical characteristics of members of the legislature. Representation in this sense is understood as MPs “standing for” the represented (Pitkin 1967). In order to do so, the individual representative has to be “sufficiently like” the person represented (Griffiths 1960: 188). On the aggregate level of the representative assembly, descriptive representation implies that the collective body has the same distribution of specific characteristics as the society (Pitkin 1967: 60–61). Descriptive representation is based on the assumption that MPs who share certain characteristics with their constituents also share their interests. MPs are expected to further the interests of their voters by pursuing their own (Mansbridge 2003: 520). Numerical representation is expected to translate into representation on substantive matters based on the assumption that “numbers matter” (Celis et al. 2008: 99). Therefore, descriptive representation is not concerned with accountability; instead, studies on descriptive representation assume that presence in the legislature equals representation. Hence, many studies about descriptive representation focus on the question how to ensure adequate numerical representation, in particular the representation of disadvantaged societal groups. The failure of a legislature to adequately represent society “with regard to key characteristics” indicates their exclusion form government and will likely diminish its legitimacy in the eyes of the population (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 112; Reynolds 2005: 302).

36 Parliamentary representation The existence of an electoral connection is not relevant for all views on descriptive representation. The connection between MPs and represented may be a “virtual” instead of an electoral one, where citizens feel represented by MPs inasmuch as they share certain characteristics with them (Mezey 2008: 46–47). Representatives may represent not only people who actually voted for them but also choose other constituents and further their interest (Mansbridge 2003: 515).9 Hence, descriptive representation has a strong symbolic component. Do shared personal characteristic lead to representation? Scholars and practitioners alike are often interested in counting MPs because they assume that MPs represent citizens since they are similar to them. Shared characteristics are seen as an expression of shared experiences of group members, which then are expected to lead to a shared set of interests. Different causal connections have been theorized to link experiences and interests. First, shared experiences can contribute to similar ideas, which then are represented by MPs (Phillips 1994: 75–76). The causal connection is loose – shared experiences contribute to similar interests, but as ideas “stem from a variety of experience” these are “detachable” from the experiences (Phillips 1994: 75). According to a second theory, group members share a “perspective” that originates in their “similar positioning in the social field” (Young 2000: 123). However, perspectives are not synonymous with interests. Perspectives are far more conducive towards compromises on outcomes than interests, which make them the relevant category for political representation (Young 2000: 140). Both authors theorize that shared characteristics are only indirectly linked to a common set of interests. If interests are only weakly linked to personal traits, the question then is whether representatives really have to be the same kind of people as the represented or if representing others is also a viable solution (Mansbridge 1999). The observation that people’s ability to stand for others is finite supports this particular understanding of descriptive representation: “there are limits to the extent to which we can put ourselves in other people’s shoes, even if we sincerely try to do so, and limits to the extent to which most people sincerely try to do so” (Kymlicka 1995: 139). If being different limits a representative’s ability to represent, the conclusion has to be that some degree of similarity to the represented is necessary to achieve descriptive representation. It is difficult to determine when an individual is sufficiently “similar” to a group to act as their representative (Phillips 1994: 86). Sometimes, representation may require dissimilarity of the representatives from the represented. Certain features are undesirable in a representative, as “we would not want to complain that the large classes of the stupid and maleficent people have too few representatives in parliament” (Griffiths 1960: 190). Therefore, not all characteristics should serve as a basis for representation. If representatives do not have to be like the represented, they can also be superior to or different from them in a desirable way (Pitkin 1967: 78). Legislators have chosen law-making as their profession and spend much time perfecting their skills (Mansbridge 1999: 631). It is this understanding, labelled “selective”

Parliamentary representation 37 representation, upon which modern parliamentary representation rests. Selective descriptive representation, as implied by the name, requires an institutional design that favours the selection of members of certain groups to the legislature. If a group is underrepresented by numbers, arrangements can be made that foster their representation (Mansbridge 1999: 632). This is preceded by the belief that some form of adverse selection in the electoral system has to be compensated for (Mansbridge 1999: 633). On the downside, there may be a trade-off between recruiting for representativeness or professional competence, and a representative legislature may come at the expense of its competence (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 112). Theorizing the connection between group membership and interests is further complicated by the structure of people’s identity. People do not have one single, monolithic identity that would be clearly identifiable. Instead, different facets of their identity may become salient at different times and in different situations (Phillips 1994: 79). Consequently, the same person can represent different groups.10 At the aggregate level, groups are composed of members who share some experiences but are dissimilar in many other regards (Young 2000: 88). Groups then have to be defined – a process that assumes “a set of essential attributes that constitute its identity as a group” (Young 2000: 87). We can assume such processes to be of immediate concern when representation takes place among ongoing nationbuilding endeavours. Which groups are being represented and which groups are not? If groups have to be defined in order to achieve representation, which are these groups? Usually, scholarship on descriptive representation focuses on social and demographical subdivisions of society. However, when approaching descriptive representation in authoritarian contexts, it is necessary to put the political side of descriptive representation into focus; descriptive representation is never a neutral measure of some essential characteristics of the population. Instead, the decision about which characteristics merit the government’s attention and the introduction of legal remedies is political. Which among many characteristics distributed across the population should serve as criteria along with which representatives are to be selected is subject to disputes, interpretations and political engineering. Which characteristics are being represented is not arbitrary. Usually, they depend on social, demographical, political and functional subdivisions that run through society (Reynolds 2005: 306). Many countries have imposed measures to ensure adequate numerical representation of disadvantaged societal groups in legislatures, including quotas for party lists or reserved seats. Such measures are most often based on ethnicity, language, religion and geography (Reynolds 2005: 306). However, in principle any relevant societal divide may be the basis for such political measures. For example, several countries, among them Rwanda, have reserved seats based on age, ability and occupation (Krook 2014: 102). The Soviet Union paid particular attention to occupation and party membership of its representatives (Friedgut 1979: 162–166). Every representation concept necessarily requires the exclusion of something that is not represented (Schweber 2016). Not all societal

38 Parliamentary representation Table 2.2 Criteria for assessing descriptive representation Socio-demographical

Political

Gender Ethnicity Profession/Education Age Turnover Other (country-specific)

Number of seats for opposition Structure of party system – what do the parties in parliament stand for?

divisions that are identifiable are acted upon. Political elites can choose to suppress categories by framing and by strengthening other cleavages. Empirically, I find such categories by comparing demographic data with political rules to establish group representation. Sometimes, strategies to suppress and diffuse categories are readily identifiable. For example, they come in the form of party bans or refuting the demands for affirmative action for specific groups. In comparison with their democratic peers, we can assume that authoritarian regimes have considerable discretion over group representation due to their rising influence over the parliament’s composition as electoral competitiveness declines. Hence, when assessing the representativeness of a legislature, I include which characteristics are deemed desirable for representation and which groups are portrayed as deserving to be in the legislature as a consequence. Moreover, I analyse which justifications are used to support the claim that a group merits representation. Determinants of descriptive representation How do parliaments achieve descriptive representation? The general design of the electoral system, district size, list structure and the adoption of quotas and reserved seats are known to influence parliaments’ composition (Krook 2014: 100; Larserud/Taphorn 2007: 10). First, the electoral system – proportional versus majoritarian or mixed systems – affects representation. The choice of proportional representation (PR) over a majoritarian electoral system leads to more descriptive representation (Krook 2014: 100), with a positive effect on both the numbers of women and minorities in parliament (Bird 2014: 13). The reason for this is that list-based systems incentivize parties to draw up balanced party lists, whereas in single-member districts, parties tend to nominate incumbents who are often male and from the ethnic majority (Larserud/Taphorn 2007: 10). Even in the same electoral system, different groups achieve descriptive representation by distinct mechanisms. While under proportional representation women benefit from the incentive to draw up gender-balanced party lists, ethnic minorities benefit when ethnic parties’ vote share is translated in to seat share (Bird 2014: 13–14). Consequently, the effects on minority representation will be mitigated by the party system or more specifically by the emergence of ethnic parties. This, again, will be different when party bans hinder the emergence of such parties. Even before

Parliamentary representation 39 elections take place, recruiting processes will affect the composition of the legislature (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 111). A common tool to influence representation is the introduction of quotas and reserved seats (Reynolds 2005: 306). As of 2014, about a hundred countries have some kind of quota in place (Krook/Zetterberg 2014). Quotas come in different forms and apply to different levels. They can be in the form of reserved seats, party quotas and legislative quotas. Party quotas are voluntary measures adopted by one party or several parties within a country (Krook 2014: 101). Most often, quotas are applied to foster women’s representation, whereas minorities are provided with reserved seats. Htun explains this with the different ways in which gender and ethnicity intersect with partisan cleavages (Htun 2004: 439). Quotas directly affect the properties of candidates on the party lists; their effect on the actual composition of the legislature is more indirect and depends on a number of intervening factors, for example the position on the party lists. List structure also mediates how effects of quotas manifest themselves. The positive effects of quotas on women’s representation materialize more strongly in closed-list proportional systems, where it is selection by the party that is the crucial stage for individual candidates willing to enter parliament and not the decision of the voters during the elections (Jones/Navia 1999). In open-list proportional systems, a balanced party list will not necessarily translate into a diversified membership of parliament, as the ultimate composition of the legislature depends more on the voters’ decision than the parties’ pre-selection. Quotas and reserved seats trigger different mechanisms, which lead to descriptive representation and have different effects on the group identity of the representatives and subsequently their attachment to their party. Hence, beneficiaries of quotas will act predominantly as members of their party. They may advance groups interests but “as individuals, not as a group” (Htun 2004: 452). Contrary to this, reserved seats foster group identity and provide MPs with “channels of representation distinct from those used for everyone else” and the opportunity to advance interests as a coherent group (Htun 2004: 452). Another means to affect the composition of parliament is conscious districting. This measure is usually applied to minorities, due to the geographical concentration of minority groups but not to gender, as that is equally distributed across the country. The effect of such conscious districting on descriptive representation is Table 2.3 Determinants of descriptive representation Electoral system

Wider electoral system. See formalistic representation, in particular: • List structure

Special provisions to foster representation (electoral law)

• Quotas • Reserved seats • Districting See section on formalistic representation, in particular: • Party bans

Party system

40 Parliamentary representation similar to that of reserved seats (Reynolds 2005: 303). Prior to elections, candidate selections methods affect the diversity of candidates within the parties (Gauja/ Cross 2015). In sum, there is abundant scholarship on the effects of design elements of the electoral system on descriptive representation. Effects of individual provisions interact with and are dependent on the wider institutional context. Descriptive representation under autocracy There is little research on the effect of limited electoral competition on descriptive representation. However, we know that just like democracies, authoritarian regimes are affected by calls for fair representation (Htun 2004: 451). Many authoritarian regimes pay attention to descriptive representation with regard to select characteristics – for example, gender, age, profession and educational level – and routinely introduce measures to promote the representation of particular groups (Htun 2004: 450). Promoting descriptive representation is sometimes used to dissuade demands for genuine democratic reforms, pointing to descriptive representation as “evidence that the government is broadly representative and responsive to diverse societal interests and that no systematic democratic reform is needed” (Bird 2014: 21). For China, Manion (2017) finds a “selectoral connection” at work, which allows voters to elect candidates from among the party nominees whose characteristics suggest they will represent local interests. Some aspects regarding descriptive representation in autocracies merit closer attention. First, there is evidence that measures to foster the representation of select groups differ by regime type. Htun finds that authoritarian regimes are more likely to use reserved seats where democracies would opt for candidate quotas (Htun 2004: 450). We recall that the effect of reserved seats is more direct than that of candidate quotas. The findings may seem counterintuitive at first sight, as the less electoral competition they face, the more authoritarian regimes are in control of the outcome. The more dominant a presidential party is and the higher its seat share, the closer the effect of party-list quotas gets to that of reserved seats. However, it is noteworthy that Htun does not distinguish between different kinds of authoritarian regimes. In autocracies with genuine electoral competition, electoral outcomes cannot be anticipated. In fully authoritarian regimes, descriptive representation as an easy-to-control outcome can be used to dissuade criticism about unfair electoral procedures. In fact, already the leadership of the Soviet Union had anticipated the ease with which the composition of the representative organs, the Soviets, could be adjusted: “the Soviets, as bodies that are in part ceremonial and in part administrative, are easily made to reflect changes in the priorities and values of the leadership” (Friedgut 1979: 139). Descriptive representation is cheap, and it is more easily achieved when few actors have maximum control over outcomes, as was the case in the single-party Soviet Union. I assume the same to be the case for modern, fully authoritarian regimes, albeit to a somewhat lesser degree. Building on this reasoning, I expect to find differences between competitive authoritarian and fully authoritarian regimes with regard to the adoption of

Parliamentary representation 41 measures fostering descriptive representation. Measures such as conscious districting, quotas or reserved seats affect descriptive representation at different stages of the process during which votes are translated into seats. If the electoral connection is “broken” (which I presume it is in authoritarian regimes), this means that the mechanisms do not translate votes into seats the same way as in democracies. Consequentially, even if the same measures are to be adopted, their effects differ across the kinds of regimes. Moreover, as the adoption of quotas or reserved seats is seen as a conscious choice by political actors to promote the representation of one group over another, authoritarian rulers should purposefully design them to advance the groups of their choice. Second, the outcome of non-competitive elections may be a representative parliament – at least with regard to the distribution of social and demographical characteristics. There is abundant work assessing distortions produced by the electoral system to the representation of groups (Gallagher/Mitchell 2005). However, the lack of political diversity in authoritarian regimes usually attributed to deficits in the process of elections, while in reality regimes lacking electoral competition may have the means to provide for a descriptive representational outcome with particular ease. It may be the case that opposition parties are systematically hindered prior to and during elections and therefore win few seats. This may then be counterbalanced by other measures that increase their seat share again. For example, when governments introduce measures that provide for a second party in parliament or introduce caps on the number of seats, the outcome of non-competitive elections can be a representative parliament. In the extreme cases, the “diverse” membership of the legislature may be from one party only, depending on the groups we are looking at. For example, the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union had an ethnically diverse membership, even over-representing non-Russians (Chaisty 2012: 241–242). This should not obscure the fact that this took place within a singleparty legislature. Therefore, as analytically related phenomena, the mechanisms leading to the parliament’s composition merit as much attention as the descriptive representational outcome. Third, another difference to democracies may be found in the way in which party systems reflect societal cleavages. Usually, when assessing if a legislature is descriptively representative, we consider “how far the legislature reflects the society from which it is drawn in terms of salient political cleavages like gender, class, and religion” (Norris/Franklin 1997: 185). Often, it is societal cleavages that party systems are structured around. Parties are the “most common vehicle for the representation of opinions” (Young 2000: 135). Therefore, it is useful to examine if this is the case when assessing descriptive representativeness of a legislature. If parties reflect all relevant societal cleavages, their representation in parliament points to the legislature being representative in descriptive terms. In party systems dominated by one party that has the majority of seats in parliament, if descriptive representation is a concern, this means that the party has to act as the representative of all citizens. We can then expect it to emphasize the overall representativeness of the legislature according to categories other than political diversity. This assumption has implications for empirical research in contexts where party systems do not

42 Parliamentary representation form freely around societal cleavages and in which parties cannot compete for voters on an equal basis. There, the question how diverse political interests are represented in the legislature should complete every study of descriptive representation. In sum, for an assessment of a parliament’s descriptive representativeness, I ask the following questions: First, which social, demographical and functional categories are explicitly addressed by the national authorities as desirable for descriptive representation? Which measures are undertaken to support these claims? Second, which categories are portrayed as undesirable to serve as a basis for representation and which are suggested by the structure of the country’s society and political cleavages but are nevertheless not addressed? Third, is this structure of society reflected in the party system, and do all parties, including the opposition, have opportunities to win seats? If not, are the relevant groups made present in the legislature by other means than through parties, e.g. by reserved seats? Based on the theory, I expect to find better representative outcomes (on self-proclaimed categories) for the fully authoritarian regimes and better outcomes on political diversity in the competitive authoritarian regimes.

The constituency: Who do MPs represent? “Who do MPs represent?” The most basic answer to this question is that MPs represent the people who elected them, as representatives seek re-election, which the voters have the power to grant or deny them (Mayhew 1974). However, the explanatory power of such theories is limited in cases where MPs’ electoral connection is weakened, and it is not competitive elections that determine which candidates win a seat. Constituencies are not passive addressees of MPs’ attention. Quite the contrary, representatives can only represent those who agree to being represented, leaving representative claims open to contestation. In this sense, representation is “at least a two-way street” (Saward 2006: 301–302). Assuming that defects to the electoral connection go both ways, it is interesting to explore who MPs treat as their constituency, both by acting on their behalf and by making claims of representing a constituency “so understood” (Saward 2006: 302). In authoritarian regimes, evoking a feeling of being represented can be particularly challenging, if citizens perceive their representatives as being detached from their everyday problems. Consequently, such processes of mutual acceptance as representative and represented have to be included in an assessment of the representative relationship. Constituencies are usually delineated in terms of geography, regardless of the district size or the number of MPs elected in a district (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 168). Alternatively, they can be defined functionally, in terms of individuals or along religious or ethnic lines (Fenno 1977: 884–889; Malesky/Schuler 2010). The constituency MPs will represent is not arbitrary, and electoral systems are known to influence both whom MPs regard as their constituency and the activities they will most likely deliver. There is a well-established body of research dealing with the effects of the electoral system on focus and style of representation (Carey/Shugart 1995; Ingall/Crisp 2001; Benoit 2007; Heitshusen/Young/Wood 2005). For example, district size affects which primary constituency, functional or

Parliamentary representation 43 Table 2.4 Constituencies Constituency

Indicators

Electoral constituency

Electoral system (formalistic representation); specifically: • District size • List structure (open/closed) Claimed constituency (interviews) Constituency MPs provide services to

Constituency of choice

geographical, MPs focus their activity on. The larger the district, the less likely it is that MPs perceive their constituencies in terms of geography (Loewenberg/Kim 1978: 45). The electoral system not only affects which constituency focus MPs will develop but also the kind and amount of activities they will undertake on behalf of a constituency. Beyond the expected mechanical effects, the electoral system can send a powerful symbolic message regarding which constituency focus should be the relevant category of representation of MPs (Farrell/Scully 2007). While the question of constituency delineation and the type and volume of activities pursued by MPs is closely related, I will discuss the relationship between electoral system and activities in the section on substantive representation. In sum, the research on democratic countries shows that the less re-election depends on how well MPs succeed to appeal to a particular, local constituency, the less likely it is that MPs will provide services to their electoral constituency and even perceive their constituency in terms of geography. In line with this reasoning, we can expect that MPs whose re-election does not depend on appealing to voters due to diminished electoral competition are not likely to engage in intensive constituency-related activities. However, the reasoning relies on the known mechanical effects of electoral system on the constituency focus – and these are also expected to be weaker when the electoral connection is incomplete. Hence, MPs may still engage in local representation for other reasons than re-election. Alternative explanations for constituency orientation focus on clientelism or the interests and re-election strategies of the political parties (as opposed to the individual politicians). In the empirical study, the constituency is explored by asking which groups of citizens predominantly contact which MPs. Moreover, MPs’ constituencies may be identified by their service provision, which may be to all citizens or to a particular sub-constituency – this last question will be explored more thoroughly in the chapter on substantive representation (Chapter 6).

MPs acting for the people: substantive representation Ultimately, MPs are elected to parliament in order to enact legislation on the citizens’ behalf and deliver services to them. How intensively do MPs pursue representative activities? And which among the wide range of possible activities do they prioritize? In this section I discuss how we should understand

44 Parliamentary representation substantive representation in order to have a concept that helps us capture a wide array of representative practices. When thinking back to the beginning of the book, a point of departure for the study was that all across the world we can observe MPs pursuing a multitude of activities. A central question is how all of these activities pursued by MPs are actually related to the wishes of the people they allegedly undertake them for. Activities only constitute substantive representation when MPs are “acting in the interest of the represented, in a manner responsive to them”,11 as put by Pitkin (1967: 209). Taking the definition seriously, I first discuss how they learn about their voters’ preferences, how the relationship between voter’s interest and MPs actions should be understood. As a second step, I turn to the activities themselves. I develop an analytical to grid categorize MPs’ activities. Finally, I discuss known determinants of substantive representation and formulate expectations about substantive representation under autocracy. How MPs learn about what citizens want When representing, MPs are expected to act in the best interest of those they represent. What these interests precisely are is left unclear, as well as the question of how the person representing a group would learn about them. Interest refers to a collective good (Loewenberg 2011: 35) and is not to be confused with opinion (Mezey 2008: 32). However, it is unlikely that a fixed a priori interest of the electorate exists. Instead, representatives can “read” their constituency in multiple ways (Saward 2006: 304). The fact the represented do not have a fixed set of preferences has been criticized as under-developed in Pitkin’s concepts (Saward 2006). The absence of fixed citizens’ interests draws attention to the status of the representative relationship as a power relationship. Unless we buy into the assumption that MPs’ interests are congruent with those of their voters, MPs will know about what citizens want if they communicate with them. A multitude of input channels exist by which citizens can voice their demands. Some of them are rather informal, such as constituency visits by the MPs to study the situation on the ground. Other mechanisms are formalized and secure a certain degree of input into policy-making, such as petition systems. The legal framework for such activities is the basis for citizens’ input; however, channels may be put to different use, depending on the overall societal and political context. For example, an easy-to-access parliamentary website is utilized differently in countries with high internet coverage than it is in a country where internet coverage is low. It is expected that MPs who are more visible to citizens get approached considerably more often by constituents. Also, whether MPs can be reached directly (e.g. via social media or during visits to the regions) or prefer indirect forms of contact (via the media) is an important component of the overall representation style pursued. Legislatures also set up communication channels for outreach to citizens, by which they inform about the rationale of the parliament, provide transparency with regard to the work and justify actions undertaken (or not) (Leston-Bandeira 2012a).

Parliamentary representation 45 Is responsiveness required? Knowing about the wishes of the citizenry, representatives can choose to react in different ways to the demands voiced by constituents. The debate on whether – and if so, how closely – MPs have to adhere to the voters’ wishes is decades old (the famous trustee vs. delegate controversy).12 Burke, the eighteenth-century Irish statesman and long-serving member of the House of Commons, for example, stresses the status of the representative as expert who has more information than the average constituent and can therefore be trusted to make decisions that are superior to that of his voters (Burke 1774). According to this view, the representatives are free to decide what the appropriate response to demands by citizens should be and can act independently within their mandate (the often-cited “trustee” model of representation). Sometimes, the representatives act counter to the wishes of the public because they believe citizens to be ill-informed and expect a change of preference (Stokes 1998).13 Some scholars equate responsiveness with adherence to the preferences communicated by the public (Malesky/Schuler 2010: 486). However, preferences communicated to the MPs often reflect the particular interest of a group, whereas the definition by Pitkin refers to a common good (Loewenberg 2011: 35). This leads to a paradox: As long as public demands are not congruent to the best interest of the people, responsiveness may sometimes require inaction or even action counter to popular demands (Pollak et al. 2009: 17). Reactivity, therefore, should not be mistaken for responsiveness (Eulau/Karps 1977: 249). Other definitions of responsiveness do not require that action follow but merely that the representative be open to societal demands and inputs (Schmidt 2004: 617). In the words of Loewenberg and Kim, it is “the propensity to consider and answer the demands of constituents” that is the element of the relationship under scrutiny, not the actual reaction to them (Loewenberg/Kim 1978: 29). Lambach and Göbel, notably, argue that it may be sufficient for an authoritarian regime to appear to be responsive in order to stabilize itself (Lambach/Göbel 2010: 89; emphasis added). Their concept expands the boundaries of concepts of representation, inasmuch as they conceptualize responsiveness in terms of a power relationship (which has been recognized by Pitkin in her work on symbolic representation; Pitkin 1967: 108). According to Lambach and Göbel, responsiveness refers to the inclination of the regime to use its infrastructural and discursive resources, as opposed to repressive means (Lambach/Göbel 2010: 79), and authoritarian responsiveness is defined as a strategy that connects the creation of a set of institutions linking the regime with society and the influencing of political discourses (Lambach/Göbel 2010: 88). Responsiveness in an authoritarian regime thus implies that the regime listens to citizens’ needs, in addition to communicating to them the rationale of decisions (Lambach/ Göbel 2010: 83). With regard to the role of citizens’ interests, Lambach and Göbel go further than established concepts and argue that in addition to receiving input by listening to citizens’ preferences, the regime can actively shape these preferences.14 Interests and preferences of citizens are therefore not just demands put to the representatives but also the result of the relationship. However, as Mezey

46 Parliamentary representation points out, voters’ preferences are regularly manipulated in all kinds of regimes, including democracies (Mezey 2008: 41–42); it is therefore debatable whether this can count as a unique feature of authoritarian regimes. Nevertheless, it may be beneficial to keep the inherent power relationship in mind whenever the instrumental character of responsiveness for regime stability is under scrutiny. Finally, MPs can be responsive with regard to several objects. Eulau and Karps distinguish between policy responsiveness and service responsiveness, as well as allocation responsiveness and symbolic responsiveness (Eulau/Karps 1977: 242–247). The different types of responsiveness prevail in different contexts. Being responsive in some regards does not necessarily lead to responsiveness in other areas (Eulau/ Karps 1977: 247). For example, an MP who always answers calls to attend rallies organized by teachers and schoolchildren of a music school may not also be willing or able to pursue a higher contribution from the educational budget for musical education.

Activities undertaken by the MPs on behalf of their constituency The most visible part of parliamentary representation is when MPs act on behalf of their constituents. The overwhelming majority of empirical studies of parliamentary representation focus on law-making or even the introduction of bills. Substantive representation, in fact, is most commonly conceptualized in terms of policy responsiveness (Schwindt-Bayer/Mishler 2005: 409). Policy-making power is even commonly used as a basis for the classification of legislatures (Mezey 1979). I argue that this narrow understanding of substantive representation in terms of legislative activities is problematic for several reasons. First, it does not capture the empirical breadth of the concept. MPs perform a multitude of actions on behalf of their citizens, with representation equally taking place outside the legislative arena (Celis et al. 2008). Often, the most visible action by representatives on behalf of their voters is constituency service, not law-making. Across the world, MPs claim that maintaining constituency-related activities is an important task: In a cross-national survey the Inter-Parliamentary Union (IPU) finds that delegates in all surveyed countries attribute an increasing amount of time to this group of activities (IPU/UNDP 2012: 59). In line with this finding, one third of the citizens responded that they saw “solving constituents’ problems” as the most important task of representatives (IPU/UNDP 2012: 21). The legislative activity of most parliaments is overrated both in the literature and in the public perception: “policy-making and law-making functions of legislatures are almost universally less important than constitutional doctrine or popular opinion would suggest” (Hopkins 1975: 213). It is true that most legislatures in autocracies will display little independent policy-making activity, when measured by comparing the introduction of bills (Franceschet/Piscopo 2008: 399). However, they may still contribute to the policy-making process by influencing the governments’ legislative projects. Saiegh shows that legislatures that have a limited capacity to contribute constructively to policy-making can still be important

Parliamentary representation 47 players by their power to constrict or veto the executive (Saiegh 2010: 48). Finally, legislative activity of parliaments may in fact not be related to the representation of citizens’ interest but rather the result of competition between different factions within the executive (Noble online first 2018). For all of the aforementioned reasons, I propose to take a wider view on how to measure MPs’ activities when trying to assess how and to what degree a parliament is representative in substantive terms. I will propose an analytical grid that helps to put the legislative activities into perspective by looking at all activities of MPs that are targeted towards their constituents. It also allows us to explore how the amount of activity in one area is connected to the amount of activity in another. MPs’ substantive representation takes a multitude of shapes, and I will categorize the observable actions based on whether MPs provide large-scale or smallscale solutions, based on Kim et al., who distinguish between individual services and services to communities (Kim et al. 1984: 154–155). Additionally, I differentiate by the type of activity (political, agenda-setting and material) for which I developed the categories based on Eulau and Karps (1977) and Franceschet and Piscopo (2008). According to them, substantive representation has two aspects: a procedural one – the actual “acting for”, which is the observable activity – and the representational outcome (Franceschet/Piscopo 2008). For example, an MP may voice a certain topic – pensions for female salespersons at the market – at the plenary and lobby for a legislative project. At the end of a lengthy process, a law for the inclusion of salespeople in the state pension system may or may not be the outcome. Both aspects are included within the concept of substantive representation, but the outcome depends on different determinants. The lack of material resources could prevent the establishment of such a pension scheme. This draws attention to the question whether substantive representation needs to be effective – effectiveness should matter less if we believe that responsiveness implies that MPs be merely inclined to listen to citizens’ demands and more when we believe that ultimately, MPs have to deliver (Pollak et al. 2009: 17). It must be noted that not all of MPs’ activities targeted towards the voters have the purpose of providing services, as MPs also “air and represent” government policies to the public (Styskal 1975: 254). This “top-heavy” kind of representation is typical for new legislatures, and in countries in which intermediaries, particularly

Table 2.5 Constituency-related activities of MPs by type and scale Political activity

Agenda-setting

Material contributions

Large-scale

Policy-making

Parliamentary questions

Small-scale

Casework Grievance-chasing

Attention-seeking, liaising, showing presence

Pork-barrelling Earmarking Financial aid to communities Financial aid to individual citizens

48

Parliamentary representation

parties, are under-developed (Styskal 1975: 254). In such systems, “representation from below” is characterized by “personalistic rather than functionally specific, group-oriented interactions” (Styskal 1975: 253; see also Kornberg and Musolf 1970). Although they are only indirectly targeted towards the citizens and not included within the activity profile, I will report such activities under the label of dissemination as they provide important context knowledge about MPs’ activities. Political activity Passing laws is the activity most typically associated with parliaments, which for a reason are called a variation of “legislature” in many linguistic traditions (on the terminology see Kreppel 2014). Substantive representation, therefore, encompasses policy-making that benefits the interest of the represented constituency (Schwindt-Bayer/Mishler 2005: 409). Law-making has the purpose of providing large-scale and generalizable solutions to problems. Parliaments do not only initiate legislation but in some countries more often amend bills and in this constrict or veto the executive (Saiegh 2010: 48). On a smaller scale, MPs pursue matters that benefit only individuals and small groups. In this context, “casework” or “grievance-chasing” refers to citizens contacting their MPs when they feel “discriminated against by any public body” (Norton 2002b: 22). The MP assumes the role of a “powerful friend” who investigates the matter (Norton 2002b: 22). Grievance-chasing occurs when MPs forward a case to another government body, which has the remit to alleviate the grievance. Such activities usually lead to small-scale solutions (Norris 1997: 37). Grievances may be formulated collectively, in the form of petitions (Norton 2002b: 30–31). The larger the affected group, the more likely that collective solutions via legislation are pursued. Casework may be used as form of oversight over government (Johannes 1979). Agenda-setting Agenda-setting refers to activities that are symbolic and do not involve any delivery of goods and services but that nevertheless have the purpose of problemsolving. MPs draw attention to problems, e.g. by inviting the media to a location (attention-seeking). The purpose of such activities can be to shame other actors into providing solutions. MPs also meet with citizens to show solidarity and interest (liaising and showing presence). Such activities can be small-scale or largescale, depending on the target group. If problems concern a larger population, they may become the content of parliamentary questions.15 Parliamentary questions draw attention to issues by raising them on the floor. By eliciting an answer by the government and its agencies, they serve as an instrument of parliamentary control over the executive. The average number of parliamentary questions also has been used as measure for opposition criticism in post-Socialist countries, revealing the competition within the regime (Grzymała-Busse 2007). A potential weakness of this measure is that it may fail to capture differences between MPs’ activities caused by the legislatures’ size (Pop-Eleches 2008: 1034).

Parliamentary representation 49 Agenda-setting has been noted to serve as a strategy of MPs to get results where they are being denied large-scale (e.g. legislative) influence. Lobbying civil servants has been noted as another strategy of MPs who are being “denied significant participation in the process of general resource allocation” and therefore “turn their attention to the specific question of how many hospitals or schools are to be built, where and when” (Kim et al. 1984: 12). We should, therefore, expect a heavier emphasis of MPs on small-scale agenda-setting activities in cases where the legislature lacks influence over large-scale resource allocation (i.e. pork-barrelling). Some activities that at first glance look similar to agenda-setting are excluded from the study of substantive representation. They are actions that are mainly directed at creating a shared identity and fostering a feeling of belonging. This would full under the category of “symbolic representation”, which is outside the scope of this study, as it is not concerned with the representative relationship (also refer to the introductory section of this chapter). On the other hand, an MP who invites the media to an under-funded hospital and addresses its lack of resources for finishing construction, which then shames the government into providing the funding, is substantive representation. Even if MPs may revert to this kind of “symbolic” activity because they lack resources required for problem-solving, the goal is still to act upon a real-life problem and not merely evoke a feeling. This example illustrates the cut-off point between symbolic and substantive representation. It also shows that MPs have strategies to overcome deficiencies in their financial resources by using other means – here, their strategy relies on access to the media and leads to the same outcome as access to own financial resources would have. Material contributions Other constituency-related activities go by a number of labels, including constituency-service, which addresses “nonpolicy grievances” or “nonpolicy interests” of citizens (Crisp/Simoneau 2018: 345). They also include the delivery of particularized benefits in the form of “private and club goods benefiting an individual or a relatively small group within the district” (Crisp/Simoneau 2018: 345) or in the form of resources allocated to pet projects in the form of local, public goods (Golden/Min 2013: 77). All of the previously mentioned forms of particularized benefits are referred to as “pork barrel” goods. Resource allocation to districts and pet projects is undertaken via budget amendments (Samuels 2002), by earmarking other legislative projects or, in developing countries, via community development funds (Baskin/Mezey 2014: 1). Additionally, MPs offer out-of-pocket payments to individuals (IPU/UNDP 2012: 6). The typical activities of MPs combined will contribute to a specific “activity profile” of the legislature. Determinants of substantive representation What affects how much time MPs will devote to constituency-related activities and which among the activities they focus on? The answer to this is complex, as a multitude of interrelated factors inform the specific shape the representative activities

50 Parliamentary representation will take, “pushing” for or “pulling” against an intensive constituency orientation of MPs (Heitshusen/Young/Wood 2005: 37). Based on the literature, I expect that MPs choose their individual constituency-related actions, but in their choices, they are influenced by the context in which they operate, which can be summed up under the labels “policy framework”, “resources” and “individual characteristics”. The tasks that parliaments and their members have to perform and that are formally codified differ. Some parliaments have more tasks than others, depending on the status of the legislature within the political system (compared to the executive). Closely linked to the legally required tasks parliaments have to fulfil is the question whether they have the resources – political and material – to perform them. Individual MPs focus on constituency service for different reasons, for example, if it aligns with their career goals, social background or the demands from their constituents (Norris 1997: 30–34; Malesky/Schuler 2010; Patzelt 1997), their role orientation and constituency definition (Clarke 1978; Fenno 1977). MPs may simply find constituency service to be a rewarding and gratifying activity (Norris 1997: 32). The majority of MPs are party members. Therefore, on the meso-level, MPs’ party and faction membership (Patzelt 1997; Taylor 1992) mediate the relationship with the constituents, due to the “dual accountability” to voters and party (Mezey 2008: 138). Parties are a crosscutting factor, which will be considered in connection to the three determinants. Policy framework MPs’ activities are structured by the legal framework they operate in. Among the many determinants of representational activities operating on different levels, institutional structures matter most: With regard to individual delegate’s actions, there is less variance within parliaments than between them (Loewenberg/Kim 1978: 27). This confirms that although MPs choose their own activities, the institutional context they operate in provides the framework for action, and the effects on party-level and effects of personal characteristics are secondary. The first component of the policy framework is the electoral system, which has been identified as the most influential determinant of how much time MPs spend on constituency service (Bowler/Farrell 1993).16 Not only do electoral rules affect who is elected into the legislature (see section on formalistic representation), there is also a feedback on whom MPs treat as their constituency (see section on constituency) and the extent and priorities of their constituency-related activities does so differently by electoral formula (Carey/Shugart 1995: 430). Electoral systems’ effects on legislators’ behaviour are not purely mechanical. Instead, they affect accountability and competitiveness of elections, which then affects MPs’ calculations about adequate activities to secure their re-selection and election (André/ Depauw/Deschouwer 2014: 232). It is possible to distinguish between two dimensions of electoral rules’ effects; first, whether activities target a specific (often geographically delineated) constituency or the nation as a whole and second, if the MPs’ actions are personalized or if they act primarily as faces of their party. In practice, these dimensions are often conflated, as a personalized representation style is usually associated with a

Parliamentary representation 51 narrower geographical focus. The size of the electoral district affects both the level of constituency service and the target constituency (IPU/UNDP 2012: 59; Lancaster 1986: 79). What effects how the constituency is delineated has been discussed in the section on the constituency. Now, I turn to the question how the electoral system affects the type and volume of constituency-related activities pursued by MPs. In general, more pork-barrel politics (one particular kind of constituency-service activity) can be found among MPs elected in smaller districts (Lancaster 1986: 79). The lowest level of constituency service is expected in cases where delegates are elected according to national party lists (IPU/UNDP 2012: 59). The size of electoral districts affects activities related to personal vote-seeking (which stands for intensive, local-level activities) differently according to electoral formula. In majoritarian systems, the benefit for candidates to cultivate their personal constituency decreases with the size of the district (district size here referring to the number of seats that are up for grabs in each district). In proportional systems, MPs obtain seats in the legislature primarily through the electoral success of their party and enhance their prospects for re-elections by putting a human “‘face’ on the party”, which then may contribute to the party winning more seats (Shugart 2005: 46). This means that doing more constituency service will not enhance their re-election prospects as much as it does in majoritarian settings, which means that their marginal benefit from additional activities is also smaller. Moreover, the incentive to do additional constituency-related activities is weakest in closed party lists, while in open party lists, MPs personally benefit from additional activities in the form of higher re-election prospects (Carey/Shugart 1995: 430). In a reverse of this argument, Shugart, Valdini and Suominen (2005) find that the probability that MPs will exhibit certain attributes that are associated with personal vote earning (origin of home district, prior experience in sub-national legislature) is affected by district size: It decreases with size in closed-list proportional electoral systems but rises with size in systems that open-list proportional representation. Constituency orientation is not only explained by electoral system effects but also by the amount of competition individual MPs face within their parties. The inter-party competition that MPs face can explain individual levels of constituency-related activities (André/Depauw/Deschouwer 2014). However, these mechanical effects of the electoral system on the constituency focus can also be expected to be weaker when the electoral connection is somehow compromised. Other legal norms target more specific outlets for MPs to get in touch with their voters. Among these are, for example, requirements for processing written and electronic communication and designated minimal time periods for travel in the regions. The diversity of such norms makes it impossible to draw up a general list. However, relevant legislation should be rather easy to identify during interviews with MPs. Resources Resources affect how much MPs can do for their constituents. The resources available to MPs for representative activities are finite (Norton 2002a), forcing MPs to make decisions about which activity to choose and fund over another

52 Parliamentary representation (Ingall/Crisp 2001: 488). Material resources encompass the infrastructure at the MPs’ disposal for constituency-related activities, including offices in the regions, means of transportation, telephones and money for letters (Leston-Bandeira 2012b; Schnapp 2004: 306) or parliamentary infrastructure dedicated to inviting citizens to the legislature building (IPU/UNDP 2012: 26–27). Questions relating to material resources are: is there a budget line for constituency-related expenses, do MPs have party or faction funds at their disposal or do they even use their own money to provide constituency services? A lack of resources of the parliament, moreover, affects the distribution of tasks between executive and legislative, with the executive taking over tasks if the parliament is insufficiently funded (Schnapp 2004: 293). It is expected that a firm financial and material resource base contributes to more activities by MPs that involve direct contact with the citizens and fosters the development of similar representation styles of MPs. I expect to find that fewer financial and material resources contribute to more diverse activities of MPs who are forced to improvise more. In Western European democracies, material resources affect legislative activity of parliament to a far larger degree than their formal rights do (Schnapp 2004: 309–310). It remains unresolved whether material resources (unlike formal resources) are independent of regime characteristic. The endowment of parliament with sufficient resources for high-levels of activity can depend on the executive’s willingness to fund a potential rival for power but likely more on the size of the national budget. Individual MPs: characteristics and understanding of their mandate MPs are not determined by external factors and have the freedom to choose which actions to undertake and which venues to select for getting in touch with their constituents. How the representatives see themselves, how they define their task and whom they believe themselves to be representing matters for their interaction with their constituency. For example, Loewenberg (referring to an earlier work of Eulau) points out that MPs can regard themselves as representing predominantly the interest of sub-constituencies (Loewenberg 2011: 39). Individual attributes have been found to affect to what degree MPs engage in personal vote-seeking (Cain/Ferejohn/Fiorina 1987). Furthermore, role theory helps us to understand how MPs see themselves. The different roles that MPs can adopt have been researched by Eulau et al. (Eulau et al. 1959), Miller and Stokes (1963) Patzelt (1997) and Searing (1994) A summary of the state of research on MPs’ roles is provided by Andeweg (2014). Roles are partly but not entirely predefined by the institutional structure: they cannot be attributed immediately to an MP’s individual personality or character. Rather, roles of representatives should be viewed as a given framework an MP enters into, acts within and adapts to if he or she wants to succeed in politics. (Patzelt 1997: 61)

Parliamentary representation 53 MPs’ understanding of their mandate is influenced by their individual characteristics (the “descriptive-substantive link” – for women see Wängnerud (2009)), the resources at the MPs’ disposal and their position within the legislature.17 Additionally, roles are shaped by the history of contact, of activities MPs have performed in the past and that have shaped expectations and notions of what MPs should be doing (Norton 2002c: 181). An abrupt change of political system does not necessarily change people’s expectation (or MPs’ image) of what representatives should do; however, traditions may be changed by regime level changes, such as political transformation (Leston-Bandeira 2012b: 271). Therefore, I expect to find a remainder of practices associated with the previous legal framework. Party Where MPs are party members, their party membership mediates the relationship to the constituents (Taylor 1992). The parties’ institutionalization and organizational capacity are expected to affect MPs’ constituency-related activities.18 It is expected that MPs belonging to well-institutionalized parties can benefit from more support of the party organization in their constituency service than their counterparts in weakly institutionalized parties. On the other hand, departing from the requirements of the party can lead to sanctions. The risk for this is considerably lower where parties’ weak infrastructure does not permit a high level of control over MPs’ activities. Therefore, I expect the MPs in the competitive authoritarian regimes to have considerably more freedom to decide how to fulfil their tasks, which should lead to more heterogeneous practices compared to the more authoritarian ones. Party membership shapes MPs’ identities. Usually, MPs’ role orientations (and subsequent actions) are expected to be shaped to a large degree by the party they are members of (Gauja 2012). However, the effect of identity on constituency service should play little role where programmatic parties are absent. Most likely to be present is an effect of MPs’ identity as member of the majority or the opposition. Party systems also affect candidate selection, which as “primary of all political goals”19 of MPs influences their behaviour in other areas (Hazan 2014: 213). For example, the party affiliation of MPs moderates how reserved seats for minorities translate into substantive representation (Zuber 2015). Kerevel (2015) shows that term-limited MPs in Mexico still pursue activities associated with pork barrelling, in spite of the absence of re-election goals as means to further their careers outside the legislature. It is possible to formulate some expectation how the (combined) effect of these determinants of substantive representation may differ by regime type. The extent of MPs’ activities will, most basically, depend on whether they have the formal powers to undertake them and the resources to back them up. The formally codified tasks that parliaments and their members have to perform differ in type and extent, depending on the status of the legislature within the political system. Most simply, the question is how much power and influence MPs have for actually solving their constituency’s problems. If they lack formal power,

54 Parliamentary representation Table 2.6 Determinants of substantive representation Determinant

Indicator

Institutional context Electoral rules Party system Policy framework Tasks and obligations

See section on formalistic representation

Resources Political power

Material resources

Individual characteristics and understanding of the mandate History of contact Parties

Rules and regulations for contact with citizens • Travel to regions • Handling of communication • Access to parliament for groups and individuals Formal distribution of tasks between executive and legislative • Right of legislative initiative • Possibilities for holding government to account (parliamentary questions, handling of forwarded letters, inquiry committees) Budget for constituency service and travel Staff numbers (capital/constituency) Resources/channels for communication • The media • Social media • Parliamentary website • Input channels for citizens (phone, letter, hearings, petition system, visits) See section on descriptive representation Leadership position Constituency definition Reason for standing for election, motivation Previous rules and practices Informal ties Informal distribution of tasks within faction Cohesion, institutionalization, strength, party infrastructure

they may resort to creative strategies to overcome the lack of resources, for example, lobbying civil servants (Kim et al. 1984: 12). The effects of political power on constituency-related activities can be indirect, with MPs of legislatures that have little legislative influence devoting more time to constituency service as their only meaningful sphere of activity (Kim et al. 1984). In line with this reasoning, I expect to find a direct positive effect of formal political power on policy-making and more emphasis on agenda-setting where the legislature lacks such power. Closely linked to the legally required tasks parliaments have to fulfil is the question whether they have the resources to perform them. We already know that legislatures with greater capabilities play more constructive roles in the policy-making process (Saiegh 2010: 49) and that a lack of resources of the parliament contributes to the executive taking over tasks (Schnapp 2004: 293).

Parliamentary representation 55 Hence, I expect to find that formal legislative powers only lead to involvement in the legislative process of MPs when they are sufficiently supported by staff with legislative expertise. Moreover, the strength and institutionalization of parties is expected to affect which resources MPs have at their disposal and how autonomous or constrained they are in performing their tasks. I also expect to find a more indirect effect of party institutionalization, namely regarding who is in charge of the resources MPs have at their disposal to pursue constituency-related activities. I expect to find more small-scale activity where MPs have resources (both financial and staff) at their own disposal, while I expect more large-scale, co-ordinated activities where resources are overseen by the party or faction. The regime characteristics, moreover, are expected to affect how MPs perceive their image of themselves, how they believe they should perform their representational role. Finally, there is evidence that recruitment patterns pursued (mostly by the parties) in authoritarian settings contribute to a certain mindset among MPs and affect their activities. When MPs are recruited out of the administration, even if they do not pursue re-election, their future career will likely take place within the state structures (Bader 2011: 194). This pattern of recruitment is to be found in such authoritarian regimes where the lines between state and party become blurred. I expect MPs under such circumstances are more likely to stick to the officially sanctioned channels of interaction with citizens, which should be visible in the activities they pursue. Chapter summary This chapter prepares the ground for a theoretically informed mapping of parliamentary representation in autocracies by individual representation components within their wider political and institutional context. It outlines how the specific regime characteristics that limit the competitiveness of elections and weaken the link between representatives and represented are expected to affect all the other three components of representation: how people become candidates and are elected MPs, which candidates are elected and how they subsequently fulfil their tasks by acting on behalf of their constituency, as well as which group they regard as their constituency. These different kinds of representation are expected to be affected by the specific characteristics that distinguish competitive from non-competitive autocracies. How precisely this takes place will be explored in the empirical chapters (Chapters 3–6). Guiding questions will also concern how the representation aspects affect one another: Do deficits in formalistic representation manifest themselves in specific patterns of minimal descriptive and substantive representation? Or do the regime and individual MPs find mechanisms to compensate for the weakness of the electoral connection? If yes, what kind of mechanisms and instruments will they use? Do particular institutional safeguards circumvent effects of the limited competitive electoral framework, or do individual MPs counterbalance mechanical effects by consciously focusing more on service delivery? These questions, too, will guide the empirical analysis and shall be examined in greater depth in the subsequent chapters.

56 Parliamentary representation

Data and methods This research project has two goals that require different methodological approaches: first, to map parliamentary representation and second, to explain the forms and practices of representation by the specific regime characteristics. The theory-guided exploratory case study20 was conducted on Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan and their respective parliaments. The focus is on their fifth convocations, when 52 interviews with MPs and other experts on the representative relationship were conducted over the course of two field trips in 2014. A multitude of data sources constitute the empirical basis of the study, including legal documents, databases of MP profiles, interviews, media reports and analytical reports. Each of the data sources is central to providing information on a different aspect of representation; the other sources are used for triangulation. This triangulation of data sources is a strategy that helps overcome shortcomings to specific data sources as well as a strategy to navigate research in authoritarian contexts. In particular, the transparency of research often has to be weighed up against the protection of anonymity of interview partners. Agreeing that “safety must come first”, researchers can compensate for lower transparency in their interview data with a “multi-method, multi-data approach”, supplementing interview material with non-human sources of data, such as legal documents, government statistics, etc. (Shih 2015: 22). This approach advocated by Shih is what this study aims for. Data sources The formal rights and obligations of MPs will be mapped based on legal documents and legal commentaries. In the Kyrgyz Republic, such documents include the Constitution, the Constitutional Law on Presidential and Parliamentary Elections (hereafter referred to as the Electoral Law) and the Rules and Regulations for Parliament (O Reglamenta Zhogorku Kenesha Kyrgyzskoi Respubliki). The Kyrgyz parliament outlined the cornerstones of interaction with voters in 2014, in the “Regulation about the Work of the Jogorku Kenesh of the Kyrgyz Republic with Voters and the Mechanism of their Interactions” (Polozhenie o rabote Zhogorku Kenesha Kyrgyzskoi Respubliki s izbirateliami i mekhanizma ikh vzaimodeistviia, hereafter referred to as the Regulation). In Kazakhstan, the legal texts selected for analysis include the Constitution of Kazakhstan, the Constitutional Law on the Parliament of the Republic of Kazakhstan and the Status of its Deputies (O parlamente Respubliki Kazakhstan i statuse ego deputatov) and the Constitutional Law on Elections in the Republic of Kazakhstan (hereafter referred to as the Electoral Law). Moreover, it includes the Rules and Procedures of the Mazhilis (Reglament Mazhilisa Parlamenta Respublik Kazakhstan) and the Law on Political Parties (O politicheskikh partiiakh). Additionally, monitoring reports of the CSCE, later the OSCE, election monitoring missions (both countries) for parliamentary elections since independence have been consulted, as well as legal reviews from the Council of Europe’s Venice Commission and from the OSCE’s Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights. Legal documents constitute easy-to-access

Parliamentary representation 57 material; they are useful to explore the framework for actions and to answer questions about how representation is supposed to be practiced. However, like other data sources, legal documents have some shortcomings. Their wording may be ambiguous and subject to different interpretation. Document analysis by itself is an insufficient means to study the practice of representation in the countries of this project, as legal documents and their actual application often differ profoundly (Davies 2001: 77–79). In fact, this discrepancy between normative basis and practice is a common feature of authoritarian regimes and was mentioned as a defining characteristic of politics in Kazakhstan by an interview partner (interview KAZ_52). In addition, legal documents cannot usually “represent the actual preferences and attitudes of parliamentarians” in the way that interviews can (Bailer 2014: 168). Moreover, not all practices are regulated by legal documents. Some practices remain formally unregulated and are nevertheless structured by deeply entrenched informal practices (Helmke/Levitsky 2004: 726). Consequently, these sources are complemented by other data sources. Interviews conducted with MPs, employees of the parliament and factions and local experts from NGOs and academia complement the legal documents, as they provide insight into actual practices that go beyond the policy framework, including the rationale, justifications and the role perception of MPs. Finally, statistical material on the composition of parliament is used to answer questions about the descriptive representation. The biographical information on the Kyrgyz Republic is based on an extensive database compiled by researchers of the American University of Central Asia’s Department of International and Comparative Politics (Tiulegenov/Tursunkulova 2015).21 I compiled a similar database on Kazakhstan’s Mazhilis, containing information on MPs from the first to the sixth convocation. Sources for the database included the parliamentary website (parlam.kz), where the names of MPs from all convocations are listed. Moreover, biographical details for MPs from former convocations are based on the Who is who? for Kazakhstan (Ashimbaev 2008), the biographical database labyrinth.ru and web searches. Other descriptive statistics include material on parliamentary activities provided by the parties, the parliamentary statistics services and the Press Services, as well as the Annual Reports compiled by the Speaker of the Jogorku Kenesh (Otchet Toraga). Press releases from the press services of the respective parliament and media reports were used to fill in gaps on MPs’ outreach activities. In general, availability of data on MPs’ activities is limited, and where data is available, it is

Table 2.7 Number of interviews conducted

MPs (current and former) Other parliament/faction/party/administration NGOs, IOs, academics Total

Kazakhstan

Kyrgyz Republic

Total

8 3 9 20

10 11 11 32

18 14 20 52

58

Parliamentary representation

of low quality; for example, activities are reported inconsistently across different reporting periods, the reporting periods change or the categories differ from one reporting period to another. This is the reason so many different document types were used to fill in the gaps. For the interviews, the form of the expert interview was chosen as the appropriate research method for the topic under study (Littig 2008, 2009: 109). The interview data used in this book was collected during two fieldtrips to the Kyrgyz Republic (May–June 2014) and to Kazakhstan (September–October 2014). Fieldwork was conducted by the researcher with occasional help from a local student assistant. Interview partners are all actively involved in regular interaction between parliament and citizens on a professional basis. Among them are current and former Members of the Parliaments, their secretaries, consultants and staff employed in the faction secretariats. Moreover, interview partners include experts from local NGOs and international organizations that work on projects improving the relationship between parliament and citizens on parliamentary transparency, voter education and parliamentary capacity building. In the interview guide, I combine questions that ask for procedural and factual knowledge with questions about justifications and evaluation as recommended by Bogner and Menz (2009: 46–48). Mixed sampling strategies were applied to identify interview partners, combining snowball sampling with a reputational approach to identify key people involved in drafting policies governing the relationship between parliament and citizens (Bailer 2014: 172). Interviews were conducted using a semi-structured interview guide. Anonymity was guaranteed to all interview partners. Interviews were recorded when the situation permitted. Interviews were mostly conducted in Russian and English, although two interviews were in Kyrgyz. The interview material is preserved in the form of interview protocols and transcripts. It is not possible to provide the full interview transcripts due to considerations of confidentiality.22 An interview methods table as suggested by Bleich and Pekkanen (2015), which includes a full list of interview partners, can be found in the Annex. Transcription of the interviews was done following a simple transcription guide (Dresing/Pehl 2013). Transcription was limited to interview passages that refer to the research topic, whereas passages in which the interviewees depart from the topic were omitted. This is not the “standard procedure” but was chosen as the openness of the questions yielded material that was not relevant to the research question (Meuser/Nagel 2009: 35). The original data, which is collected in the form of interview protocols and transcripts, is analysed using a form of qualitative text analysis that relies partly on pre-conceived notions of the researcher, which act as a “lens” through which material is read (Kuckartz 2014: 19). For this project, the software Atlas.ti was used for coding. The focus for the coding is on “thematic units”, which may be scattered around the interview (Meuser/Nagel 2009: 35). The purpose of the coding is sorting, in order to facilitate retrieval of thematically similar units and thus is a form of “thematic coding” (Kuckartz 2010: 84). The categories of the coding scheme are derived both inductively and deductively (Box 2.1). Altogether, 105 different codes were assigned, with a grand total of 1,295 codes being assigned overall.

Parliamentary representation 59 Table 2.8 Overview of data sources Representation component

Question

Categories

Formalistic representation

How do people become MPs?

Legal documents Formal rules, past and present, for election and candidate selection

Descriptive representation

Who gets a seat?

Electoral competition

OSCE Election Monitoring Reports

Informal/ undocumented practices regarding candidate selection

Interviews

Which groups are represented

Population statistics, datasets on MPs, parliamentary websites Legal documents

Legislation affecting DR Which groups are not represented? Constituency; FR, Who do MPs represent? DR, SR

Substantive representation

Interviews with NGOs, secondary sources

Formal constituency, infrastructure

Legal documents

Constituency visits

Records about existence of MPs’ offices, travel, interviews

Contacted by

Records of letters, interviews with MPs, parties, staff members

Which activities are Activities undertaken on behalf of the represented?

Why?

Data sources

Motivation/ Role How do MPs justify SR activities? Resources (political) Resources (material)

Legal documents, reports on activities (parties and parliament) Interviews with MPs, staff, NGOs and others Interviews with MPs Legal documents, interviews with MPs Legal documents, interviews with MPs, staff, NGOs

60 Parliamentary representation

Box 2.1

Main categories of the coding scheme

A: Codes for the whole document 1 Country 2 Interviewee B: Representative practices 3 Outreach 4 Engaging citizens 5 Constituency service and delivery 6 Work in the regions 7 Topics addressed by voters 8 Change of relationship over time C: Factors influencing the representative practice 9 Resources 10 Individual socio-demographical characteristics 11 Beliefs and motivation 12 Constituency 13 Legal framework for MP-citizen interactions 14 Actors influencing the representative behaviour

Notes 1 2 3 4

5 6 7 8

9 10 11

Understood in the sense of person or persons, rather than political party. The term “views” and “components” shall be used interchangeably henceforth. The application to the US congress by Arnold (1990) is based on this assumption. An institutionalized party system has to meet four conditions, which are: a stability of rules regulating them, stable roots in society, main political actors accept the legitimacy of the electoral system and parties, and party discipline and loyalty of members to the party (Mainwaring/Scully 1995b: 5, 16). For a discussion of different measures of party-system institutionalization, see Gwiazda (2009), and for a study on party institutionalization and party discipline in the post-Soviet legislatures refer to Thames (2007). This is used e.g. in the in the Bertelsmann Transformation Index (Indicator 5.1). For a discussion and a summary of the factors affecting electoral system change, see Shugart (2005) and Benoit (2007: 371–372). For an overview of research on legislative party switching, see O’Brien and Shomer (2013). Also refer to the abundant literature on authoritarian elections: Morgenbesser (2017), Gandhi and Lust-Okar (2009), Birch (2011), Donno (2013), Hermet, Rose and Rouquié (1978), Koehler (2008), Levitsky and Way (2002), Lust-Okar (2006), Magaloni (2008) and Schedler (2006). This concept is not to be confused with the “symbolic representation” as described by Pitkin, which describes a relationship based on feelings and attitudes the represented have towards their representatives (Pitkin 1967: 97). For the debate on intersectionality, see Hughes (2011). Pitkin does not provide a definition of responsiveness in her work; this is provided by Eulau and Karps (1977), who explicitly refer to her concept.

Parliamentary representation 61 12 In a scholarly debate between Mansbridge (2003, 2011) and Rehfeld (2009), Mansbridge attempts to develop the concepts of selection and gyroscopic representation beyond the Burkean trustee. It is also noteworthy that scholars of the Soviet Union did not believe that either the trustee or delegate model could adequately capture the role perception of deputies of the communist parliaments (Nelson 1980: 169). 13 Stokes (1998) and also Malesky and Schuler (2010) in their argument refer to the government being responsive towards citizen’s demands. However, the same argument can be made for elected representatives who serve as intermediaries between the public and government. 14 Notably, Edwards Schatz develops a distinction of the ruling strategies of different kinds of authoritarian regimes and distinguished by the “elite’s ability to frame political debate, thereby defining the political agenda and channeling political outcomes”, which is at the heart of the ruling strategy of less repressive regimes (Schatz 2009: 203). 15 For an overview of parliamentary oversight tools across the world, see Yamamoto (2007). 16 In a survey of members of the European Parliament (MEPs) from a dozen countries. 17 The MPs’ “position roles” would be determined by the institutional context (Searing 1994). 18 Please refer to Note no. 4. 19 This mirrors Mayhew’s definition of re-election as primary political goal (Mayhew 1974). 20 See Rohlfing for an overview of case studies (Rohlfing 2012). 21 Findings based on an unpublished version used with permission from the authors. According to information from the researchers, the original sources from the archives were destroyed in the events of 2010. 22 For the debate on the consideration of transparency vs. confidentiality when doing research in authoritarian regimes, see Shih (2015).

3

Becoming party candidate and MP in limited competitive elections

How do citizens become candidates of their political parties, contest elections and win mandates? The first empirical chapter revolves around these questions, focusing on formalistic representation – the rules and legal provisions under which representation is established. In addition to the formal electoral framework and candidate selection procedures, other factors that limit the competitiveness of elections are included in the analysis, as they are central to understanding what the representative relationship is based on. If the aim of this book is to explore how parliamentary representation depends on the state and the quality of the “electoral connection”, this chapter serves to establish how, how much and where the connection is compromised in the two kinds of authoritarian regimes.

Kazakhstan Kazakhstan gained its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991 and has since developed into a consolidated authoritarian regime. Kazakhstan has a presidential political system (Kazakh Constitution, Art. 2) in which power is centred on a powerful president. The development of the political system is intertwined with the person of Nursultan Nazarbaev, who served three decades as president, from the country’s first independent elections in 1991 until his resignation in March 2019. The power of the president finds expression in the right to appoint the prime minister and other members of the government (Constitution, Art. 44.3). In 2017, the provision was amended so that the Mazhilis has to be consulted for governmental appointments. The president also has a symbolic function; he shall be, according to the constitution, “the symbol and guarantor of the unity of the people and the state power” (Constitution, Art. 40.2). The presidential term is five years, with re-election being permitted only once (Constitution, Art. 41.1). However, a number of special constitutional provisions apply to the person of Nazarbaev as “First President” (Kazakh Constitution, Art. 42.5), among them an exemption from the presidential term limit. These provisions have further increased the imbalance of power between the executive and the legislative in favour of the executive and in particular in favour of the presidential administration. Hence, Kazakhstan’s political system can be characterized as a “super-presidential” system of government (Kembayev 2013: 23). With the constitutional reform of 2017, the position

Becoming party candidate and MP 63 of the government and Mazhilis was strengthened at the expense of the president. However, whether this re-distribution makes Kazakhstan a “semi-presidential” system, as suggested by the Venice Commission, remains to be seen (European Commission for Democracy through Law 2017). Kassym-Zhomart Tokaev, who succeeded Nazarbaev as president, had enjoyed a close relationship with his predecessor and had previously served as chairman of the Senate (2007–2011; 2013– 2019). According to his official biography at the government website, his long career in the administration included stints as diplomat, minister of foreign affairs (1994–1999; 2002–2007) and prime minister (1999–2002). The constitution, initially adopted in 1993, has been amended several times (1995, 1998, 2007, 2011, 2017). The frequent changes have prevented it from performing a stabilizing function in the country (Gumppenberg 2002: 133). The overall trend of constitutional changes since 1994 has led to an ever-increasing monopolization of power by the president to the disadvantage of the legislature. The resulting “de-parliamentarisation” reached its peak in 2007, when proportional representation was introduced and independent candidates were banned (Schiek 2014: 155–157). The change that has most profoundly affected parliamentary representation has been the change from a mixed-member majoritarian electoral system to one of proportional representation (Isaacs 2008: 382). In light of the presidential dominance over the political process, parliament is perceived as a political actor of lesser importance within the political system and hence has been “overlooked when regarding centres of power” (Bowyer 2008: 4). A constitutional reform that was signed into law in March 2017 redistributed some powers between the institutions in favour of parliament. Since its passage, the constitution explicitly states that government is accountable to the president and parliament (Art. 64.2). Other increases in parliamentary power concern the formation of government (Art. 44.3) and the resignation of the government, which since the reform relinquishes its powers to the parliament (Art. 70.1) (see Pistan 2017). Electoral system Kazakhstan has a bicameral parliament, comprising the senate and the lower house, the Mazhilis. Of the 47 senators, 32 are elected by the regional parliaments (the Maslikhats), and 15 are appointed by the president for a term of six years. The Mazhilis has 107 deputies, 98 of which are directly elected by a closed-party list-based system for a term of five years (Constitution Art. 50.5; Electoral Law 9.2,1–1).1 MPs of the Mazhilis are elected in one single, nation-wide district (Electoral Law 21.3). The fully proportional electoral system is in line with the objective that MPs represent the nation as a whole. A peculiarity of Kazakhstan’s parliament is that nine MPs are elected indirectly via the Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan (Assambleia Naroda Kazakhstana; hereafter referred to as the Assambleia) (Constitution 51.5). The Assambleia, established in 1995, is a consultative body with one annual session and a secretariat as support structure. Its 400 members are appointed by the president from among a “pool of activists” and “cultural workers”

Self-nomination of candidates

Special provisions

67 50% in 1st round (or runoff of between two best candidates)

67

1 Presidential Senate and Mazhilis Bicameral Single-member majoritarian

1995 3

2004

50% in 1st round (or run-off of two best candidates); 7% of votes cast for party lists

77 (ten seats by party list, 67 in single-member districts)

Mixed-member majoritarian

2

1999 5

2012 6

2016

Guaranteed two seats to runner-up

Party-based mandate

1 7% of votes cast

107 (98 via party list, nine indirectly through Assambleia)

Closed-list PR

4

2007

a Candidates on the state list were nominated by the president (Schiek 2014: 156). Nazarbaev favoured the introduction of the state list because he preferred “first and foremost that the new parliament contain a certain number of seats that were not assigned to any specific territory so that several deputies would not consider themselves representatives of and beholden to any particular regional constituency” (Jones Luong 2002: 241) b Senate not included in the table, as the electoral cycle differs. Half of the senate is up for renewal every three years. Senate until 2005: 39 senators (32 elected, seven presidential appointments); since 2007: 47 senators (32 elected, 15 presidential appointments)

Source: own table based on Isaacs (2008), Jones Luong (2002), Kembayev (2013), Ó Beacháin (2005: 742), OSCE (2016), Schiek (2014: 156). Years refer to parliamentary elections, not reforms to the electoral law

137

Supreme Kenges Unicameral 137 single-member majoritarian, 42 “state list”a 177

No. of districts Thresholds

Number of MPs (lower house)b

Convocation Government Name Chambers Electoral system (lower house)

1994

Table 3.1 Kazakhstan: parliaments elected under the following electoral rules

64 Becoming party candidate and MP

Becoming party candidate and MP 65 Seat distribution in the 2012 Mazhilis

Nur Otan

83 8

Ak Zhol 7 9

CPPK Assambleia

Figure 3.1 Seat distribution in the 2012 Mazhilis Source: Based on data from the Central Electoral Commission of Kazakhstan

employed by the numerous ethno-cultural associations that have been operating in Kazakhstan since Soviet times (Buck 2015: 200–201). The nine MPs elected by the Assambleia are not expected to represent specific ethnic minorities but rather the idea of an inclusive “internationalism with an ethnic face” (Schatz 2000: 73). Parties competing for seats in the Mazhilis have to pass a 7% electoral threshold. This relatively high threshold has been criticized by international experts as limiting opposition parties’ ability to win seats (Bowyer 2008: 14). Indeed, in the parliamentary elections of 2007, Nur Otan won all the seats (Central Electoral Commission 2007). Possibly in an attempt to dilute the effects of the threshold, in 2009 a new provision was introduced into the law that guarantees a second party two seats in parliament, in case only one party surpasses the threshold (Electoral Law, 97–1.2). The parliaments elected under the proportional electoral system display a concentration of power with Nur Otan, despite the fact that two more parties secured seats in 2012 and 2016, respectively. In the 2012 parliamentary elections, eight parties participated, three of which secured seats in the Mazhilis. Winning 80.99% of the votes, the presidential party Nur Otan took 83 of the 98 seats in the Mazhilis that are filled by direct elections. Ak Zhol Democratic Party of Kazakhstan took eight seats (with 7.49 % of the votes); the Communist People’s Party of Kazakhstan (CPPK) won seven seats (7.18 % of the votes) (Central Electoral Commission 2012). The seat distribution in the Mazhilis elected in 2016 is similar, with the only difference being that Ak Zhol lost one of its seats to Nur Otan. The seat distribution in the sixth convocation is, hence, 84 seats for Nur Otan, and 7 each for Ak Zhol and the CPPK. Nine seats remain reserved for the Assambleia. Seats in the Mazhilis are awarded to the parties, not the individual MPs. Since the 2007 reforms, independent candidates are no longer permitted to run for office (Electoral Law 87, 2). Nor do electoral coalitions have the right to stand for election (Isaacs 2008: 382). Moreover, delegates who lose their party membership are excluded from the Mazhilis (Constitution 52.5; Isaacs 2008: 382). This limits the opportunity of defections and reinforces the position of the parties and their leadership in the electoral process.

66 Becoming party candidate and MP Party system The party system in Kazakhstan is governed by the Constitution and the Constitutional Law “On Political Parties”. The party system is not structured around the main societal divisions. Party creation on the basis of “professional, racial, national, ethnic and religious affiliation” is prohibited (On Political Parties, Art. 5.8). With only nine parties registered during the legislative period of the fifth convocation and seven in 2016, the number of parties is relatively low (Ministry of Justice). Kazakhstan’s party system is dominated by the presidential party, Nur Otan. Although the Constitution prohibits the formation of party organizations within state bodies (Constitution, Art. 5.1), state power has, de facto, become widely associated with Nur Otan. For example, public reception hours of MPs and members of the administration are held at the party venues of Nur Otan – a fact that may further conflate the roles of party and state in the eyes of the public. Established in 2006 by a merger of the two pro-presidential parties – the Civil Party (Grazhdanskaia Partiia) and Azar (led by Dariga Nazarbaeva) – with the Otan party, Nur Otan has become the predominant political force in Kazakhstan (Bowyer 2008: 13). Nur Otan is a particular type of dominant party that is strongly based on personality politics and focuses on the president as patron (Isaacs/Whitmore 2014). Such parties are characterized by weak links to society and therefore lack the potential to serve as channels of resource distribution, something we could expect, based on dominant parties in other regions (Isaacs/Whitmore 2014: 700). Instead, their main purpose is to facilitate the consolidation of power by serving as “imprimaturs for presidential policy in the legislature”, by minimizing intra-elite conflict and by promoting a leader-centred political discourse (Isaacs/Whitmore 2014: 700). Moreover, Nur Otan can be characterized as the “party of power”, which is defined by its close relationship to the executive (Isaacs 2011: 38). Nur Otan is the only party in the country that has the resources for a presence in every district (Bowyer 2008: 14). In addition to having a majority of seats in the Mazhilis, Nur Otan also dominates the other representative institutions. Several MPs on the ticket of the Assambleia are members of Nur Otan and have served in administrative functions before being elected to the Mazhilis. For example, Assambleia MP of the sixth convocation Roman Kim served as Akim (mayor) from 1999–2000. In addition to some senators being Nur Otan members, the party also dominates on the sub-national level, with Nur Otan members being equally dominant in the regional parliaments and administrations. According to one interview partner, it is becoming increasingly difficult for non-Nur Otan members to win a seat in the regional parliament (Maslikhat) (interview KAZ_51). Both smaller parties that hold seats in the legislature belong to the “soft” opposition that is not fundamentally opposed to the president (Bowyer 2008: 22–26).2 The Communist People’s Party of Kazakhstan, which won seven seats, was established after a split in the Communist Party of Kazakhstan and takes a softer line towards the administration than the latter. Ak Zhol (Bright path) was founded in 2002 by former government members. After the unsuccessful elections in 2004, in

Becoming party candidate and MP 67 which the party won just one seat in parliament, Nagiz Ak Zhol (True Bright Path) split from Ak Zhol (Isaacs 2011: 175). Ak Zhol is said to represent the interests of entrepreneurs. The party splits and the subsequent cooperation of the “softer” new party shows that co-optation is one of several tactics employed by the presidential administration to manage the opposition (Isaacs 2011: 86). Candidate selection Before they stand for election, candidates have to be selected and approved by their respective parties. One Kazakhstani peculiarity was that the candidate lists until 2018 were initially compiled in alphabetical order (Electoral Law, 87.3). Candidates were (and still are) ranked and mandates distributed by the party leadership once the parties found out the number of seats they had been awarded (Electoral Law, 97–1.5). This practice gave the party leadership an opportunity for ex-post candidate selection – allegedly to reward candidates for their role in the electoral campaign. The party lists are usually significantly longer than the total number of seats in the Mazhilis; combined with the alphabetical order, the party lists only offered a limited guide to predicting who among the candidates was likely to win a seat (interview KAZ_33). If seats become vacant during the legislative period, they are given to the next candidate on the list. Even then, parties may change the order of candidates on the party list by submitting a written request to the electoral commission (Electoral Law, 97–1.6). Candidate selection takes place behind closed doors. Nomination procedures and criteria remain opaque – not only for external observers but even for the majority of the candidates. Suggestions for candidates can be made by different bodies, among them the central administration and the provincial and municipal administrations, the akimaty (interview KAZ_39). Political analysts reckon that the party leadership has the last word on candidate selection but seeks agreement with the presidential administration over candidacy decisions (interview KAZ_39). In 2012, media reported that Ak Zhol included a number of famous Kazakhstanis on the party list, among them writers and artists. Not one of them received a seat. When asked about the process for the distribution of seats, party leader Azat Perushaev explained that he alone decided on the distribution of seats (Mamashuly 2016). The selection procedure leads to candidates perceiving their candidacy as being not so much in terms of “standing for elections” but rather “agreeing to be included on the party list” (interview KAZ_46). Indeed, some MPs seem to be rather passive about their candidacy. One interview partner even reports having been taken by surprise by his inclusion in the party list and stated that he was “in shock” when he found out about the decision (interview KAZ_45). That candidate had been a party member, but by his own account had not planned to become an MP, and hence had not actively participated in the electoral campaign (interview KAZ_45). Other MPs gave as reasons for running for elections their previous career in law, personal characteristics and the ambition to move forward legislative projects in their own area of expertise (interviews KAZ_46; KAZ_47; KAZ_43).

68

Becoming party candidate and MP

Is nomination to the party list a reward or a rebuke? Some external observers perceive the candidate nomination in terms of a party-internal power game. They suggest that within Nur Otan, seats are awarded to the losers of internal administration power struggles, who are then sent off to occupy a position perceived as less prestigious than a position in the administration (interview KAZ_37). It is certainly true that re-shuffling between different branches of the executive and the legislative is rather common. Two thirds of MPs from the fifth convocation had previously occupied a position in the administration prior to being elected (see Chapter 4). However, whether rotating into the Mazhilis is indeed synonymous to a demotion cannot be confirmed. In contradiction to this perception, one MP interpreted the inclusion in the party list as sign of faith by the party that cared about its public image (interview KAZ_48). The rationale behind candidate selection may be one explanation for the lack of substance in the interaction between MPs and voters. NGOs describe the meetings between citizens and MPs as sporadic and artificial; they claim that although meetings do take place regularly, citizens lack the tools to follow up on them and hold MPs accountable for their promises (interviews KAZ_35; KAZ_39). They believe the unsatisfactory quality of linkages to be an effect of the damaged electoral connection. First, MPs do not feel any deep obligation to voters because they do not owe their position to them (interview KAZ_39). Second, the candidate selection procedures make it possible for individuals who have no previous experience in public politics to win seats (interview KAZ_48). Hence, such MPs may feel uncomfortable in situations that require spontaneous interaction with citizens, preferring meetings in artificial and staged settings, where they can be safe from critical questions. Provisions affecting electoral competitiveness After the massive criticism Kazakhstan faced for its single-party legislature in the fourth convocation (2007–2012), a 2009 amendment to the Electoral Law guaranteed seats to a second party, even if it did not surpass the electoral threshold (Electoral Law, Art. 97–1). Despite this new guarantee of a multi-party parliament, the burdens on the opposition that affect its ability to contest and win elections are considerable. The timing of elections alone poses a burden on parties with fewer resources and little media presence. The past three elections to the legislature have all been called early (2016, 2012 and 2007). This practice has left parties with little time to prepare their campaigns (OSCE/ODIHR 2007a: 5). In addition, several parties have faced difficulties with registration and clearance from the Central Electoral Commission to contest the election. Parties need 40,000 members, with at least 600 members in every region as a prerequisite to registration, which places a burden on the smaller opposition parties (On Political Parties, Art. 10.6; Isaacs 2011: 99).3 Under the 2002 Law On Political Parties, all political parties were required to seek re-registration with the Ministry of Justice (Isaacs 2011: 98). As the ministry applied the criteria for party registration selectively, the number of parties in the

Becoming party candidate and MP 69 country was initially reduced from 19 to seven (Isaacs 2011: 98–99). According to the Ministry of Justice, which is in charge of party registration, seven parties were legally registered in summer 2016 (Ministry of Justice). As Isaacs convincingly states, this practice of selective application of the legal requirements suggests that the law serves the purpose of managing the emergence of opposition parties (Isaacs 2011: 99). When registered parties want to contest elections, they have to register their candidates and party lists with the Central Electoral Commission (CEC). Several parties have encountered difficulties in the past with registering the party and their candidates with the CEC (although the OSCE admittedly notes some improvement in this area (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 4, 2012: 6)). For example, during the 2012 campaign, the Central Electoral Commission de-registered the entire opposition party Rukhaniyat due to alleged violations of the rules for the nominations to the party list (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 11). Similarly, the registration of individual candidates of the OSDP party was also revoked, although the party itself was not denied the right to stand for elections (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 11). Moreover, the Electoral Law requires parties to pay a deposit when they submit their party list to the CEC, with the amount payable being 15 times the minimum wage per candidate on the list (Electoral Law, Art 88.1). During the 2016 campaign, that was approximately 850 Euros (OSCE/ODIHR 2016: 11). The deposit disproportionately affects opposition parties with a slim chance of success, as parties that received more than 7% in the previous elections are exempt from paying (Electoral Law, Art. 88.2), while the amount of the deposit is reduced for parties that received 3–5% and 5–7% respectively (Electoral Law, Art. 88.3; Art. 88.4). During the 2016 electoral campaign, one opposition party informed the election observation team that it could not nominate more candidates due to the fact that it could not afford the deposit (OSCE/ODIHR 2016: 11). Successful parties are refunded after the elections, whereas the contributions of unsuccessful parties are added to the national budget (Electoral Law, Art. 88.4). Hence, the financial situation of unsuccessful parties becomes even more precarious after an electoral defeat. Finally, looking at Nur Otan’s high share of parliamentary seats, a candidate’s chance of getting a seat depends on them being a member of the party of power. Candidates of the two “loyal” opposition parties have at least some chance of winning a few seats, but other parties know they have a low likelihood of electoral success. Hence, elections in Kazakhstan are only minimally competitive and fall short of even the “real but unfair” competition that, according to Levitsky and Way, would mark the regime out as competitive authoritarian (Levitsky/Way 2010: 5). Factors inhibiting competition are numerous: Laws are crafted in a way that makes their selective application possible, benefitting pro-regime forces and putting the opposition at a disadvantage (Isaacs 2011: 8). The presidential administration attempts to manage the opposition by means of co-optation of opposition parties that take a softer stance towards the regime, offering them the possibility of winning a small number of seats. The combination of creating barriers for the activities of opposition parties and the co-optation of some parties into the regime

70 Becoming party candidate and MP can partly account for the increasing concentration in the party system. As regards the individual candidates, the electoral system and the two-step candidate selection procedures strengthen the intra-party dimension of seat distribution; hence, MPs feel a stronger sense of obligation towards their party than towards their voters and may be reluctant to pursue a representation style that runs counter to the wishes of the party leadership. In sum, formalistic representation in Kazakhstan deviates profoundly from established democratic models; the concentration of power in the hands of one party has permitted it to change the legal framework at will and enables it to maintain control over candidacies, while marginalizing the opposition. These observations in Kazakhstan suggest a twofold effect of formalistic representation on the interaction between MPs and citizens – an effect of candidate selection and of electoral procedures. First, as elections do not determine who gets a seat, prospective MPs are inclined to act for those to whom they owe their election. This would be in line with rationalist expectations. The second mechanism suggests that Nur Otan’s candidate selection strategy leads to people who are not familiar with public politics being elected and hence pursuing a style of representation that does not favour intensive and spontaneous interaction with voters. Checking the biographies of MPs in the following chapter will allow for an inquiry into whether MPs do indeed lack relevant experience.

Kyrgyz Republic The Kyrgyz Republic adopted its constitution in 2010, after the revolutionary overthrow of the government. The post-2010 constitutional order reflects the attempts to overcome the instabilities of the past by removing opportunities for regionally based intra-elite power struggles, balancing out different groups and establishing parliament as the arena for conflict resolution. In 2010, the Kyrgyz Republic switched to a parliamentary-presidential system of government, as the first and only Central Asian country to do so. For a long time, the parliament had a negative image among the Kyrgyz population. This was partly a residual of the “Soviet experience”, which caused a “strong distrust for the state, of the political system and of political parties” among the population (Aydɪngün/Aydɪngün 2014: 407). In addition to the negative experiences from the past, MPs reinforced the unfavourable image, using parliament as a means to protect their private interests (Radnitz 2006: 140). Powerful regional elite actors regularly mobilized people from their home regions, circumventing the weak central state to support their political claims. This phase of “hyper-democracy in the sense of manipulated ‘people power’” had a destabilizing effect on the country (Radnitz 2006: 139). Conflicts were resolved with violence; for example, three MPs were assassinated during the third convocation (Radnitz 2006: 140). Hence, parliament was not seen as the arena for conflict resolution but rather as a tool in the hands of wealthy individuals. Regional cleavages shaped the development of the Kyrgyz electoral system in the early years of independence (Jones Luong 2002: 156–188; Ryabkov 2010). Traditionally, Kyrgyz politics has been characterized by tensions between several

Becoming party candidate and MP 71 powerful actors, none of which managed to consolidate their power. Often, these power struggles resulted in conflict between president and parliament. Parliamentarians, on the one hand, manoeuvred to strengthen their authority, which they derived from regional support. The president, on the other hand, tried to constantly expand his power (Aydɪngün/Aydɪngün 2014: 405). The tensions are reflected in the frequent constitutional changes since independence. The 1993 constitution was amended in 1994, 1996, 1998, 2003, 2007, while the 2010 constitution was amended by referendum in 2016 (Aydɪngün/Aydɪngün 2014: 405; European Commission for Democracy through Law 2016). In light of the power struggles of the past, the current constitutional order has to be seen as the institutionalization of a power-sharing arrangement between the Kyrgyz elites. The 2010 Kyrgyz constitution is designed to balance out different, competing elite groups, preventing any one group from accumulating power (Marat 2011: 326). Marat attributes this regulatory function to lessons learned from the 2005 revolution, where the same key players were present in 2005 who orchestrated the overthrow of Bakiev’s government five years later: “instead of relying on a single individual to manage the state, leaders of the 2010 regime change were convinced that only early corrections in the overall political system would ensure the fair representation of all players” (Marat 2011: 332–333). This stabilizing function has found its expression in the legislation governing elections. Electoral system Permanent change is the only constant in the institutional structure of the Kyrgyz Republic. Since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Kyrgyzstan has experimented with a bicameral and a unicameral parliament, with a majoritarian system and a fully proportional system, with no electoral threshold, with double (regional and national) electoral thresholds of varying percentages. Since 2010, Kyrgyzstan has had a parliamentary-presidential form of government. The 120 members of the parliament are elected in one single, nation-wide district via closed party lists (Constitution, Art. 70.2). Candidate quotas exist for women, minorities, the disabled and young people under the age of 35 (Electoral Seat distribution in the 2010 Jogorku Kenesh Ata Zhurt 26 28

SDPK

25

Ar Namys

23 18

Respublika Ata Meken

Figure 3.2 Seat distribution in the 2010 Jogorku Kenesh Source: Based on data from the Central Electoral Commission of Kazakhstan

Two-round system, 50% in first round

Two-round system, 50% 1st round

105 70/35b (PRA/LA)

105

Candidates did not represent political parties

2

2000

Two-round system (first round singleseat constituency, 50% of registered voters) 5% for parties

105 45/60 (45 MPs in single-member districts; 15 PR) 75

Bicameral People’s Representative Assembly (PRA)a Legislative Assembly (LA) Mixed-member majoritarian

350

350

Majoritarian

Unicameral

1 Presidential

1995

Two-round system, 50% of votes cast in first round

75

75

Unicameral Jogorku Kenesh

3

2005

Quotas for gender, youth and minorities

Double threshold: 5% nationwide and 0.5% of registered voters in each region

1

Closed-list proportional 90

4

2007

2015

1 7% nationwide and 0.7% in each region of votes cast Quotas for gender, young people, minorities, the disabled

1

120 (seats capped at 65 seats/ party)

5 6 Semiparliamentary

2010

a People’s Representative Assembly: upper chamber, occasional sessions to approve the budget, confirm presidential appointees, vote on key laws. Legislative Assembly: lower chamber, permanent legislative body (CSCE 1995: 6) b The electoral law was amended several times between the 1990 and the 1995 elections (January and October 1994) (Grotz/Eschment 2001: 434). This caused some confusion in the literature about the exact number of seats, depending on which version of the constitution the analysis is based on. This table uses the electoral law at the time when the parliamentary elections took place. For the same reason, the 2017 elevation of the nation-wide electoral threshold to 9% is not yet included

Source: own table based on Aydɪngün/Aydɪngün (2014: 407), CSCE (1995), OSCE/ODIHR (2000, 2005, 2007b, 2010, 2015).

Special provisions

Number of districts Thresholds

Electoral system Number of MPs

Convocation Form of government Chambers

1990

Table 3.2 Kyrgyz Republic: parliaments elected under the following electoral rules

72 Becoming party candidate and MP

Becoming party candidate and MP 73 Law, Art. 60.3). A double electoral threshold was introduced in 2007, which required parties to obtain 5% of votes registered (not cast) nationally, as well as 0.5% of votes in each of the seven administrative districts and the two largest cities, Bishkek and Osh. In 2015, the threshold was updated to 7% and 0.7% respectively, this time applying to the share of votes cast (Electoral Law, Art. 64.7). The double electoral threshold is designed to limit the number of parties in the legislature and curb localism by keeping out parties that only have a regional electorate (Weise 2010: 4). At the time of its introduction, the threshold also served as a means of authoritarian hold on power. For example, in the 2007 elections, the opposition party Ata Meken had the second highest share of the votes but fell short of passing the electoral threshold in the southern city of Osh and therefore failed to win any seats (Stern 2007). The party appealed the result, but the ruling was upheld by the district court and later by the Supreme Court as well (OSCE/ ODIHR 2007b: 21). Other provisions within the electoral law limit the maximum number of seats that any one party can hold. In the Kyrgyz Republic, parties can hold a maximum of 65 seats, which is approximately 54% of the total number of seats (Electoral Law, Art 64–3). This provision prevents any one party from accumulating power but has been criticized for its negative effect on the proportionality of the votes. As a result of the seat distribution during the fifth convocation, coalition governments had to consist of at least three parties in order to get the necessary parliamentary majority. However, in spite of the fact that by seat distribution, a coalition of only two parties would be possible during the sixth convocation, governments up until the time of writing of this book were oversized coalitions. Party system The party system in the Kyrgyz Republic is weak, fragmented and not wellinstitutionalized (Bazarbaev/Zhumagulov 2012). For example, regional party leaders often do not know the exact number of party members, while some people may join more than one party (Imanalieva 2015: 3). The number of registered parties is above 200; however, a study conducted in 2015 found the majority of them (147) are inactive “ghost parties” that do not contest elections and refrain from making public statements (Imanalieva 2015: 2). Only 12 parties appear in public regularly and have members in the local councils (Imanalieva 2015: 2). Party leaders of the main parties are often well-known political figures, who have participated in Kyrgyz politics for many years and were involved in the Tulip Revolution of 2005, as well as in the ousting of Bakiev in 2010.4 Huskey and Iskakova state that ideas do not matter in Kyrgyzstan’s political landscape (Huskey/Iskakova 2010: 235). Party programmes are not distinctive, and often, voters are not aware of their content but simply cast their vote for the party leaders (Doolot/Nogojbaeva 2014: 33). The party system is not structured around relevant societal cleavages; however, issues capitalized upon during past electoral campaigns have included geographical, ethnic, religious and economic disparities (Doolot/Nogojbaeva 2014: 9). Another division that was relevant during the 2010 campaign was between the parties that had been included in

74 Becoming party candidate and MP the 2010 interim government (SDPK and Ata Meken) and parties that ran a more anti-incumbent campaign favouring a return to a strong presidency instead of the parliamentary form of government promoted by their rivals (Huskey/Hill 2011: 878). In the elections of 2010, 29 parties competed for seats in the legislature, only five of which made the cut. The party with the most seats in the fifth convocation of the Jogorku Kenesh was Ata Zhurt (fatherland; lit. father’s yurt), which was founded in 2004 and has the most support in the three southern regions. Ata Zhurt is described as nationalist-conservative and has been associated with supporters of former President Bakiev. Respublika, a conservative party, was founded in 2010 by businessman Ormukbek Babanov. The Respublika faction in the Jogorku Kenesh has displayed particularly high levels of instability. In October 2014, Respublika and Ata Zhurt revealed plans for a merger prior to the 2015 parliamentary elections (Kolbaev 2014). The Social Democratic Party of Kyrgyzstan (SDPK) is associated with former President Atambaev; founded in 1993, SDPK has the best infrastructure in the regions and is present in all of the local parliaments (Doolot/ Nogojbaeva 2014: 16). SDPK has been part of every coalition government since 2010. Ar Namys (dignity), another conservative party, was founded in 1999 by Felix Kulov, a leading opposition activist and former prime minister. Ata Meken (fatherland) Socialist Party forms the smallest faction, with 18 seats. Usually characterized as pro-Western and liberal, the party was founded in 1992 by Ormukbek Tekebaev. Ata Meken is well represented in the regions, second only to SDPK (Doolot/Nogojbaeva 2014: 16). The 2015 elections saw fewer parties contest the elections (14), which could be read as consolidation in the party system. Although SDPK boosted its vote share, winning 38 of the seats, it fell far from obtaining the dominant position that some observers had expected. Five other parties won seats in the 2015 elections: Respublika-Ata Zhurt (28), Kyrgyzstan (18), Onuguu-Progress (13), Bir Bol (12), and finally Ata Meken (11). Another party, Butun Kyrgyzstan-Emgek, won 6.14 per cent of the vote but failed to surpass the double threshold (Central Electoral Commission). Traditionally, regional divisions were the most decisive factor structuring political competition in the Kyrgyz Republic, with geography playing “an even more important role than kinship” (Huskey/Iskakova 2010: 251). In the early years of Kyrgyz statehood, “the Kyrgyz parliament was filled with individuals . . . representing specific villages and districts, rather than specific political values and visions” (Juraev 2015: 24). The geographical factor also shaped the 2010 campaign, with SDPK, Ar Namys and Ata Meken having their electoral base in the north and Ata Zhurt predominantly in the south (Huskey/Hill 2011: 878). Juraev confirms that the election results reflect the country’s regional divide (Juraev 2015: 31). However, the north-south divide seems to have played a less important role in the 2015 elections, which optimistic scholars interpreted as “heralding the final making of a national party system” (Fumagalli 2016: 302). Party preferences in the Kyrgyz Republic can be explained by regionalism, ethnicity, personality cults and violence (Huskey/Hill 2013). The significance of personality politics can be seen in the 2010 elections: Huskey and Hill compare the parties’ share of the vote

Becoming party candidate and MP 75 in their leaders’ home district with their share of the vote in surrounding regions and find that the data support the existence of a “native son effect” (Huskey/Hill 2013: 252). Party cohesion is weak in the Kyrgyz Republic (Juraev 2015: 32–33). The weakness of the parties is reflected in low loyalty of MPs to their respective factions.5 Many MPs during the fifth convocation left their factions and joined parliamentary groups (deputatskye gruppy) instead. In the summer of 2014, 13 MPs were no longer members of factions but were independent MPs or members of three deputy groups.6 Defections happened, for example, when a new government coalition was formed and individual MPs refused to support the faction’s decision to join a coalition government. According to the OSCE/ODIHR election observers, a wave of party-switching also took place before the 2015 elections: Only 4 of 20 MPs from Respublika and 5 of 21 from Ata Jurt ran for reelection under the banner of the merged Respublika-Ata Jurt party, while 16 of Respublika’s and 16 of Ata Jurt’s former MPs (70 and 57 per cent, respectively) joined other parties. Ar Namys similarly saw 7 of its 25 former MPs (28 per cent) running on its own list, while 14 of them (56 per cent) ran on other parties’ lists. Three SDPK MPs and three MPs from Ata Meken also left their respective parties to join others in these elections. (OSCE/ODIHR 2015: 5) Defections are so frequent that one analyst claims that the “party-building process takes place after the elections and inside the parliament” (Marat 2015). As some representative activities are coordinated or funded by the factions, party-switching upsets these arrangements. Candidate selection Candidate selection in the Kyrgyz Republic is regulated by the electoral law and includes several quotas to ensure balanced party lists. Parties have to compile a candidate list with 120 names (the number of seats in the Jogorku Kenesh), even though a cap limits the number of seats any party can win to 65 (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 11). Hence, many of the candidates whose names appear on the list have only a marginal chance of winning a seat, and balanced party lists, which fulfil all quota requirements, do not necessarily lead to a balanced parliament. The fulfilment of the requirements is assessed during candidate list registration with the Central Electoral Commission (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 6) The Kyrgyz Republic has quotas in place for women, young people, ethnic minorities and the disabled (Electoral Law, Art. 60–3). The quota of 30% for women is worded as a quota for whichever gender is under-represented and includes a provision for a guaranteed ranking on the list. The parties are also required to have 15% of their candidates from ethnic minorities, 15% of their candidates drawn from young people under the age of 35 and two candidates with disabilities on their party lists, one of them positioned higher than 50 on the list

76

Becoming party candidate and MP

(Electoral Law Art. 60–3), The minority quota, however, does not specify a guaranteed ranking on the list; therefore, in spite of a balanced party list, these candidates have little chance of being elected into parliament (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 17). In 2015, the election monitors also remark that although many minority candidates ranked high on the list, many withdrew after the election, leading to 12% minority representatives in parliament (OSCE/ODIHR 2015: 20). In contrast to the minority quota, the provision for gender is much stronger, as it includes a provision for ranking, which incentivizes parties to base their candidate recruitment much more on gender (interview KG_11). Although no formal regional quotas exist, regional proportionality of party lists is necessary to win elections in the Kyrgyz Republic. The regional threshold, which parties have to pass in every region plus the two largest cities, Bishkek and Osh, was introduced to keep regionally based parties out of parliament (Weise 2010: 4). Moreover, the double threshold was expected to make parties more inclusive, and in the long term, resolve the north-south divide and the ethnic divide, which partially overlaps with the regional one (interview KG_10). In order to appeal to a geographically diverse electorate, parties recruit promising candidates from important, densely populated regions (interview KG_11). For example, Ak Zhol, as the party of former Prime Minister Bakiev, had traditionally been associated with the south; in 2005, Ak Zhol chose to include candidates from the north to appeal more to a northern electorate (interview KG_7). However, one MP recounts that such a recruitment strategy does bring candidates onto the party lists who are new to politics, are not known to the voters and for whom campaigning is a challenge (interview KG_23). Some experts claim that this practice of recruiting by potential to appeal to a specific, geographically clustered electorate, instead of on political merit, has weakened representation (interview KG_2). What it also alters is MPs’ perceptions of who owes whom for winning seats: one MP declared that the party had been very successful in the region she campaigned in and that therefore it was the party that owed her and not vice versa (interview KG_15). The attitude described here is reflected in the strong tendency to switch parties displayed by candidates and MPs, with some individuals being in the comfortable position of being able to shop around for the best offer (Juraev 2015: 29). Campaign success and the ability to win votes are also mentioned as relevant factors for the composition of candidate lists. The candidates themselves perceive their campaign success as a key factor that will win them a position on the list. One interview partner explained that many aspiring candidates are active in the regions well before the commencement of formal campaigning, hoping that this will earn them a position on the party list in the following elections (interview KG_11). Placing locally well-known politicians on the party lists is one strategy that parties pursue. Additionally, parties look for candidates who can contribute financially to the electoral campaign: “in order to be placed high on the list . . . a potential candidate needs to make a substantial contribution to party coffers or be able to deliver votes. The ideal candidate is one who can do both” (Juraev 2015: 29). Good positions on the list are also sold to candidates (Engvall 2014). The practice of

Becoming party candidate and MP 77 selling good positions on the party list for cash originated in the Akaev era, was institutionalized during the Bakiev presidency and has been maintained under the new regime (Engvall 2015: 31). Expected ability to win votes in a region, financial contributions and the fulfilment of quotas are all rationales for candidate list composition. As the actual process of candidate list composition is opaque, candidates and voters cannot tell which rationale will dominate in the end. This opens the door to allegations of corruption and has already led to a number of scandals. For example, in 2010, party officials started to change the party lists after they had been adopted at the party congress (interview KG_15). Even after the 2010 reforms, the party lists changed profoundly after the elections, as many candidates in prime list positions surrendered their seats. The CEC reported that in 2010, 38 people ranked high on the list surrendered their seats after the elections (Juraev 2015: 30). This rearrangement was particularly evident in the case of Respublika, where the candidate ranked 58 was given a seat, in spite of the party having won only 23 seats (Juraev 2015: 30). Similarly, Ata Zhurt gave a seat to the 47th candidate on their party list (Huskey/Hill 2013: 258). This practice continued after the 2015 elections, when 136 individuals on the candidate lists of five of the six parties withdrew their candidacies, among them 70 candidates from Respublika-Ata Jurt, 45 from Kyrgyzstan, 16 from Onuguu-Progress, three from SDPK and two from Ata Meken (OSCE/ ODIHR 2015: 25). One expert has remarked that disproportionately often, it is female candidates who give up their list position after the elections (interview KG_11). This is one explanation for the fact that only 24% of MPs were women at the beginning of the fifth convocation, despite the 30% candidate quota (IPU 2011). Their share was even lower in the subsequent convocation, with only 19% of MPs being women (IPU 2020). The high dropout rate of women MPs is another sign that parties try to adjust the lists after the elections. During the 2015 elections, experts observed the party lists with scepticism, noting that “SDPK and Ata Jurt [had] placed leading personalities toward the bottom of the party lists, signalling confidence in a strong performance or displaying total contempt for democratic procedures, expecting that anyone will, when needed, make space for the notables” (Fumagalli 2016: 301). This practice not only alienates voters but also frustrates prospective candidates, for whom the question of party list composition is “painful” (interview KG_15). Reasons MPs give as their motivation for standing for elections are diverse: interest in specific topics, interest in politics in general and problemsolving (interviews KG_19; KG_22). Several female MPs stated their aim of furthering women’s issues and stated the importance of women taking responsibility (interviews KG_15; KG_20; KG_28). One candidate, who had been in opposition to Bakiev, wanted to seize a window of opportunity to get into a position to abolish the old structures (interview KG_32). The benefits and disadvantages of a fully list-based system have been debated intensively among the political elite. Introduced in order to de-localize politics and strengthen the parties, the downside of the closed-list system is the lack of transparency and lack of merit-based seat allocation; as voters cast their ballot

78 Becoming party candidate and MP for the party lists and not for the individual candidates, the electoral system offers no certainty about who will get elected (interview KG_9). This claim has also been made for the sixth convocation (Egizbaev 2015). The practice of changing candidate lists after the party congress and of candidates high up on the list surrendering their seats further enhances uncertainty, despite the lists being ranked. NGOs claim that often, it is the candidates who paid for their position who get elected, rather than the diligent campaigners (interview KG_11). The monetarization of party lists has been reported as having become more prevalent in the subsequent campaign (Doolotkeldieva/Wolters 2017). However, even making a substantial financial contribution does not always guarantee a good ranking on the list, as shown by the example of a candidate who had contributed to the party and initially received a good position on the list but had been moved down the list by the time it was submitted to the CEC (Juraev 2015: 29). Hence, even MPs themselves agree that the 100% list-based system may not be ideal (interview KG_20). A recent study suggests that the perpetual uncertainty Kyrgyz politicians face from their party leadership regarding their re-election prospects and the increasing monetarization of party lists has left them with incentives to hedge their bets vis-à-vis their parties through vote buying, even in localities where they enjoy genuine authority with voters (Doolotkeldieva/Wolters 2017: 39). Moreover, media and policy-makers alike have recognized the negative effects of a list-based system on campaigning and the party system (Akmat-uulu 2015). It is no surprise, then, that the proposal to change the electoral system to an open-list system re-surfaces periodically.7 Provisions affecting electoral competitiveness Today’s Kyrgyz constitution is a power-sharing arrangement between competing groups of elites; it therefore contains a number of provisions that are conceptualized as safeguards against the accumulation of power by any one actor. On the other hand, measures to curb intensive competition also act as a barrier to power-sharing, hindering a number of regionally based parties from winning seats. Any assessment of how competitive the electoral system is will have to be measured against the dual goal of safeguarding pluralism and curbing hyper-competition. In order to ensure equal opportunities during the electoral campaign, parties are required to pay a registration deposit (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 10). This electoral deposit was raised tenfold to 5.000.000 KGS prior to the 2015 parliamentary elections. The deposit is refunded to parties that receive more than 5% of votes cast. It is noteworthy that the deposit is not frequently discussed in terms of limiting access to parties. Quite the contrary, in the OSCE election observation report, it is mentioned that interlocutors believed it to contribute to party-system consolidation (OSCE/ODIHR 2015: 12). However, it certainly has the potential to further increase the monetarization of Kyrgyzstan’s electoral politics that is discussed by Doolotkeldieva and Wolters (2017) and Engvall (2015). Access to media during electoral campaigns is regulated, and media

Becoming party candidate and MP 79 outlets have to make their prices public (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 14). Some groups are prohibited from actively campaigning, including members of charitable and religious organizations (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 6). The principle that it should not be possible for any one party to accumulate power finds its expression in the cap on seats and guaranteed opposition rights. The mandate cap at 65 seats is designed to prevent dominance by a single party, avoiding a near monopoly on seats as Ak Zhol had in 2007. Additionally, opposition rights in the legislature are guaranteed; above all, the status of the “opposition” is guaranteed by the Constitution (Art. 70.3), and Vice-Speakers are appointed from every party. Members of opposition parties chair two committees, namely the Budget Committee and the Committee on Law and Order (Huskey/Hill 2011: 877). Furthermore, the opposition nominates one third of the members of the Central Electoral Commission (Constitution, Art. 74.4–4). As shown in the section on the electoral framework, the electoral thresholds keep a large number of small parties out of the legislature. All five parties represented in the legislature during the fifth convocation together account for only 36.6% of the votes cast. Most voters, according to the critics, did not vote for any of the parties. This is sometimes used to question the representativeness of the fifth convocation. Another effect of the regional threshold has been the emergence of party alliances and mergers across ideological lines, further hindering the development of programmatic parties. This runs counter to the expectations of policy-makers, who had anticipated a stabilizing and consolidating effect on the party system. The most visible (albeit double-edged) safeguard against dominance by one political actor is the frequent power shifts caused by the short lifespans of coalition governments. During the fifth convocation, every party was part of a government coalition for a time. SDPK has been a member of every government coalition during the fifth and sixth convocations and comes closest to being a “party of power”.8 Nevertheless, in spite of the considerable influence of President Atambaev on the state media, SDPK has not been able to capitalize upon this position and use administrative resources during the 2015 campaign (Freedom House NIT 2016: 4). However, accusations have been made that during the 2017 presidential elections, the outgoing president used administrative resources to bolster the chances of his designated successor (Freedom House NIT 2018). In sum, elections in the Kyrgyz Republic are genuinely competitive. Issues with unequal opportunities are not so much reported between parties but rather between candidates. The weakness of the party system and preferences of voters for locally known candidates put candidates with a local power base and large financial resources at an advantage vis-à-vis their competitors from the same party and the party leadership. As a consequence, well-connected candidates “shop around” for a party that will help them to win them a seat, and weak ideological ties pose no hindrance to party-switching. This practice is detrimental to the development of a stable party system. In spite of the design of the electoral system, politics in the Kyrgyz Republic remains quite personality-based, with individuals being the vehicles of representation, rather than the parties.

80 Becoming party candidate and MP

Notes 1 However early elections seem to be the norm rather than the exception, as the last three parliaments were all prematurely dissolved (OSCE/ODIHR 2016, 2012, 2007a). 2 Classification developed for the Russian party system; see Gel’man (2006). The “soft” or “loyal” opposition can, moreover, be divided between parties which the presidential administration had a role in creating and those parties that it attempts to co-opt (Isaacs 2011: 85). The latter often contain former elite members, who do openly criticize the governments and hence cannot be considered as part of the “loyal” opposition (Isaacs 2011: 85). 3 And even this was already a concession to international critics, who had found the original requirement of 50,000 (700 in each region) in the 2002 Law on Political Parties to be too high (Isaacs 2011: 98–99). 4 Among them were Almazbek Atambaev (Prime Minister 2010–2011, elected President in 2011), Felix Kulov (Prime Minister 2005–2006, leader of the Ar Namys faction) and Ormukbek Tekebaev (Speaker of the Parliament 2005–2006, leader of the Ata Meken faction). 5 For a list of the defections see Juraev (2015: 32–33). 6 The status of the deputy groups was the subject of a legal dispute before the constitutional court during most of the legislative period. In September 2014 the court ruled that the groups within the factions could not have any legal status and prerogatives but also that their regulation by law had no basis (Bakytbaev 2014). 7 See the article by Dinara Oshurakhunova (2019) for a summary and discussion of the most recent reform proposals. 8 President Almazbek Atambaev suspended his membership of the SDPK upon assuming office in 2011 but nevertheless still remained close to the SDPK (Fumagalli 2016: 300).

4

Who are the representatives? Parliament’s composition and group representation

Kazakhstan’s parliamentary website features a “history” section that lists milestones of the legislature’s development. It includes an account of the parliament’s composition that sketches, among other things, how many women, Uzbeks, engineers, individuals with tertiary and multiple degrees and young members are among the elected representatives of each legislative convocation. Although the parliament reports the characteristics of its members in a rather unsystematic way, it is clear from the presentation that the purpose is to showcase the diversity of the legislators. In this chapter, I take a closer and more systematic look at the legislature’s composition. Who are the people who emerge victorious from the elections and take up their seats in parliament? Is the composition of the legislature a mirror of society, or are some groups under- and other groups over-represented among MPs? In order to explore descriptive representation in the Mazhilis and the Jogorku Kenesh, I will map out how many MPs belong to specific groups. Then, in order to find out if the different groups are represented according to their share in society, I will compare the share of MPs belonging to one group to the proportion of that group in society. The categories that structure the analysis in this chapter are those that feature most often in studies of descriptive representation, namely gender, ethnicity, age and profession. In principle, an infinite number of other categories may be selected for comparison where they are relevant for the particular case. Therefore, I will check them against other categories that already are the basis for descriptive representation or that are thought to matter for the functioning of parliament (like turnover, as it influences prospects of new candidates for of winning seats), as well as discuss whether other relevant subdivisions that run though society could serve as its basis. Certain specificities of authoritarian regimes merit a closer look. Descriptive representation, often treated as the least politicized kind of representation, is not a neutral concept. The choice of groups to be included in the assessment of descriptive representation requires a conscious decision about which characteristics merit attention. For example, should women be counted? Should ethnic minorities or youth? The decision to choose which groups should benefit from measures that raise their share in parliament is a political one; hence, the focus should not only be on who is awarded a seat but should also take into consideration the groups that

82

Who are the representatives?

are being denied such measures in spite of numerical under-representation. Here, the preferences of authoritarian governments could reflect their goal to prevent mobilization based on group identity. The aspect of representation that requires a closer look in authoritarian regimes is political diversity. Most scholarship on descriptive representation implicitly assumes that political parties form relatively freely, that the party system develops around relevant societal cleavages and that parties can then compete for voters on an equal basis.1 When these conditions are not met, it is necessary to ask which groups the political parties represent. In the previous chapter, I showed that in Kazakhstan and in the Kyrgyz Republic, political parties are not the “most common vehicle for the representation of opinions” (Young 2000: 135). Neither do party systems in either country represent societal cleavages, albeit for different reasons. Therefore, in addition to social and demographical characteristics, I shall discuss the role of representation by political parties and the significance of including political diversity in an assessment of descriptive representation in limited competitive cases. Descriptive representation may be achieved without a multi-party parliament. We can expect regimes to differ in their capabilities to influence the representation of select groups. In general, it is expected to be easier for governments that control a larger number of parliamentary seats. Their more influence on outcomes is a consequence of less electoral competition; if the incumbent government can be confident about who will win the seats, they can fine-tune a desirable representational outcome at the end of the electoral process and make sure that individuals with certain characteristics get elected. A descriptively representative legislature may be reached by a perfectly democratic, distortion-free election, which perfectly translates voters’ preferences (which are shaped by shared experiences of group members) into seats but may also be the result of authoritarian control over outcomes. Hence, it is necessary to carefully examine the mechanisms of legislative composition.

Kazakhstan: a fine-tuning of representational outcomes Descriptive representation in Kazakhstan is organized in such a way that the representation of different groups is distributed among separate institutions: Territorial units are represented in the senate, the different ethnic groups are represented in the Assambleia Naroda Kazakhstana (Assambleia), and the lower chamber of parliament, the Mazhilis, has a nation-wide mandate. In Kazakhstan, the incumbent powers have a wide degree of discretion over how they achieve their goals for descriptive representation. As I have shown in Chapter 3, the leadership of Nur Otan, together with the presidential administration, has a large influence over which individuals will get a seat in the parliament. Their control over the selection process is particularly relevant during the final stage of the electoral process, after the number of seats has been established by the Central Electoral Commission (CEC). In general, it is easier to predict who will get a seat in proportional electoral systems than in majoritarian ones; in principle, it should

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83

be even easier for outsiders to predict which individuals will win seats when one party wins a large majority, as is the case in Kazakhstan. This predictability is, however, counterbalanced by the practice in Kazakhstan to compile long candidate lists in alphabetical order (the legal basis for this practice was altered in 2018). Who among the candidates in the “pool” wins a seat is named after the election results have been officially announced by the CEC. The large degree of discretion enjoyed by the party leadership, as well as their ability to select the individuals who will get a seat after the actual elections, makes the process predictable only for those in charge of candidate selection. From the perspective of the public, the late naming of the successful candidates is opaque, and likely winners are harder to predict than should usually be the case in list-based electoral systems. As the party that can be sure to win a comfortable majority, Nur Otan has the largest influence over the legislature’s composition. The regime is then, in principle, in a position to provide a balanced legislature with regard to all socio-demographical criteria, if it so desires. Moreover, it is then also in a position to achieve all the representative goals it had spelled out prior to the elections, without the need to revert to institutionalized measures to promote the representation of the different groups, for example, in the form of pre-election candidate quotas. Kazakhstan’s leaders are in the comfortable position to have the means to demand-tailor parliament’s composition to their needs unhampered by formal rules. As a result, policy-makers have chosen to manage descriptive representation informally instead of relying on formal quotas (with the exception of the nine reserved seats for the MPs delegated by the Assambleia). Formal measures are also absent within the parties to ensure proportionality of party lists by region and gender. One interview partner from Nur Otan explained that a discussion to introduce party-level quotas had taken place within the party. However, interview partners from Nur Otan agree that even without quotas, gender balance and regional proportionality are considered by the party leadership when drawing up the party lists, in order to appeal to voters (interviews KAZ_42; KAZ_45). Similar considerations apply to the two smaller parties; regional or gender proportionality has no formal legal basis, but in the case of Ak Zhol, it is taken into consideration as the party list is being compiled (interview KAZ_43). Regional proportionality is not taken into consideration for the candidate list of the CPPK; however, the party’s regional organizations all make recommendations for suitable candidates (interview KAZ_41). For the final decision, expected ability to effectively work in the legislature trumps other considerations (interview KAZ_41). Due to the absence of formal requirements prescribing group representation on any level, the case can serve as illustrative example how this arrangement plays out for different groups regarding their representation in parliament. Political diversity Displaying political diversity is both an important goal of – and a problem for – the Kazakhstani regime. In the 2000s, the incumbents had succeeded in establishing a political system in which opposition parties were marginalized and were facing increasing difficulties in contesting elections. Between 1999 and 2007, each

84 Who are the representatives? legislature had fewer parties than the one before, while the seat share of proregimes parties increased (see Figure 4.1). The culmination of this process led to the election of a legislature in 2007 in which one party – Nur Otan – won all the seats. During that time, Kazakhstan was preparing to chair the OSCE and was under more international scrutiny than usual. Confronted with massive criticism for its single-party legislature (Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty 2007), Kazakhstan put in place a safeguard that would prevent such a situation from emerging in the future. The new electoral law did not ease the burden on opposition parties but guaranteed a second party seats in parliament instead, even in the case where only one party passed the electoral threshold (Electoral Law, Art. 97–1). What makes the remedy particular is that it can be understood in terms of reserved seats for a second political party. According to its logic, political diversity is not to be achieved by making the electoral process more conducive to political pluralism but is, instead, to be achieved by enacting a measure at the final stage of the electoral process that balances out (to a minor degree) the restrictive electoral framework. What this example shows is that political diversity is treated as yet another descriptive category by the regime, equal to representation by gender, ethnicity or age. This phenomenon merits closer attention, as it is precisely the same dominance that makes it easy for Kazakhstan to achieve good outcomes with regard to the representation of societal diversity that results in a parliament in which members of opposition parties are reduced to an ornament. In the 2012 elections, two smaller parties passed the electoral threshold, winning seats without having to resort to the “safeguard”. However, it remains doubtful how politically plural the legislature is when considering the structure of the party system. Both smaller parties, which hold seats in the fifth and sixth convocation of the legislature – the Communist People’s Party of Kazakhstan with seven seats in both convocations and Ak Zhol with eight (2012) and seven seats (2016) – belong to the “loyal” opposition that is not fundamentally opposed to the president (Isaacs 2011).

Seat distribution in Kazakhstan’s parliament: share of pro-presidential parties and others 0

20

40

60

80

100

120

1999 2004 2007 2012 2016 (pro-)Presidential parties

others

Assambleia

Figure 4.1 Seat distribution in Kazakhstan’s parliament: share of pro-presidential parties and others Source: Based on data from the Central Electoral Commission of Kazakhstan

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Table 4.1 Parties represented in parliament (Kazakhstan) (pro-)Presidential parties (seats)

Others (seats) 1999

Otan (24) Civic Party (11) Agrarian Party (3)

Independents (34) Communist Party (3) National Cooperative Party (1) RNPK (1)

2004 Otan (42) Azar (4) Agrarian and Industrial Workers’ (AIST)* Bloc (11) 2007 Nur Otan (98) 2012 Nur Otan (83)

Ak Zhol (1) Democratic Party of Kazakhstan (1) Independents (18)

Assambleia (9) Ak Zhol (8) CPPK (7) Assambleia (9)

2016 Nur Otan (84)

Ak Zhol (7) CPPK (7) Assambleia (9)

Table based on OSCE election observation reports * AIST bloc comprised of Civic party and Agrarian party, later both became part of Nur Otan

Gender Kazakhstan has a gender strategy that states that the proportion of women in the legislature should be 30% (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 6). However, despite this declared goal, no specific measures to promote women’s representation have been put in place. In the 2016 Mazhilis, the share of women MPs was 27%, a significant increase from the 24% in 2016 and the 16% it was in 2007. There are differences among the parties, with Ak Zhol having the highest share of female MPs: three out of Ak Zhol MPs of both the 2012 and 2016 convocation are female (2012; 37.5%; 2016: 42.8%). Of the three factions in parliament, one was led by a woman for a brief period during the fifth convocation: Dariga Nazarbaeva, the oldest daughter of President Nazarbaev, chaired the Nur Otan faction and was elected Vice-speaker of the Mazhilis in April 2014. Nazarbaeva has been active in politics for many years and was a member of the third convocation of the Mazhilis. In 2015, she was appointed Deputy Prime Minister. According to one interview partner, having Nazarbaeva in the position of Vice-speaker raised the profile of the entire Mazhilis: Here, it plays a large role who is in which position. And now in the faction, there is the President’s daughter, Dariga Nazarbaeva. With her entry,

86 Who are the representatives? parliament started to play a more meaningful role. . . . Her authority and her effect, and easy access to the Head of State, the President, I think they play a role. (Interview KAZ_44) In 2015, two out of seven parliamentary committees were chaired by women: The Committee for Socio-cultural Development and the Committee on Finance and Budget. The same two committees were chaired by women in 2019. In addition, four women acted as secretary of a parliamentary committee during the fifth convocation; this number increased to five in the subsequent convocation. Unlike in the Kyrgyz Republic, no women’s caucus or other formal parliamentary association to further women’s issues exist in Kazakhstan. However, the existence of a voluntary association or informal club has been reported (ODIHR 2013: 23). In the senate too, women are visibly under-represented – in 2015, only two of the 47 senators were female, both of whom were appointed by the president and not elected. Due to lack of data on the composition of the regional parliaments (maslikhat), it is impossible to draw any conclusions about women’s representation at a sub-national level. However, the fact that none of the senators elected by the assemblies is female points to a likely under-representation there, too.

Kazakhstan's MPs by gender

120 100

16%

80 60

10%

10%

1999

2004

24%

27%

2012

2016

13%

40 20 0

1996

men

2007 women

Figure 4.2 Kazakhstan’s MPs by gender Source: Based on original biographical dataset of Mazhilis MPs

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87

When asked about women’s representation in the Mazhilis, interview partners did not express the need to enact quotas. One interview partner suggested that for an “Eastern” country like Kazakhstan, the share of female MPs was already impressive (interview KAZ_45). The fact that the share of female MPs is higher than in some countries with mandatory candidate quotas and is also higher than in some European countries was interpreted as an indicator for the superiority of Kazakhstan’s approach (interview KAZ_45). The absence of plans to enact measures promoting women’s participation in politics was justified by interview partners who pointed to what they considered to be the strong position of Kazakhstan’s women. A Nur Otan MP explains: We have been thinking about it for a long time if we should introduce a quota, but we came to the decision that . . . the Kazakhstani woman is educated and competitive. There are about 30% women on the party list by default. But this is not a law; it is just the case that the party wants to look “likeable” to the 52% of women who live in the country. (Interview KAZ_45) In spite of their unfavourable view of quotas, party officials from all three parties in the legislature agreed that gender is routinely considered by the party leadership when drawing up the party lists (interviews KAZ_42; KAZ_45). One interview partner mentioned being part of a commission that reviews gender issues and said that in this capacity, he was involved with gender politics (interview KAZ_44). Other than that, most interview partners have argued in line with the official discourse of representing all citizens and not favouring any one group. Ethnicity Kazakhstan is a multi-ethnic country, with citizens identifying with over one hundred stable ethnic categories (Buck 2015: 189). When Kazakhstan gained independence in 1990, ethnic Kazakhs were not a majority among the residents of the country (Cummings 2006: 177). In the last Soviet census taken in 1989, Kazakhs accounted for just 39.7% of the population (Olcott 1997: 207). The subsequent exodus of ethnic Slavs and German citizens brought their share up to 63% in 2009 (The Agency of Statistics of the Republic of Kazakhstan 2011: 21). After independence, state- and nation-building attempts were built upon the notion that ethnic Kazakhs “owned” the land (Buck 2015: 197). An expression of this sentiment can be found in the 2007 preamble of the Constitution, which “declares that the Kazakhstanis are a civic community who live on the land that belongs to the ethnic Kazakhs” (Buck 2015: 196).2 As early as the aftermath of the break-up of the Soviet Union, elites realized the challenge that Kazakhstan’s multi-ethnic society posed to their nation-building attempts, as it had the potential to “impair if not make wholly impossible” the consolidation of the newly independent state (Olcott 1997: 212). In order to mitigate this threat, elites had to balance the desire to upgrade the status of the Kazakhs with the fear of alienating

88 Who are the representatives? other minorities (Olcott 2010: 31). In line with this, the official discourse now emphasizes the importance of the creation of an “overarching feeling of national unity and the prevention of inter-ethnic discord” (Strategy 2030; quoted in Buck 2015: 192). Kazakhstan’s policies governing nation-building and inter-ethnic relations have to be seen in the light of this challenge, of finding a balance between reinforcing ethnic Kazakhs’ special status and not alienating the large numbers of non-ethnic Kazakh citizens. One means to this end was the construction of a “Kazakhstani” (instead of “Kazakh”) citizenship, an inclusive term that left out ethnicity (Cummings 2005: 78). In addition, many practices from the Soviet period were kept, resulting in a double strategy of celebrating peoples’ multi-faceted ethnic identity, while reducing it to its ceremonial dimension, thereby preventing it from becoming politically salient. The latter strategy is pursued by the combination of “a conspicuous celebration of what the regime calls ‘inter-national’, that is interethnic, diversity and, importantly, harmony – and a discourse that seeks to turn all citizens of the country into proud representatives of one people of Kazakhstan” (Buck 2015: 196). The political salience of the ethnic category is downplayed in the government discourse. Officially, Kazakhstan has no minorities. Instead, Kazakhstan reports citizens’ ethnic affiliation (Buck 2015: 193). The use of the term “nationalities” to denote ethnic groups is commonplace in former Soviet Republics. The term “diaspora” is also used instead of “minority”. One interview partner explained that Kazakhstan’s citizens associate the term “minority” with inequality, whereas “diaspora” denotes that all citizens are equal before the law (interview KAZ_49). The same interview partner suggested that as people do not understand the concept of “minority”, the introduction of minority quotas would not be understood by the population (interview KAZ_49). However, referring to minorities as diaspora also “connotes a less legitimate claim to a territorial base in Kazakhstan than the label ‘minority’” (Buck 2015: 197). Another element of Kazakhstan’s ethnic politics is a ban in parties based on ethnic origin (or religion), codified in the Law on Political Parties (On Political Parties, Art. 5.8). This ban removes the option of a commonly used mechanism for representing ethnic groups in proportional systems. Hence, other paths for minority representation must be found, for example the inclusion of a sufficient number of minority candidates in the party lists. However, for the 2012 election, the OSCE concluded that political parties had failed to adequately represent minority candidates on their party lists (OSCE/ODIHR 2012: 21). The representational outcomes reflect this: 29% of the candidates who got a seat were non-ethnic Kazakhs, whereas these account for 37% of the population. It is noteworthy that minorities were initially better represented after independence, with non-ethnic Kazakh deputies holding 71 of the 177 seats in 1994 (Olcott 1997: 221). Instead of guaranteeing descriptive representation of minorities in the parliament, Kazakhstan has referred their representation to the Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan. The nine MPs elected via the Assambleia do not represent a specific diaspora but represent, instead, the idea of an inclusive, civic model

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Table 4.2 Representation of ethnic groups in Kazakhstan during the fifth convocation

Kazakhs Russians Uzbeks Ukrainians Uyghurs Tatars Germans Koreans Other

% of population, 2009

No of seats in parliament

% of total seats in parliament

Representation gap*

63.1 23.7 2.9 2.1 1.4 1.3 1.1 0.6 3.8

76 21 1 3 1 1 2 1 1

71.03 19.63 0.93 2.8 0.93 0.93 1.87 0.93 0.93

+7.93 −4.07 −1.97 +0.7 −0.47 −0.37 −0.77 −0.33 2.87

Source: 2009 population census (The Agency of Statistics of the Republic of Kazakhstan 2011) and website of Parliament, History of the Mazhilis * Difference between population share and seat share. Includes MPs elected by the Assambleia

of Kazakhstani nationalism (Buck 2015: 205). In fact, Assambleia MPs may be ethnic Kazakhs. Interview partners emphasized that MPs of the Mazhilis all have the same mandate, regardless of whether they were elected via party list or by the Assembly of the People; as a result, the MPs elected by the Assambleia are not particularly visible in furthering legislative initiatives targeting specific minorities. Nor do they visit “their own” ethnic group more than other groups. The fact that the nine representatives of the Assambleia are not elected by popular vote has prompted criticism, with NGOs claiming that their existence violates the principle of one person, one vote. The OSCE has criticized the fact that minorities do not have direct influence over who will represent their interests in parliament (OSCE/ ODIHR 2012: 21). Profession During the time of the Soviet Union, the deputies of the Supreme Soviet were chosen in such a way as to represent a cross-section of society, paying particular attention to their occupation (Friedgut 1979: 166). For the Supreme Soviet, researchers have discussed the trade-off between emphasizing the descriptive representation of society and having an effective working parliament (Friedgut 1979: 171–172). Currently, the Mazhilis still reports the different occupations of its members, albeit in a non-systematic way (Parliamentary website, History of the Mazhilis). For the fifth convocation, 30 MPs are listed as being engineers, 21 as teachers, and 13 as lawyers. A further 21 MPs are listed as having an occupation related to business/ economy, and ten had held an occupation in agriculture (Parliamentary website, History of the Mazhilis). However, the variety of occupations listed on the parliamentary website should not obscure the fact that regardless of their profession, the majority of MPs had held a position in the administration or in local government

90 Who are the representatives? structures, prior to their first election to the parliament. According to Olcott, already among the members of the Supreme Kenges, the unicameral parliament of 1994, 90% had previously been senior administrators somewhere in the state apparatus (Olcott 1997: 220). This proportion subsequently decreased but then started to rise again with the introduction of the proportional electoral system – the share of MPs who had previously been employed somewhere in the state structures was 58% (2007) and 53% (2012) but fell to 37% in 2016. Alone the number of heads of regional administrations or mayors (deputy-Akims; Akims) is remarkable with 12 (2004), 23 (2007), 20 (2012), 11 (2016). Their drop in numbers reflects the generally lower share of former members of the administration in the sixth convocation. However, eight MPs in 2016, more than ever before, previously served in the government as deputy(-ministers). While only two MPs in the 2004 and 2007 MPs’ previous occupations - administrative positions 100% 90%

70%

45

46

80%

57

40

60%

2

9

50% 2

35

40% 30% 20% 10% 0%

13

27

19 7 3

2

4

2004

4 8

23

12

18

11

20

2007

2012

11 2016

other

Presidential administration

Parties

(Deputy-)Minister

other “state structures”

(Deputy-)Akim

Figure 4.3 MPs’ previous occupations – administrative positions Source: Based on original biographical dataset of Mazhilis MPs

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convocations listed a position in the party as last occupation before their election, their share increased to 8% (2012) and 12% (2016). Other authors have reported on the large share of former low-level or mid-level public officials among MPs, likening their tenure in the Mazhilis to a “business trip”, from which they would later return to the state apparatus (Bader 2011: 194; see also Bazarkul 2010). One interview partner suggested that MPs’ previous occupations may have an effect on MPs’ interactions with citizens – having had decades of experience in public positions, he personally felt comfortable meeting with citizens; this, however, could be different for new MPs who had no previous experience with such activities (interview KAZ_47). The Mazhilis does not report how many MPs have a higher education degree. However, during the fifth convocation, 60 MPs held two certificates of higher education; 25 candidates had a PhD (kandidat nauk); 17 MPs had the next higher degree (doctor nauk). Two MPs were members of the Academy of Sciences (Parliamentary website, History of the Mazhilis). During the sixth convocation, 34 MPs held either a PhD or the degree of a doctor nauk (Parliamentary website, History of the Mazhilis). Age and turnover Kazakhstan has no measures in place to promote the representation of young people. The mean age of the MPs was 56 years for the parliament elected in 2012 – higher than the 53.5 years reported for the 4th convocation elected in 2007. In the 3rd convocation, the average MP was 53 years old. By comparison, the mean age for the Kazakh population in 2010 was 28.9 years (UN Department of Economics

Age

Average age of MPs 58 56 54 52 50 48 46 44 42 40 2000

Kyrgyz Republic Kazakhstan

2005

2010

2015

2020

Year

Figure 4.4 Average age of MPs Source: Based on AUCA /ICU dataset and on original biographical dataset of Mazhilis MPs

92 Who are the representatives? Table 4.3 Turnover rates of MPs in the Mazhilis Year

2004

2007

2012

2016

Turnover rate (per cent)

60

62

59

60*

Source: table 2004–2012 based on own calculations * The figures for 2016 are from the website of the Mazhilis

and Social Affairs 2012). According to the literature, the rising age of representatives could be a sign of the professionalization of the legislature. In general, professionalization is a trend in legislatures all over the world (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 72). Loewenberg and Patterson state that decreasing turnover rates are a sign of professionalization and that turnover decreases with the age of the legislature (Loewenberg/Patterson 1979: 106). The turnover among MPs of the Mazhilis has been around 60%, with the highest turnover of 62% recorded in 2007, when the electoral system was altered. The turnover rate is calculated on the basis of the number of first-time MPs (Francois/ Grossman 2015: 459). As I am interested in the professionalization of the legislature, the restrictive definition of turnover is the most appropriate measure of renewal (and not alternation) (Francois/Grossman 2015: 472). Additionally, for the case of Kazakhstan it is enough to measure turnover regardless of majority cycles (Francois/Grossman 2015: 460), because the share of Nur Otan remained stable over the course of the last three legislative periods. Hence, the rising age of MPs in the Mazhilis is not the result of MPs staying in the legislature and therefore not an indication of increased professionalization. Summary In short, the candidate selection procedures and the dominance of Nur Otan in the legislative elections permit the regime to tailor descriptive representation in the Mazhilis to its needs. The control over outcomes has the effect that no additional safeguards are needed to ensure that groups that, according to the regime, merit to be represented, do indeed get seats. Representational outcomes in the Mazhilis vary among groups. Having a sufficient number of female MPs is a priority for most parties, which pay attention to their numerical representation even though formal quotas are absent. Ethnic minorities are represented via the nine MPs delegated by the Assambleia. Nevertheless, all actors involved downplay the political salience of ethnicity and emphasize that it is not particular minorities that MPs represent but rather the idea of a multi-ethnic society. The Mazhilis also reports representation by occupation and educational attainment of its MPs, the former displaying the diversity of the Mazhilis, the latter its superiority. A large proportion of MPs have previously been employed in the state structures, which could lead to MPs being not used to actively reach out to voters. The high turnover rate among MPs suggests that a

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professionalization of legislative activities has not taken place. The example of the MPs elected to the Mazhilis also draws attention to the fact that political diversity is treated as yet another descriptive category by the regime, equal to representation by gender, ethnicity or age. This phenomenon merits closer attention, as it is precisely the same dominance that makes it easy for Kazakhstan to achieve good outcomes with regard to the representation of societal diversity that results in a parliament in which members of opposition parties are reduced to an ornament.

Kyrgyzstan: many quotas, little effect? In the Kyrgyz Republic, the focus for descriptive representation is on the unicameral legislature. In order to facilitate the representation of diverse strata of society, mandatory candidate quotas are in place for gender, minorities, young people and the disabled. As “localism” and the north-south divide are seen as the main threats to stability, the electoral system is designed in such a way as to minimize geographically based representation (see Chapter 5). Due to the fully proportional electoral system, MPs have an explicitly nation-wide mandate and are expected to represent all citizens. Unlike party lists in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyz lists are fixed after their registration with the CEC. If parties want to make ex-post changes to who will get a seat, candidates from the top of the list have to resign. This was done excessively in the past and has been met with harsh criticism and the accusations of having had a detrimental effect on the legitimacy of the electoral process. Political diversity One of the goals of the Kyrgyz elites who designed the 2010 constitution was to ensure a balance of power between different elite groups in order to minimize the danger of any one group accumulating power, as had happened after the Tulip Revolution. The accumulation of power under Bakiev becomes evident when comparing the seat distribution between the third (2004) and fourth (2007) convocations of parliament. The parliament of the third convocation comprised mostly independent candidates, while the 2007 convocation was dominated by the “party of power”, Ak Zhol. Avoiding such a concentration of power was certainly one rationale behind the design of the 2010 Constitution. Kyrgyz parties are not programmatic and are centred, instead, on the party leaders (Doolot/Nogojbaeva 2014: 33). Therefore, balancing of Kyrgyz elites is equal to preserving equal opportunities for the parties. At the same time, the fragmented party system reflects the fragmentation of the elite. The function of the Kyrgyz constitution, as institutionalization of a powersharing arrangement between competing groups of elites, finds its expression in several safeguards against the dominance of one party. The first safeguard is guaranteed opposition rights. The second one is a mandate cap, which limits the maximum number of seats allocated to any one party to 65, approximately 54% of the seats (Electoral Law Art. 64–3). This provision prevents one party from accumulating power but has been widely criticized for potentially negatively affecting

94 Who are the representatives? Table 4.4 Parties represented in parliament (Kyrgyz Republic) Year

Parties (seats)

2005

Independents (47) Alga (17) Council for the Unity of Kyrgyzstan (6) Communist Party (3) SDPK (1)

2007

Ak Zhol (71) Communist Party (8) SDPK (11)

2010

Ata Zhurt (28) SDPK (26) Ata Meken (18) Ar Namys (25) Respublika (23)

2015

SDPK (38) Respublika-Ata Zhurt (28) Kyrgyzstan (18) Onuguu-Progress (13) Bir Bol (12) Ata Meken (11)

Table 4.5 Seats in parliament and vote shares, 2010

Ata Zhurt Social-Democratic Party (SDPK) Ar Namys Respublika Ata Meken

Number of seats

Vote share (percentage of votes cast)

28 26

8.5 7.8

25 23 18

7.6 6.9 5.5

Source: own table based on data from Central Electoral Commission of the Kyrgyz Republic

proportionality of the votes. After all, a case in which more than 54% of the votes support one party and their votes going to waste is possible. With the strongest party receiving just 8.5% of the votes in the 2010 elections, this example is purely hypothetical. However, it is true that the system leads to a high number of lost votes. The most effective safeguard against accumulation of power has been an unintended one – the extremely short duration of government coalitions. Kyrgyzstan’s fifth convocation has seen five governments in office, not counting the interregnum when Almazbek Atambaev stepped down as Prime Minister to assume the post of

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President in 2011. Power is constantly shifting between all parties in parliament, as the distribution of seats leaves no clear majority and coalitions have to include three of the five parties. Due to the short coalition duration, all five parties have been part of a government coalition during the fifth convocation. As of 2019, the sixth convocation has seen two or three coalitions (depending on whether the addition of another party to an existing coalition is counted), with every one of the six parties having participated in at least one coalition government. Gender On the candidate list prepared for the Kyrgyz parliamentary elections, no more than 70% of candidates may be of the same gender. Additionally, the electoral law regulates the position on the list, requiring that no more than three subsequent spots on the lists may be filled with persons of the same gender. Even though the wording refers to whichever gender is under-represented, it constitutes a de facto women’s quota and guarantees that women receive spots on the candidate list, which give them a chance of actually winning a seat. After the 2010 parliamentary

MPs in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by gender 140

120 5% 100

20% 5%

20%

28%

80

60

40

20

0

1995

2000

2005 men

2007 women

Figure 4.5 MPs in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by gender3 Source: Based on AUCA /ICU dataset

2010

2015

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Who are the representatives?

elections, 27% of women received a seat. However, in summer 2014 their share had dropped to below 23% due to dropouts and transfers to administrative positions. Women account for 19% of MPs of the sixth convocation. Representation of women in the fifth convocation is lower than in the fourth convocation (28.4%) but still significantly higher than in previous convocations, where representation ranged from 0% (2005) to 5.7% (2000). Women’s representation also varies across factions; for example, with SDPK (26% of women among its MPs) and Ar Namys (24%) performing above the average of factions and Ata Meken (22%), Respublika (17%) and Ata Zhurt (15%) below the average of the fifth convocation (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 20). In line with the rule about list positions, female candidates are usually followed by several male candidates on the party lists – therefore, a female MP leaving the Jogorku Kenesh is usually replaced by a male MP. Hence, parties could replace up to three female dropouts with male candidates so that their share decreased over time. The discrepancy between the number of women elected and those who remain in the Jogorku Kenesh also draws attention to the subtle effects of quotas that may manifest themselves over a longer period. An example for the discrepancies between gender-balanced party lists is the case of Bir Bol, which received 12 seats in the 2015 elections. On the candidate lists, 49 out of the 149 candidates were women, with human-rights advocate Cholpon Dzhakupova featuring prominently during the campaign (Turdalieva/Tiulegenov 2018: 155–157). However, the Annual Reports of the Speaker of 2018 and 2019 shows that the Bir Bol faction is all male. As a result of the discrepancy between gender distribution between candidate lists and actual MPs, the Venice Commission/ODIHR recommended in 2014 that a provision be made that MPs relinquishing their mandate should always be replaced by MPs of the same gender (European Commission for Democracy through Law/ODIHR 2014: 15). Several prominent female MPs also advocated for this measure (Turdalieva/Tiulegenov 2018: 156). In June 2017 a provision was introduced to the electoral law that requires replacements on the list be made with candidates of the same gender (Turdalieva/Tiulegenov 2018: 146). This should bring the number of women MPs up again in future, and it remains to be seen what effect it has on the pre-election competition for candidacies. The under-representation of women in politics is even more pronounced at the sub-national level and has increased since data-gathering began in 2004. Data gathered by researchers from the American University of Central Asia shows that the participation of women in the local assemblies (mestnye keneshy) fell from 19.2% in 2004 to a mere 13% in 2012 (Tiulegenov/Tursunkulova 2015: 8). This suggests that women in Kyrgyz politics face considerable difficulties getting elected. Several support organizations have been established to foster women’s networks and enhance female MPs’ organizational capacity. A women’s caucus in the Jogorku Kenesh has been established with the support of a foreign donor organization (USAID/DFID). Moreover, another organization has established a parliamentary women’s programme, which has connected female MPs to women in the local assemblies (interview KG_11).

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In early 2015, several women held positions of high visibility in the parliament. Most notably, four of the five vice-speakers of the Jogorku Kenesh were women. However, only two committees were chaired by female MPs – the Committee for Rules and Deputy Ethics chaired by Ainura Altybaeva and the Committee for Human Rights chaired by Natalia Nikitenko. For a while during the fifth convocation, two more committees were chaired by women, the Committee for Education, Science, Culture, Information and Religion and the Committee for Youth Politics and Sport. One of the parliamentary factions, Ata Zhurt, had a female chair for part of the legislative period, but apart from that, all faction leaders were men. As of 2019, fewer women held positions of high visibility in the Jogorku Kenesh, with one of two vice-speakers being a woman – as well as the chair of one committee – but no women chairing a faction. Does the increasing representation of women impact other dimensions of representation? Do women contribute to the adoption of policies beneficial to women (in other words, is there a descriptive-substantive link)? And does the presence of more women MPs have a symbolic impact? Due to the lack of systematic data, these topics can only be covered in a superficial way for now. Some of the female MPs in both countries were prominent civil society representatives, active in promoting women’s issues prior to their election to parliament. It is thus plausible that they would use the parliament as a platform to further their cause. During the interviews, several Kyrgyz female MPs stated explicitly that they promoted women’s issues in parliament. Certain topics predominantly concern women: One woman MP recounts that in the events of June 2010, when markets were burnt down, market vendors – who were mostly female – suffered severe losses. Being a resident of Osh, she was working on freeing up resources for their compensation (interview KG_15). The Kyrgyz women’s caucus is found to have “played a key role in lobbying for the adoption of the Family Code, the Code on Children, as well as in advocating for amendments to the Criminal Code” (ODIHR 2013: 50). One interview partner stated that it was impossible to separate gender politics from social politics, as many social problems disproportionately affected women. Another such issue that mostly concerned women was the question of insufficient pensions for salespeople on the markets, who were predominantly women (interview KG_20). One MP stated that the wish to promote women’s issues was the reason she decided to stand for elections: When I first stood for election, I ran on the ticket of a women’s party, I wanted to solve a number of problems which are linked to the question of gender. I chaired the Commission for Children, Family and the Development of Gender. At that time, I prepared questions on a legal initiative on gender issues, equal rights and opportunities, the possibility of ratifying the convention on women. I think I have achieved my goals, because we introduced quotas. Now there are more women in the House, in the state structures. This was my goal when I stood for elections for the first time. (Interview KG_28)

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One MP observes that Kyrgyz women still had an “eastern” mindset and would feel more comfortable approaching a female representative. She estimated being contacted by 70% women and, moreover, predominantly by young people (interview KG_15). Ethnicity In the Kyrgyz Republic, where ethnic clashes in the south of the country followed the ouster of President Bakiev in 2010, the question of ethnic representation is equally one of political stability. Countries react differently to ethnic cleavages within society, some introducing quotas, some banning ethnic representation altogether (Krook 2014: 97). Kyrgyzstan chose to introduce a quota – the electoral law stipulates that 15% of candidates on the lists have to be members of a minority (Electoral Law, Art. 60–3). In spite of the candidate quota, minorities still are under-represented in the Kyrgyz parliament; their share among MPs has actually decreased since 1990. A dataset collected by the AUCA/ICP shows that the share of ethnic Kyrgyz MPs increased from 64.3% in 1990 to 88.3% in 2010. In the years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, many non-Kyrgyz citizens left the country. Census data show that the Kyrgyz Republic has become more ethnically homogenous over time; in 2009, the share of ethnic Kyrgyz was 70.9% (in 1999, it was only 64.9%). However, even accounting for the demographic changes, the share of parliamentary seats is far from reflecting the non-Kyrgyz population. During the same period, the share of ethnic Uzbek MPs dropped from 8.2% to 2.5%. Yet in 2010, Uzbeks accounted for the largest minority groups, with about 14.3% of the population. The Russian minority is the second largest, with 7.2% (in 1999, it was 12.5%), represented by 4.8% Russian MPs in 2010. In 1999, their share among parliamentarians had been 18.4%. The 2010 Jogorku Kenesh (in addition to seven Russians and three Uzbeks) includes one ethnic Korean MP, two Karachai, one Uigur and one Tajik (AUCA/ICP dataset; Tiulegenov/Tursunkulova 2015). The trend towards under-representation in spite of the existence of quotas was not reversed in the 2015 elections. The OSCE election observation report talks about 15 MPs belonging to a minority (OSCE/ODIHR 2015: 20), while the summary in Electoral Studies finds only “seven non-Kyrgyz MPs (three ethnic Russians, one ethnic Uyghur, and three ethnic Uzbeks)” and concludes that minority representation is “little more than symbolic” in the sixth convocation (Fumagalli 2016: 302). According to both sources, representation remains below the 15% of candidates on the party lists. An explanation for the under-representation of minorities is that candidate quotas apply to a very early stage of the electoral process, until registration of the party lists with the CEC. Quotas only directly affect the properties of candidates on the party lists; their effect on the actual composition of the legislature is indirect and depends on a number of intervening factors. Although there is a 15% quota for minorities set out in the Electoral Law, no requirement applies to their position on the list. The Kyrgyz case is an accurate illustration of the effects of weak

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quotas over time: Even though initially, about 25% of candidates were member of an ethnic minority, parties were accused of giving their minority representatives spots on the lists that made it difficult for them to win a seat (OSCE/ODIHR 2010: 17). Therefore, the quotas did not contribute to an increase of MPs from ethnic minorities. Several changes to the Electoral Law were discussed in 2014. They were subsequently reviewed by the Venice Commission and the ODIHR, who believed that the changes would aggravate the under-representation of minorities; the planned changes included a division of the country into nine electoral districts. In each of the districts, the party leader and two other candidates were to be singled out on the ballot. These would not be included on the party list, and they were to be the first to get seats during seat distribution. As a result, by simple mathematics, the quota would not apply to the first 18 (nine regions times two) seats awarded to any party. Thus, the effect of the quotas would be watered down considerably by the time the seats were distributed (European Commission for Democracy through Law/ODIHR 2014). Although the changes were eventually dropped from the final version of the law, they serve to illustrate the fact that the effect of quotas for minorities may be substantially watered down by the time seats are actually distributed. Beyond the introduction of quotas, there has been little effort to foster minority representation. Seeing them as detrimental to inter-ethnic relations, parties along ethnic lines are banned. There is no national project in Kyrgyzstan to develop an inclusive identity as there is in Kazakhstan. Of all the presidential candidates in 2011, Atambaev was the only one who “supported an inclusive civic national identity during his electoral campaign” (Aydɪngün/Aydɪngün 2014: 400). Minority representation was not an issue during the 2015 campaign (Fumagalli 2016: 302). Following their under-representation in numbers, it is not surprising that nonethnic Kyrgyz feel less well-protected by the state than the rest of the population on average. An opinion poll by the International Republican Institute (IRI) asks

Table 4.6 Representation of ethnic groups in the Kyrgyz Republic (fifth convocation) Ethnic group

Kyrgyz Uzbek Russian other

% of No. of *Representation % of total population seats in gap population parl. (seat share)

No. of *Representation seats in gap parl.(seat share)

1999

2000

2009

2010

64.9 13.8 12.5 8.8

86 (81.9) +17 10 (9.5) −4.3 5 (4.8) −7.7 4 (3.8) −5

70.9 14.3 7.8 7

109 (87.9) 3 (2.5) 6 (4.8) 6 (4.8)

+17 −11.8 −3 −2.2

Source: 2009 census and AUCA/ICP dataset; Tiulegenov/Tursunkulova (2015). Please note that the dataset includes dropouts and MPs who entered parliament during the legislative period * Difference between population share and seat share

Figure 4.6 Representation in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by ethnicity

Own graph based on AUCA / ICU dataset

81.6

1995

64.3

81.9

2000

1990

84

78.3

88.3

Russian

2005

2007

2010

Kyrgyz

Uzbek

other

18.4

Representation in Kyrgyzstan’s parliament by ethnicity

8.2

5.8

9.5

4

10.8

2.7

6

7.8

9.1

4.9

4.8 3.8

9.3

4.8

5.8 2.5 3.3

100 Who are the representatives?

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101

“Does the state protect citizens’ rights regardless of their ethnicity?” (IRI Opinion Poll February 2012).4 Only 40% of ethnic Uzbeks answer affirmatively, compared to 71% of Kyrgyz respondents. This confirms the fact that citizens who belong to ethnic minorities feel less protected by the state and feel treated unfairly compared to the Kyrgyz. Profession In the past, the Kyrgyz parliament has been criticized for the over-representation of businessmen and local dignitaries; Radnitz has stated that “Kyrgyzstan’s parliament represents neither a force for democracy nor a forum for discussion of issues, but rather a means to protect its members’ private interests” (Radnitz 2006: 140). However, the proportion of MPs with a background in business initially decreased over time: from a peak of nearly 35% in 2005, down to just over 20% in 2007 and about 18% in 2010 (Tiulegenov/Tursunkulova 2015).5 In the parliament of the sixth convocation, the share of MPs with a background in business is up again, ranging between 22–25% (Annual Reports of the Speaker 2016–2019). Moreover, the share of businesspeople among male MPs is higher than among their female counterparts for the 2007–2010 parliaments (Turdalieva/Tiulegenov 2018: 148). The reports also reveal that the largest groups of MPs during the sixth convocation, namely 36–37%, were in public service before their elections (Annual Reports of the Speaker 2016–2019). Experts have drawn attention to the proportion of lawyers among MPs, as this is the qualification necessary for drafting legislation. In a report on the effectiveness of the Jogorku Kenesh, experts remark that many MPs lack the skills necessary for high-level legislative work. This affects the quality of legislation, with many laws requiring rectification after they had been passed (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 21–22). Due to the demands of legislative work, it is no surprise that many MPs go on to obtain a second higher education degree in law. Among the third of MPs who had completed higher educational degrees in two fields, 29% had obtained a degree in law (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 20–21). Age and turnover Another characteristic that has received increasing attention is the representation of different age groups in the legislatures. In 2010, the Kyrgyz Republic introduced a quota of 15% for candidates under the age of 35. The divergence between the average age of the population and the average age of the MPs is less pronounced in the Kyrgyz Republic than in Kazakhstan but is nevertheless still high. In 2000, the median age of Kyrgyz MPs was 47 years old; this remained initially stable till 2005, reaching a low point in 2007 (46 years old) before rising again to 47 years in 2010 (see Figure 4.4). For comparison: the mean age of the general population in the Kyrgyz Republic in 2012 was 23.8 years (UN Department of Economics and Social Affairs 2012). The distribution by age group varies significantly across the factions, Ar Namys with more than half of its MPs over 50 being the “oldest”

102 Who are the representatives? Table 4.7 Turnover in the Kyrgyz parliament Year

1995

2000

2005

2007

2010

2015

Share of first-time MPs

75%

61%

62%

69%

75%

71%

Source: own calculations based on Tiulegenov and Tursunkulova (2015) and the website of the Jogorku Kenesh

faction. Respublika is the “youngest” among the factions, with 22% of its MPs under the threshold age of 35 that defines a “young” MP and 79% of its MPs being under the age of 50 (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 19). Turnover rates in the Kyrgyz Republic remain high. After the 75% turnover of 1995 had decreased to 61% in 2000 and 62% in 2005, it has risen again to 69% in 2007 and 75% in 2010. This means that 75% of the MPs elected into the 2010 parliament had not served during a previous convocation. These figures contradict the common belief that the same individuals return for several terms of office, as is certainly the case with the top politicians. Disability In the Kyrgyz Republic, parties have to include two candidates with disabilities on the party lists, one of which has to be positioned higher than 50 on the list (Electoral Law, Art. 60–3). One disabled MP, the visually impaired lawyer Dastan Bekeshev, was elected to the Jogorku Kenesh in 2010 and re-elected in 2015. Although he has become a prominent advocate for the rights of disabled people, this has not yet led to fundamental change in policy. Nor have any parliamentary committees become proactive in promoting disabled rights (USAID/DFID 2014: 31). Nevertheless, for the case of Bekeshev we can safely state that a descriptive-substantive link can be observed. As Bekeshev is one of the youngest representatives, he also advocates for and is approached by young Kyrgyzstanis. In sum, descriptive representation in the Jogorku Kenesh is regulated by candidate quotas for gender, ethnicity, youth and the disabled. Despite the existence of quotas, the representational outcomes remain below what the quota stipulates for all categories. A reason for this might be that the quota type – a candidate quota – is relatively weak and has the potential to be significantly watered down by the time mandates are awarded to candidates. After the 2016 elections, a member of the Central Electoral Commission is cited with the complaint that: Parties take compliance with quotas only seriously until the elections. After that, no importance is given to that issue. When a person relinquishes his mandate, we do not consider their age, gender or nationality. According to the law, one in three on the party list must be a woman. But after the election, many leave the list, and the rule is broken. (Egizbaev 2015)

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Based on the lack of consequence of the various quotas, it remains to be seen how the new rules regarding the replacement of candidates that were introduced in 2017 will affect the number of women among MPs. In spite of these shortcomings with the representation of socio-demographical groups, the political diversity in Kyrgyzstan is real and no party has been able to accumulate power as they did before the constitutional reform of 2010. However, the parties are not organized along societal cleavages and are, therefore, not part of any mechanism to foster the representation of under-represented groups.

Chapter summary The Kyrgyz Republic and Kazakhstan have approached the question of adequate descriptive representation in fundamentally different ways. The Kyrgyz Republic has introduced candidate quotas for women, young people, minorities and the disabled. Kazakhstan has no quotas in place, but instead has nine reserved seats for representatives of the Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan, who do not represent individual minority groups but rather the consultative Assembly as a whole and the idea of the multi-ethnic state. The different institutional settings lead to different outcomes in terms of descriptive representation. Contrary to expectations, women (and also minorities) are better represented in Kazakhstan, which, unlike Kyrgyzstan, did not adopt quotas. This discrepancy can be explained by the ability of Kazakhstan’s party leaders to fine-tune descriptive representation after the elections through the system of alphabetical and unranked candidate pools. The effect of this power to undertake ex-post candidate selection, combined with Nur Otan’s large share of the seats, allows the party to control the composition of the legislature. It puts the party leadership in a comfortable position of certainty over representational outcomes, despite the absence of a distortion-free mechanism governing the allocation of seats. Due to the absence of a significant opposition in the legislature, the party of power can still fine-tune the composition of parliament and attain good outcomes in descriptive representation in the absence of institutionalized procedures. As a result, policymakers in Kazakhstan have chosen to manage descriptive representation informally, instead of relying on formal quotas (with the exception of the nine reserved seats for the Assambleia). Here again, a look at women’s representation in Kazakhstan is an illustrative example: Even though no quotas exist to boost their numbers, the fact that parties decide on which individuals receive the mandates after the election has taken place leads to a larger share of women parliamentarians than in neighbouring Kyrgyzstan – a clear sign that the regime does care about descriptive representation. This arrangement, however, is dependent on the constant resolve of the regime to uphold it. In this chapter, I have also shown that same dominance of Nur Otan in Kazakhstan that endows it with the power to create a legislature that mirrors society with regard to characteristics party leaders deem important also diminishes its political plurality. Both the focus on representational outcome in gender, nationality and profession and the creation of the appearance of political pluralism by reserving seats for an “opposition” party highlight the fact that these features are two sides

104 Who are the representatives? of the same coin. The regime lacks distortion-free electoral procedures, as it has spent years fine-tuning them in order to ensure incumbent victories, so the procedures cannot be used to highlight representational achievements. This focus on the representational outcome in Kazakhstan is also in line with Bird’s argument that authoritarian governments take good outcomes in descriptive representation as evidence that no systematic reforms are needed (Bird 2014: 21).6 The Kyrgyz Republic has no shortage of political pluralism (in fact, some might argue it has too much of it). As a remedy to prevent power grabs that were carried out by past administrations, the Kyrgyz constitution and electoral framework attempt to lock-in the existing order. The case of Kyrgyzstan also clearly shows that candidate quotas by themselves do not guarantee adequate descriptive representation of under-represented groups. The effects of candidate quotas decrease over the course of the electoral process, and their effect on the actual composition of the legislature is indirect. The case also highlights the fact that political elites have a tendency to obey the letter of the law, while keeping their room for manoeuvre as wide as possible, with a disregard for the representational outcome. As a consequence, the representation of women, and even more so of the Uzbek minority, have failed to fulfil the expectations of those who had campaigned for candidate quotas. Additionally, the manoeuvring of some parties to replace MPs after the election was widely perceived as manipulation. Together, the lack of descriptive representation and the perception that the rules that should guarantee it are routinely bent may diminish the legitimacy of the legislature.

Notes 1 For a review of scholarship on party-system formation with a particular emphasis on the cleavages-hypothesis vs. the effect of the electoral rules (“Duverger’s Law”) on party system formation, see Neto and Cox (1997). 2 The 1994 version of the constitution was even clearer in ranking the status of Kazakhs above other ethnic groups, which made ethnic Russians fear that their children would be at a disadvantage (Olcott 1997: 215). 3 The graph contains dropouts and MPs replacing them (this explains why the numbers from the AUCA / ICP dataset and the OSCE do not add up). 4 The figures remained the same for the 2014 poll (IRI Opinion Poll 2014). 5 The estimates from the PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii are different, putting the proportion of businessmen at 31% in 2012 (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 24). 6 Bird (2014) refers to the representation of diverse ethnic groups, but the argument should apply even more strongly to the political opposition.

5

Nation, occupation or village? Finding a constituency focus in a proportional electoral system

In Kazakhstan, four times every year, the 107 members of the Mazhilis depart from the capital in order to tour the country and meet with citizens. During their travels, they meet with individual petitioners at their parties’ reception offices or conduct on-site visits. Their Kyrgyz colleagues from the Jogorku Kenesh do the same: Every three months, all 120 MPs leave Bishkek and visit the regions. There, they take part in assemblies, liaise with the regional politicians or simply meet people on the street in order to find out what issues they have on their minds. Due to the electoral system’s layout, in principle all citizens of the country could be on the receiving end of the representative relationship. However, as meeting every single citizen would be a gargantuan undertaking, MPs have to choose which constituency to represent. Therefore, after having clarified who the representatives are in the previous chapter, the attention now shifts towards those on the receiving end of the representative relationship: Who are the represented? Where do the MPs travel and with whom do they meet? How is their “constituency” delineated? All of these questions are particularly interesting as Kazakhstan and also the Kyrgyz Republic both elect their representatives in a single-district closed-list system, which means that the electoral system does not strongly prescribe a constituency based on an electoral district. Hence, it is up to the MPs to select their constituency by travelling to a specific region and by acting for people. We remember from the discussion of the literature that while the constituency is not as clearly defined as the representatives, whom MPs represent is not arbitrary. Constituencies are usually delineated in terms of geography (Loewenberg/ Patterson 1979: 168). Alternatively, they can be defined functionally – in terms of individuals – or along religious or ethnic lines (Fenno 1977: 884–889; Malesky/ Schuler 2010). An MPs’ constituency may be the sub-section of society that has elected the MP (the electoral constituency). It may also be a constituency of choice that MPs claim to represent or the group they treat as their constituency by undertaking substantive activities on its behalf. Constituents are no passive addressees of MPs’ attention. Quite the contrary, representatives can only represent those who agree to being represented, leaving representative claims open to contestation (Saward 2006: 301–302). We also know that electoral systems influence not only which citizens MPs regard as their constituency but also the activities they are most likely to undertake

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on behalf of them. A brief recap: The larger the size of the electoral district, the stronger the inclination of MPs to perceive the constituency in terms of geography, instead of defining it functionally (Loewenberg/Kim 1978: 45). Beyond this effect on constituency definition, district size also affects the amount of constituencyrelated activities MPs will undertake (IPU/UNDP 2012: 59; Lancaster 1986: 79). Although in theory it is possible to distinguish between two dimensions – whether activities target a specific constituency and if the candidates’ actions are personalized or if they act as faces of their party – in practice, these dimensions are conflated, as a personalized representation style is usually associated with a narrow geographical focus. Beyond the expected mechanical effects, the choice of an electoral system also sends a message about what the focus for representation should be. In the case of a single-district system, the symbolic message would be that geographical representation should not be the relevant category of representation of MPs (Farrell/Scully 2007). The expectation of a representational focus in which geographical constituencies play no major role is in line with the goals laid out by both Kazakhstan’s and Kyrgyzstan’s political elites, who wanted to counter the strong ties MPs previously had to their personal constituencies. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, both newly independent states initially chose to elect their representatives through majoritarian elections and subsequently adopted a mixed-member majoritarian electoral system (Kyrgyzstan in 1995; Kazakhstan in 1999). During those early days of statehood, MPs in both countries represented relatively small and geographically concentrated groups of individuals to which they had close personal ties. In Kazakhstan, MPs’ defined their “particular group of constituents” in regional, economic, or ethnic terms (Olcott 1997: 224). MPs’ local ties were mainly visible through their travel patterns and the allocation of funds (Bowyer 2008: 59). In the Kyrgyz Republic political competition was structured by geography, which played an even more decisive role than kinship (Huskey/Iskakova 2010: 251). Local ties manifested themselves in representation by the “native son”, whose constituency comprised the entire village and was not a constituency comprised of individuals (Ismailbekova 2013: 93). The Soviet system had not curbed the local orientation of representatives; instead, the administrative structure had actually fostered regional cleavages and had reinforced tribal divisions between north and south (Jones Luong 2002: 62, 76). Consequently, MPs in the Kyrgyz parliament represented places instead of political ideas (Juraev 2015: 24). Interpersonal ties were reinforced by patronage networks, as candidates for parliament channelled material resources to their communities (Radnitz 2006: 137). The localized, individualist representative relationship was soon considered problematic by politicians, not only from the perspective of unequal representation. The regional ties of MPs weakened the decisiveness of elections, as unsuccessful parliamentary candidates routinely mobilized protesters to contest elections results (Radnitz 2006: 137). For the protests that swept Akaev from office, Radnitz recounts: The ease with which losing candidates were able to mobilize supporters indicates the strength of “top-down” ties between certain elites and rank-and-file

Nation, occupation or village? 107 members of their communities. Invariably the first protestors to rise up were the compatriots (zemlyaki) of the disaffected candidates, acting not out of principle or anger at Akaev, but for reasons of personal interest and social obligation. In the many conversations that I held with protest veterans while on a spring 2005 trip to Kyrgyzstan, I rarely met anyone who referred to a regional, much less a national, political figure. Instead, people would voice passionate support for “their” candidate. (Radnitz 2006: 137) Furthermore, in both countries, the parties’ lack of control over individual MPs was seen as hampering the consolidation of the party system.1 These negative effects of locally based representation were among the reasons the Kazakh and Kyrgyz governments cited when they decided to abandon the mixed-member majoritarian system – Kazakhstan in 2007, while the Kyrgyz Republic initially adopted a tworound system in 2005 but abandoned it in favour of proportional representation in 2007 (Lundberg 2009). Based on experiences from other countries with proportional representation, they were confident that the change in electoral rules would alter MPs behaviour vis-à-vis their constituents and would lead to MPs having larger constituencies and acting more as face of their parties than under the prior mixed-member majoritarian system.2 Since the 2007 switch to proportional representation, constituencies in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan are not prescribed by the electoral system. Hence, MPs can select their constituencies on the basis of other criteria than geography. As the choice of a proportional electoral system somewhat suggests a weaker role of the electoral district as basis of the MPs constituency, we can also assume that single-district MPs have more agency than their peers from majoritarian systems to define their constituencies. What we currently lack is an adequate understanding of how the limited electoral competitiveness in authoritarian regimes affects which constituency MPs develop ties to. Research on democratic countries shows that the less re-election depends on how well MPs succeed in appealing to a particular, local constituency, the lower the likelihood that MPs will provide services to that electoral constituency. In line with this reasoning, we can expect that MPs, whose re-election does not depend on appealing to voters due to diminished electoral competition, are not likely to engage in intensive constituency-related activities. However, this reasoning relies on the known mechanical effects of electoral system on MPs’ constituency focus – and these are expected to be weaker when the electoral connection is incomplete. The analysis will shed some light on how MPs perceive these incentives on their constituency focus. In sum, the question about the nature of the constituency has three components. First, the electoral law prescribes a formal constituency. This does not imply that the MPs will represent all of their electoral constituency; however, to some degree it does outline what is expected of the MPs. In this respect, Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic both represent cases where the push of an electoral system towards a focus on (small) geographically delineated

108 Nation, occupation or village? constituencies should be weak. Here, we should also keep in mind that changes to the electoral system (and thus the electoral constituency) will not mechanically lead to anticipated change in constituency orientation. Second, we should explore MPs whether they have a particular relationship with a particular group of citizens, be it social, functional or geographical. As the representative relationship is a two-way street, it is also revealing based on which criteria the citizens select “their” MP they direct their requests to. The question which constituency MPs provide services to will be thoroughly explored separately, in Chapter 6.

Kazakhstan: representation in line with nation-wide electoral district Kazakh MPs are mandated to represent the nation as a whole, and the absence of electoral districts has institutionalized the national scope of their mandate. Their function to represent is shared with other institutions; the senate has a clear geographical mandate, whereas the Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan (Assambleia) represents the different ethnic groups. The absence of formal electoral districts is reflected in the terminology MPs use to describe their constituency-related activities. Several MPs felt the need to emphasize that in fact, the people they interacted with were technically not their voters (izbirately), as their voters were the entire population of Kazakhstan. They explained that “the word ‘voter’ is difficult to say, because we do not ask, ‘are you my voter or not?’ They are all our people” (interview KAZ_46). Instead, MPs referred to the people they interacted with as the inhabitants (naselenie) of a certain village or region. MPs also referred to travelling to/in the regions (v regionakh) when talking about their constituency visits. Travel patterns MPs of the Mazhilis are required to travel to the regions (vyezd) for fixed periods, four times per year for ten days (Rules of Procedure, Section 2, Art. 1.5). The factions decide the destination of MPs’ trips on an ad-hoc basis (interviews KAZ_41; KAZ_43; KAZ_44). No long-term arrangements exist. MPs prefer to travel to their home region, but the party takes the decision, with little regard for their preferences (interview KAZ_43). The nine MPs who are elected via the Assambleia have similar travel patterns as their party-list colleagues. However an Assambleia MP interviewed for this study explained that they can use offices of all parties based on the fact that all of them have the goal of sustaining societal and interethnic peace mentioned in their party manifestos and thus supported their work (interview KAZ_47). The Assambleia-MPs do not only meet with their ethnic “diaspora” but with groups all across the country (interview KAZ_33). Nor are those MPs particularly visible in furthering legislative initiatives targeting specific ethnic minorities. They do, however, emphasize their task of preventing discriminatory passages in any legislation (interview KAZ_49).

Nation, occupation or village? 109 MPs are not expected to visit the same region repeatedly, but they can make requests to the party to be sent for a follow-up meeting: Because, the party, I do not know, has adopted a policy saying that we do not travel with a focus in one region. In a year, for example, if we go four times – in the summer we go to the region for a whole month – when we go to the region, they try to direct us to four different regions so that we don’t go to the same one repeatedly. Whether that’s right or wrong, that’s hard for me to judge. Sometimes it happens that you work with one region, you know their problems well, and want to come back to . . . but for some reason we have made such a decision. Sometimes, of course, you explain to the faction, the administration or to those who make the decision and say: “I have not finished something there, I need to go and inform them”, then you can go to a meeting. Sometimes it works out in such a way that we can go somewhere a second or third time. But this is more the exception than the rule. (Interview KAZ_44) However, such wishes are not always taken into consideration, and hence, followup meetings remain scarce. MPs and parties justify the travel arrangements with the national focus of their mandate in the electoral system (interview KAZ_44). One MP clarifies: “I worked and lived in Almaty. . . . Of course, I would like to travel to Almaty frequently, but my faction tells me that I am [elected] on the party list, so I do not only get to go to Almaty. They rarely let me go to Almaty” (Interview KAZ_42). Nevertheless, MPs are allowed to travel to the region more than the required minimum, and are allowed to conduct additional, more “personal” meetings (Interview KAZ_43). MPs use these additional meetings to interact with people from their home region, feeling an obligation towards them (Interview KAZ_45). The arrangements are somewhat different for the small parties in the Mazhilis; during the fifth convocation, Ak Zhol’s eight representatives were expected to cover the entire country. Hence, most MPs serviced two to three regions. This, however, does not imply that they did not travel elsewhere (interview KAZ_42). One MP suggested that the existing order, according to which MPs hardly ever visited their home region, had the advantage that it required more intense preparation than visits to a familiar environment (interview KAZ_47). Functional constituency: topics matter More than by geography, contemporary Kazakhstani MPs relate to their audiences by their area of specialization (interview KAZ_35). One interview partner explained this by her prior employment and long residence in Astana: I used to work in the central government, so I do not have a historical connection to a region. I have lived in Astana for 20 years already. I have never

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Nation, occupation or village? worked with the local administration. A different audience knows me. Those who work in law enforcement know me. (Interview KAZ_46)

This MP attends many meetings with stakeholders in the criminal code reform, ranging from law enforcement and prosecutors to prison inmates (interview KAZ_46). Other MPs specialize in cultural and youth politics and choose their audience accordingly (interview KAZ_45). Specialization, however, does not preclude contact with other groups; it merely implies that MPs claim they can work most professionally and effectively in this particular field (interview KAZ_45). The link in reverse: Who contacts MPs? Which citizens predominantly approach MPs will often depend on the MPs’ employment prior to election. All MPs meet with professional groups (trudovye kollektivy), with civil servants and with pensioners or students. Other groups mentioned during the interviews are as diverse as IT specialists, people working in law enforcement and small business owners (interviews KAZ_44; KAZ_45; KAZ_46). The Communist People’s Party, by nature of the party identity, tends to conduct a significant share of their meetings with workers (interview KAZ_41). One MP explained that her area of expertise was the protection of prisoners’ rights, and hence, she was frequently contacted by relatives of prison inmates and NGOs working in the field: We have this large organization for the protection of prisoners’ rights. . . . Many come, call on my cell phone and tell me, that at some prison, cars had arrived and it seemed as if they ‘were going to beat our husbands, our brothers’. . . . And immediately, as I have participated in drafting the Law on the Implementation of the National Preventive Mechanism, I call the civilsociety organization. (Interview KAZ_44) The political party Ak Zhol, in particular, has the reputation of catering to the needs of businesses (interview KAZ_50). One interview partner from the party continued to chair a business organization (interview KAZ_43). However, Ak Zhol does not have a monopoly on representing business interests; some MPs from Nur Otan mention business as their focus as well (interview KAZ_44). Summary In Kazakhstan, MPs’ actions are mostly in line with the nation-wide focus their mandate prescribes. The parties’ control over travel destinations has contributed substantially to the marginalization of geographically based constituencies. While MPs’ travel patterns and justifications of them are largely in line with the official discourse of representing the entire country, some MPs in addition to that choose

Nation, occupation or village? 111 their constituencies – and their constituencies them – based on their thematic area of expertise.

The Kyrgyz Republic: still local, still individualized representation The Kyrgyz electoral system was designed with the explicit goal in mind of fostering connections between MPs and voters, while at the same time curbing localism in politics. A second goal of Kyrgyz constitutional engineers, above all of the powerful party leaders, was the consolidation of the fragmented party system. The inter-related goals of de-localizing politics and making them more party-based are reflected in the rules and regulations governing elections and MPs’ activities. In addition to the choice of a closed-list proportional electoral system, the introduction of the double electoral threshold is a key instrument for this end. As a result of the double threshold, the number of parties in parliament was reduced, leaving only those who had a strong electoral base distributed across all regions. The absence of parties with a base concentrated in one particular area could, in theory, contribute to a nation-wide representation focus. Electoral engineers’ further expectations were that MPs, having to rely on their parties to win elections, would opt for nation-wide representative activity while acting as the face of their party. In doing so, they would help to establish political parties as the central political actors and contribute to strengthening the party system. The representation style expected from MPs by the electoral system’s engineers was both non-local and party-based. At the time during which the interviews for this study were conducted, MPs had already internalized the discourse of representing the nation as a whole. Many interview partners emphasized the fact that they travelled to every region, had no geographical focus and worked with people regardless of their party affiliation (interviews KG_28; KG_31). One interview partner berated the practice of referring to one region as a primary constituency: “the whole country voted for the party through which I was elected. Therefore, when someone says that I am the MP for one district or another, I regard that as wrong. We are MPs for the whole of Kyrgyzstan” (interview KG_15). The absence of geographically delineated constituencies also finds its expression in the terminology Kyrgyz MPs use to describe their representational activities: They refer to constituency service as “work in the regions” (rabota v regionakh) or work with “the voters” (s izbiratel’ami). Reaching out to the regions As Kyrgyzstan has a considerable urban-rural divide and several remote areas as well, ensuring visibility in all regions is a particular priority of – and challenge to – the parliament. Not all MPs can travel to all regions. MPs within one faction divide responsibilities among themselves, “adopting” one region as their constituency. The arrangements remain in place for the duration of the entire legislative period. Most MPs prefer to visit the region of their origin. Therefore, their

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“adopted” constituency will often be their home region. This practice is explained pragmatically: MPs and faction employees alike argue that MPs would be most well acquainted with the particular problems of the regions they are from (interviews KG_15; KG_27). However, the practice creates problems whenever MPs leaving parliament are replaced by the next person on the party list, who will most likely be from another region. Without personal ties to the assigned constituency, the new MP may not feel the same responsibility towards it.3 Taking the existence of a “native” MP as a measure, some regions are over-represented; others have no local MPs at all representing their interests (interview KG_11). Representation in the Kyrgyz Republic is still often understood in local terms. For example, an MP who was born in Bishkek and who has spent her professional life in the capital is predominantly contacted by locals. She explained this pragmatically, as people in the capital most likely know how to contact her (interview KG_19). Another MP explained that her local focus on her region of origin deepened during the electoral campaign (interview KG_15). This personal perception is supported by studies that explain the persistence of a narrow geographical focus with incentives created by the electoral system (Huskey/Hill 2013). MPs’ identities are not monolithic; their local focus is complemented by divisions within the regions. Additionally, some have reported a north-south divide within the deputy corps, with southern MPs predominantly focussing their activities on the south (interviews KG_11; LG_29). The deputy group Onuguu-Progess was founded by MPs from the south and started its activities in the southern district of Jalal-Abad (interviews KG_18; KG_22). However, this focus broadened over time and became nation-wide when the party by the same name was founded (interview KG_22). Unlike the majority of their colleagues, MPs in leadership positions have no geographical focus in their travels and show a presence in all the regions (interviews KG_20; KG_27). Also, faction leaders sometimes choose to take responsibility for a region where the party has not done well in the previous elections, believing that a high-level representative will increase support (interview KG_16). An aide to an MP confirmed that MPs elevated to a leadership position change travel patterns (interview KG_30). These findings are in line with the literature that suggests that holding a leadership position leads to a more nationally oriented understanding of the representative mandate (Brouard et al. 2013: 152). Some MPs also have problem-driven travel patterns, visiting whichever region faces challenges that require immediate study. The region around Batken, for example, sees frequent, border-related tensions, and an MP working on a legislative project on the status of border regions reported frequently visiting that area (interview KG_20). The patterns we observe in MPs’ trips are reflected in citizens’ requests to them. Although MPs receive letters from all over the country, their home regions tend to dominate (interviews KG_19; KG_30). One MP from the south confirmed that the majority of his requests were from the south (interview KG_22). Ingrained patterns change slowly; civil society organizations report that whenever they organize meetings outside the capital, they find it easier to invite MPs who are from that particular region. They express a wish for MPs to be more flexible with regard to

Nation, occupation or village? 113 the places they visit and to leave their “comfort zone” (interview KG_6). That MPs may feel more comfortable visiting their home regions matches voters’ expectations, as the latter sometimes prefer a local representation style. There are signs that citizens do not yet fully understand the implications of a proportional system. An interviewee from a local NGO expressed the perception that citizens in the regions often feel that they do not know who their representative was and had not yet accepted the parties as their representative agents (interview KG_6). In spite of many signs of a prevailing local representation focus, new trends towards adopting non-geographical constituencies have started to emerge after the 2010 constitutional reform. Individual MPs reported that they are frequently contacted by specific societal or functional groups, such as women or students (interviews KG_15; KG_19; KG_31; KG_32). MPs linked their activities with specific groups to MPs’ past professional and political experience (interviews KG_15; KG_19). This may also be an effect of the communication channels preferred by individual MPs; one MP who is active on social media assumed that his presence there contributed to intensive contacts to young voters (interview KG_32). Time may bring about further change in the relationship between MPs and citizens, delocalizing politics in practice. This is what one employee of an NGO described as their task: explaining to citizens that they had the choice among a pool of 120 MPs, who were all elected to represent them (interview KG_6). Summary In the case of the Kyrgyz Republic, we can observe the effects of electoral rules pushing MPs in contradictory directions; on the one hand, the large electoral district size, combined with a closed-list proportional electoral system, fosters an abstract, non-territorial mandate, which results in low levels of personal voteseeking and a representation low on activities directed towards a local constituency. On the other hand, the regional electoral threshold, in combination with the fragmentation of the party system, makes it difficult for parties to pass the threshold, creating incentives for parties to select candidates with an independent local power base. As a result, it is rational for candidates to cultivate a local electorate and engage in personalized politics and not compete on party reputation as much as expected. In terms of practice, this is visible both in the individualized representation style most Kyrgyz MPs pursue and in the absence of meaningful cooperation within the factions, which goes beyond distributing responsibilities for the regions. Coming back to the question of whom MPs represent, it is now clear that while MPs are aware that their mandate prescribes a nation-wide representation focus, they explain their deviation from this ideal pragmatically, with better expertise in the home region or more efficient use of limited resources.

Chapter summary In this chapter the findings show that the representatives of both countries have adopted the official discourse according to which the parliament represents the

114 Nation, occupation or village? entire nation, and MPs should not have a special relationship towards a subgroup of constituents. However, activities pursued by MPs reflect a different constituency-orientation when it comes to actual travel patterns and the delivery of services. In Kazakhstan, MPs’ actions are much in line with the nation-wide focus their mandate prescribes. The parties’ control over travel destinations and the recruitment of candidates out of the state structures (see Chapter 4) has contributed substantially to the marginalization of geographically based constituencies. Instead of geographically, they perceive their constituencies by their area of expertise. In the case of the Kyrgyz Republic, MPs maintained close ties to local constituencies. In spite of the absence of formal electoral districts, they continued to treat one district, often the place of their origin, as personal constituency. This can be explained by the lack of cooperation within the factions and by the incentives put forward by the electoral system for parties to select candidates with an independent local power base. As a result, it is rational for candidates to cultivate a local electorate and to engage in personalized politics, not competing on party reputation. However, a slight trend towards functional representation is noticeable, and tendencies towards decreasing role of local constituencies have emerged. Recent findings also suggest a decreasing effect of geographic identity (over financial incentives) on the side of the voters in the 2015 elections (Doolotkeldieva/Wolters 2017: 32). Curiously, MPs in both countries defend their actual arrangements with assessments of what fosters good representation that are polar opposites. While Kazakh MPs claimed that visiting new regions required better preparation from the MPs, their Kyrgyz peers maintained that it was precisely their better local knowledge of the constituency they acted as custodian to that allowed for more effective representation.

Notes 1 In both countries, the electoral reforms were intertwined with broader strategies of authoritarian regime consolidation, at the core of which was the elevation of the status of the respective presidential parties. In Kazakhstan, the 2007 reform that tied MPs’ electoral fortunes exclusively to the parties was flanked by measures that led to a concentration in the party system (Isaacs 2011: 98–99). In Kyrgyzstan, the 2007 reform coincided with the breakdown of the post-Tulip Revolution power-sharing agreement and the attempt of President Bakiev to create a presidential party, Ak Zhol, which first competed in the snap elections following the reform. Although the post-2010 reform added provisions to the electoral law to institutionalize power-sharing (Marat 2015: 326), it did not reverse the general direction of the electoral reform. 2 Although studies show that changes to electoral systems do not necessarily lead to immediate changes in MPs’ constituency-related activities, that would be in line with how MPs are expected to behave under the new set of rules (Renwick/Pilet 2016; Renwick 2018: 124). 3 The effects of this rule have also been described for the case of Israel (see Hazan 1999: 803).

6

MPs acting for citizens Where can they make a difference?

When I was staying in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan in 2014 to gather material for this study, I asked all MPs the same interview question: What does your typical day in the constituency look like? The answers I received differed between the two countries’ MPs. An MP of the Mazhilis recounts: You know, there are five events a day. Let’s say, the first event is a meeting with the deputies of the regional maslikhat. . . . Second, we, for example, visit trade union organizations, organizations of veterans of labour, war veterans. We go to non-governmental organizations, visit some enterprises, for example, a farm or a shoe factory, hosiery – sock factories or look at new industrial facilities. . . . Then we have a meeting in a large hall, where a hundred to five hundred people gather, depending on the venue. There we inform them, speak to them. They ask us questions. That’s the format. And the public reception, of course. There are a lot of businesses, of course. And here we have a ten-day schedule with whom, and how we meet: schools, medical facilities. (Interview KAZ_44) The account of a Kyrgyz MP highlights a different schedule: I can tell about, for example, one of my working days. . . . On June 6th, I had a trip to the regions, specifically to the Bazar-Korgon district of Jalalabad region, where I visited five districts out of nine. What it looks like. . . . As an MP, I was able to allocate a certain amount of funds for the construction of schools from the state budget. I’ve seen the construction of these schools. I went to mosques. Last week, for example, there were mudflows. There were about 30 houses and several hectares of land hit. I visited this site and looked at it. I told them “Give me a record, give me specific numbers”, of who suffered, etc. These were the visits. I was in my village, as I oversee the BazarKorgon district, I myself come from the area. (Interview KG_22) These brief quotes provide little glimpses into how MPs act for and interact with their voters – substantive representation. MPs’ representational activities can take

116 MPs acting for citizens a variety of shapes, from policy-making, which receives the most scholarly attention, to pork-barrelling and more individualized forms of contact, including personal financial contributions made to individual citizens out of MPs’ own pockets. I opted to categorize activities based on whether MPs provide large-scale or smallscale solutions and by the type of activity (agenda-setting, material contribution or political activity) (see also Chapter 2). The six resulting types of representational activities are used as a grid to assess MPs’ representational style. In reality, though, real-world activities do not always neatly fall into one category, and a combination or sequence of activities may be used to solve a specific problem. For example, MPs may distribute resources to a group affected by an environmental disaster and then use the attention generated to bring the issue onto the legislative agenda. In order to link MPs’ activities to the context they operate in and thus delineate countryspecific patterns of activities, I first outline the legal framework, the resources and the channels established by the parliament for interaction with citizens. Please note that the interview material this chapter is based on was gathered in 2014, while most of the statistics are taken from the parliament’s (annual) reports that are available from 2012. While both parliamentary administrations have changed how they report certain activities over time, the report for the Mazhilis is one document summarizing the fifth convocation’s activities (2012–2016), while the reports available since 2016 have become much more exhaustive.

Kazakhstan: agents of the party The constituency-related activities of Kazakhstan’s MPs are managed in a topdown way by the parties. One powerful explanation for this approach is the proportional electoral system, which awards seats to the parties and requires MPs to act as part of a representative collective that has a mandate to represent the entire country. The development towards the style of representation we can observe today began in 2007, when Kazakhstan abandoned its majoritarian system in favour of proportional representation. This constitutional reform profoundly altered ties that MPs had previously developed to their “particular group of constituents” – regional, economic or ethnic – in the years following independence (Olcott 1997: 224). Since then, the parliament has been accused of being detached from the public and its needs and of lacking transparency with regard to the legislative process (interview KAZ_39). Parliament is not immune to demands for more transparent and open politics that have become increasingly pronounced in the past years (interview KAZ_48). As a response to them, parliament enacted several measures to foster linkages with the public – without permitting them to become so deep as to allow them to undermine the party’s leading position as the agent of representation. Outreach: communicating with the masses The framework for interaction between MPs of the Mazhilis and their citizens is set out by the Constitution and the Rules of Procedure of the Mazhilis. The latter, in particular, specifies how many days per session MPs should devote to travelling

MPs acting for citizens 117 to the regions and which days are reserved for meetings with voters. MPs all have a public relations plan, which lists different kinds of individual meetings and the travel schedules for entire committees (interview KAZ_47). The cornerstones of parliamentary outreach are mass meetings in the regions and communication using mass and social media. MPs are generally supported by one single personal assistant in the capital. One interview partner acknowledged that having only one assistant meant very little help and expressed the wish that parliament had more resources (interview KAZ_44). Few MPs have staff members with policy-making experience, and they usually only hire a legal consultant during times when they are involved in drafting legislation (interview KAZ_44). Therefore, MPs have to rely on the support of their parties and factions to coordinate their activities, particularly when they travel outside the capital for meetings with voters. For example, a staff member of the People’s Communist Party informed me that the party provides MPs with the opportunity to hire up to five additional staff members, paid for out of party funds (interview KAZ_41). Regions By law, MPs of the Mazhilis are required to travel to the regions for fixed periods of time (vyezd), four times per year for ten days (Rules of Procedure, Section 2, Art. 1.5). The party decides on an ad-hoc basis the destination of MPs’ trips (interviews KAZ_41; KAS_44). No long-term arrangements exist. MPs are not expected to visit the same region several times in a row, but they can make requests to the party to be sent for a follow-up meeting. However, these wishes are not always taken into consideration (interview KAZ_44). Nevertheless, the possibility does exist for MPs to travel to the regions more often than the required minimum and to include more “personal” meetings (interview KAZ_43). As MPs of the Mazhilis have no constituency offices, meetings during their trips to the regions are usually organized with the logistical support of the local party offices. People who want to meet their Nur Otan MPs, for example, can sign up via the party website. When asked if MPs have an assistant in the region, one party official answered that “the party organization itself is the MPs’ assistant” (interview KAZ_41). The close ties to the party offices are also reflected in the choice of meeting venues. Upon arriving in the regions, for example, MPs of the presidential party Nur Otan visit the party reception (priemnaia) for meetings with individuals. The receptions are also a first point of contact for citizens wishing to get in touch with MPs. Consequently, party control over MPs’ activities is tight. The party receptions of Nur Otan regularly host meetings not only with MPs of the Mazhilis but also with senators, members of the regional parliaments (maslikhat) and the regional administration (akimat). The press covers their activities, for example of an MP meeting miners on-site or another one giving out computer equipment during a tour of his former school (Kazinform 2013, 2017). MPs who are in parliament on a ticket from the Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan often begin their trip at local ethno-cultural associations, the so-called Houses

118 MPs acting for citizens of Friendship (dom druzhby). Here, they participate in meetings with representatives of different ethno-national groups and in displays of dance, music and culture. MPs also visit the cultural summer school organized by the Assambleia (interview KAZ_49). Frequently though, MPs meet their voters not one-by one but in large assemblies with on average 100–500 attendees. The audience of such assemblies is often comprised of people working at the same company, groups of pensioners, or university students (interviews KAZ_33; KAZ_44). The meetings are rather formalized, with MPs giving a presentation to their audience, after which people can ask questions. At the end of the meetings, citizens can hand over their letters and petitions (interview KAZ_44). During the course of one session, MPs were given over 3,000 written requests after meetings (Press release of the Mazhilis 28.06.2013). Critics among former MPs have complained that meetings are more formalized than they used to be so that little spontaneous interaction takes place (interviews KAZ_48; KAZ_51). The parliamentarians attempt to meet as many citizens as possible, with one MP estimating that during one such trip to the region, he meets between 700 and 1,000 people (interview KAZ_47). This estimate is in line with official statistics, according to which during one parliamentary session in 2012–2013 alone, MPs participated in 4,000 meetings with 500,000 citizens (Press release of the Mazhilis 28.06.2013). Seeing these numbers, it is clear that the parliamentarians and their leadership go to great lengths to ensure that citizens meet their representatives in person. The focus on meeting as many people as possible in one go is deliberate, as one MPs explained: “We try to cover as many people as possible, because our performance develops based on it – the more people hear, the more they understand something” (interview KAZ_47). Critics link the lack of true controversy or even spontaneous interaction back to the organization of meetings by the authorities and at people’s workplaces, as people hesitate to ask critical questions when their superiors are attending the meeting with them (interviews KAZ_40; KAZ_52). Moreover, not all attendees of such mass meetings (massovky) are there voluntarily – in 2015, Radio Free Europe’s Kazakhstan Service reported that students at major Kazakh Universities felt obliged to attend such events out of fear of being marked absent from class (Pannier 2015). Further explanations for MPs preferring large-scale meetings over direct interaction with voters emphasize MPs’ lack of power to follow up effectively on requests that citizens may confront them with. Moreover, the trips to the regions are organized by the parties, which are not interested in facilitating any direct contact between voters and MPs that could potentially develop into personal vote-seeking. Alternatively, one interview partner drew attention to the fact that many MPs before their elections never had been involved in public politics and were not used to campaigning and meeting with large groups of people (interview KAZ_39). In addition to the mostly informational public meetings, MPs also travel to the regions to study a problem on-site and get input into their legislative work. One interview partner explained how, due to her interest in juvenile justice, she preferred to visit juvenile prisons, meeting with offenders and employees (interview KAZ_46). MPs also meet party members in the region to discuss new initiatives (interview KAZ_46).

MPs acting for citizens 119 Dissemination of information One task of MPs is to disseminate information, both about government policy and about the workings of parliament (interview KAZ_44). For example, during election campaigns, they spoke to citizens about work done in the past and future priorities of their party (interview KAZ_46). When the president unveils a strategic plan – such as Kazakhstan 2050 – MPs are expected to talk to people about its content during their trips to the regions (interview KAZ_35; see also Press release of the Mazhilis 06.02.2014). Like all MPs, members of the Assambleia deputy group participate in public information sessions about the president’s strategic plans. Between the first and third session of parliament, MPs travelled to 38 towns, conducting 117 meetings with 12,637 individuals and participating in an additional 12 assemblies in the Houses of Friendship, in party offices and in the regional assemblies. Moreover, they also held 112 meetings with individual citizens (Press release of the Mazhilis 28.03.2014). During the fourth session, MPs were tasked with disseminating the president’s strategic plan, “Kazakhstan 2050”. On this topic alone, Assambleia MPs met with 31,798 citizens during 169 meetings in 60 different locations. During this period, they also conducted 738 individual meetings (Press release of the Mazhilis 22.06.2015). Additionally, MPs see it as their task to inform people about how parliament works. Citizens are not well-informed about the working style of the parliament, and MPs complain that the lack of visible conflict in the plenary is mistaken for a lack of pluralism (interview KAZ_48). One MP, Mira Aisina, addresses this issue in an interview in 2014, aptly titled “We are not a pocket parliament” (My ne karmannyi parlament) and continues with saying that “we also fight, and for weeks after do not greet one another” (Radio Tochka 2014). In the interview, she explains that conflicts take place in the committees, out of the public eye, whereas during plenary sessions, discipline and unity among MPs was to be maintained (Radio Tochka 2014). This interview illustrates the fact that parliament does care about its image and feels the need to defend it publicly. Media In addition to reaching out to citizens face to face through mass meetings, individual meetings and on-site visits, MPs use indirect communication channels. The Mazhilis and its members inform citizens about the work of parliament on the legislature’s website, through mass media and social media. The parliamentary website is parlam.kz. It contains short biographies of all MPs in the present convocation. Contact information (phone numbers) is available for the committees, the press service and the office to which citizens can address their letters. No contact information is available for individual MPs. It is also possible to contact parliament via the central e-government site. This suggests that access to parliamentarians takes place predominantly through the parties. It also puts in a privileged position those citizens who have the means to access MPs’ personal

120 MPs acting for citizens contact details. Since the beginning of research for this book, the Mazhilis has restructured its web resources in an attempt to establish greater transparency about its work. Personal “blogs” have been added to MPs’ biographies on the website, which contain MPs’ schedules and an account of their activities, as well as a contact form. Moreover, texts of parliamentary questions were made publicly available, as well as information given during the “government hour” (pravitel’stvennyi chas) in which members of the government answer MPs’ questions and the Annual Reports of the Mazhilis. A livestream of parliamentary proceedings can also be accessed via the website. Parliament uses the media to inform voters about its work, but the intensity of its use depends on the personal initiative of individual MPs. One MP explained that there is a media plan containing projects and a schedule of events (interview KAZ_46). The Assambleia deputy group has a media schedule of its own. Another interview partner reported that he tried to appear in big national newspapers about two to three times per year (interview KAZ_47). Some MPs use the media to inform the public about their work; however, they tend to use the media more for commenting on issues than for actively promoting projects of their own (interviews KAZ_43; KAZ_48). One MP of Ak Zhol said he published the dates of his visits to the region in the local newspapers and TV, to provide people with an opportunity to learn about his public reception hours in advance (interview KAZ_42). This, however, is not the rule and was mentioned by several other interview partners as a rare case of best practice (interviews KAZ_40; KAZ_48). The Mazhilis is active on social media, including on Twitter, YouTube and since 2015 also on Vkontakte and Facebook. Some MPs use social media to get in touch with their voters. One interview partner estimated that in 2014, only about 5% of MPs used social media (interview KAZ_48). An exception to this was the MPs of the CPPK, who at that time all had a social media account (interview KAZ_41). The MPs who do use social media do so to receive questions and criticism, to announce which events they will attend and to schedule meetings with voters (interviews KAZ_43; KAZ_44). One MP explained that for him, social media felt informal and therefore constituted a channel reserved for private purposes (interview KAZ_45). A low usage of electronic communication has also been noted for the deputies of the regional parliament, the maslikhat. A pilot project of a youth NGO, the web portal e-deputat.kz, which wanted to gather contact information for all MPs, revealed that the majority of deputies of the Almaty parliament did not have an email address (interview KAZ_33). The figures presented in the Annual Reports suggest that social media use among MPs increased during the sixth convocation. Social media affects MPs’ behaviour. This is illustrated by the annual competition in which citizens vote for the “national darling” (lubimec; see also at lubimec. kz) on facebook and which has a category for the “most active MP”. In 2014, an opposition MP led the polls for a long time, which, according to one interview partner, caused uproar among the ranks of the Nur Otan faction (interview KAZ_48). This, again, suggests that parliament and its members are not indifferent to public opinion.

MPs acting for citizens 121 Input channels for citizens When citizens want to contact their MPs, they can either approach them directly or approach them via the parties’ public receptions operating in the capital and in the regions; they can submit written requests or attend public sessions and councils. Meetings between MPs and individual citizens are not formalized. Contacts with MPs are often initiated via phone – if people are able to obtain the phone numbers. Letters are also frequently used to initiate contact. Not many people write emails, as electronic communication is considered less “official” than hard copy mail (interview KAZ_42). Access to parliament An initial channel through which citizens can get in touch with their representatives is through a visit to the parliament building. Organized visits to parliament do not exist in Kazakhstan – a “virtual” tour can be taken on the parliament website. MPs sometimes invite people to their offices, usually when the problems cannot be resolved by a phone call (interviews KAZ_45; KAZ_46). One MP sums up how citizens can contact him best, saying “my public reception is the post[al address], the parliament, my office” (interview KAZ_42). In order to get an invitation to enter the building, people have to establish contact with their representative first (interview KAZ_39). As some MPs perceive inviting people into the parliament as too time-consuming, they prefer to meet with their voters outside the building, sometimes even meeting citizens at their homes (interview KAZ_47). Citizens may get MPs’ attention by submitting written requests. In Kazakhstan, petitions are an accepted form of protest. Often, petitioners involve the media, as their presence increases the possibility of the petition being accepted. Using the media to conduct “noisy campaigns” (shumnye kampanii) has even become the strategy some politicians pursue when initial attempts to get direct access to “power” (vlast’) have failed, as political elites have gradually begun to pay more attention to the media (interview KAZ_39). However, even when MPs personally accept a petition, there is no institutionalized procedure that enables people to control what happens to their requests (interview KAZ_39). The number of written requests to parliament is published in the Annual Reports of the Mazhilis. During the fifth convocation, citizens submitted 25,275 letters, an average of more than 5,000 letters per year. The number of letters arriving varies for the sixth convocation, between 1,125 (I session) and 5,659 (III session). During most years, the majority of letters address social issues and questions regarding the rule of law. The volume of letters addressing specific legislative proposals varies greatly across the years, from only 19 (I and IV sessions) to 226 (III session). There is nothing distinctive about the geographical distribution of letters, with the majority originating in Astana and Almaty (Annual Reports of the Mazhilis 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019). When citizens want to provide input into legislative projects of parliament, in addition to written suggestions, they can attend public councils, roundtables or

122 MPs acting for citizens hearings. Additionally, the committees regularly hold meetings outside the parliament, the so-called vyezdnoe zasedanie (outreach meetings). Hearings happen infrequently, while roundtables are held more regularly by the parliamentary committees. Public councils (obshchestvennye sovety) pose an institutionalized form of public involvement in legislative projects. Public councils are involved in different topics and at different levels, not only at the parliamentary level but also at the party or the government level. Their number has grown significantly over the past legislative period. As of 2016, public councils are now mandatory at all levels of government (national, oblast’ and raion). Public councils are established for three years and comprise delegates from government bodies and civil society organizations. MPs also attend these public councils (interview KAZ_44; see also Schiek 2019). Unlike the regional parliaments, the public councils make no binding decisions and just have the role of being “the eyes and voice of the people”, monitoring the authorities at the various levels (Bocharova/Mazorenko 2016). Lacking any real formal power, their effectiveness and influence depends largely on their individual members (Bocharova/Mazorenko 2016). MPs attend roundtable discussions, both to gather and to disseminate information on their area of expertise (interview KAZ_46). More such meetings take place when MPs are working on a specific legislative project (interview KAZ_45). NGOs complain that the parliament does not routinely reach out to gather information from stakeholders during the legislative drafting process and that instead, civil society has to make an effort to learn what issues are being discussed (interview KAZ_40). When the parliament believes an issue merits enhanced public involvement, MPs arrange supplementary meetings with stakeholders, an MP explains: when we get a number of related tasks, when we are working on a particular law in the social sphere, then we say that this warrants feedback, and we call a meeting. Over the course of one day, we conduct about four to five meetings. (Interview KAZ_45) This quotation shows the top-down approach the Mazhilis has to public involvement in the legislative process – both in the parliament receiving a “task” (zadaniia) to draft legislation and in the parliament deciding on the necessity and scope of public involvement. This brief summary of communication channels in both directions shows how MPs communicate with citizens and for what purposes they reach out. Additionally, it shows what channels citizens have at their disposal if they want to contact an MP. In the following section, I show what those channels are used for by citizens. Citizens’ concerns: why MPs are contacted Citizens approach MPs in order to complain about insufficient infrastructure and housing, roads, schools, bridges or railway crossings (interview KAZ_42). People with disabilities and personal problems also approach MPs (interviews KAZ_42; KAZ_46). Other MPs recounted being contacted regarding young people’s issues

MPs acting for citizens 123 Table 6.1 Topics of letters addressed to the Mazhilis Fifth convocation Topics Suggestions regarding legislative projects Economic reforms Social sphere Rule of law Science and Education Health Ecology Total

Sixth convocation I session II session III session IV session

413

19

49

226

19

3,289 11,404 6,400 915

127 491 331 31

634 1,943 1,540 138

446 2,165 1,729 128

382 1,321 1,556 105

1,413 1,441 25,275

46 80 1,125

281 299 4,884

325 640 5,659

161 195 3,739

Source: Annual reports of the Mazhilis

and energy efficiency, as well as gender-related questions (interviews KAZ_44; KAZ_45). Several MPs mentioned being approached about problems affecting business owners (interviews KAZ_.42; KAZ_43; KAZ_44). An analysis of letters received by Ak Zhol shows that between January 2012 and May 2014, most written requests addressed to the party concerned business interests (Democratic Party Ak Zhol). This might be related to the perception of Ak Zhol representing business interest, in particular. MPs of the Assambleia are often approached regarding “questions of public consensus”, as village elders may decide to refer such questions on to MPs (interview KAZ_47). Citizens don’t only turn to their MPs from the Assambleia with questions concerning equal treatment of ethnic minorities; among the topics addressed to Assambleia MPs by citizens are the provision of health services, free medicines, gas and water supply in the regions, jobs or microcredits (Press release of the Mazhilis 22.06.2015). People sometimes make specific suggestions on how to change legislation. In such cases, MPs can initiate a parliamentary question to draw attention to the issue. However, such instances are rare (interview KAZ_46). More frequently, MPs are asked to consider questions that are actually not their responsibility but that should really be resolved by the local administration instead. In such cases, MPs explain that it is not within their remit and refer petitioners back to the local authorities (interview KAZ_42). MPs’ representational activities When MPs act for citizens, what activities do they usually pursue? Which among the parliamentary tasks are undertaken on a daily basis, and which are only of marginal importance for the deputies of the Mazhilis? In the following section, I

124 MPs acting for citizens will assess MPs’ representational activities by type of activity (political, material contributions, or agenda-setting) and based on whether MPs provide large-scale or small-scale solutions. Political activity SMALL-SCALE: CASEWORK, GRIEVANCE-CHASING

From the MPs’ point of view, the most effective MP–citizen linkages concern the handling of personal complaints by citizens. MPs write letters to the government and its agencies on behalf of citizens, for example when citizens complain about being denied medical attention (interview KAZ_48). Even though the MPs’ focus is on addressing the concrete grievance, they also try to address the underlying collective problems (interview KAZ_42). However, their ability to do so is limited, as all modifications to the national budget require the support of the government (interview KAZ_48). Hence, even though they are able to resolve personal problems on a small scale, the larger, underlying structural problems (e.g. regarding the quality of education or medical treatment) cannot be addressed by MPs as effectively. Grievance-chasing in Kazakhstan often requires MPs to write letters to the actors who are responsible for addressing the problem. Nearly all letters addressed to political parties need to be forwarded to another institution. For example, an overview of letters received by the Ak Zhol party shows that between January 2012 and May 2014, the party received 326 letters. Of these, 91 were forwarded to the attorney general, 61 to the national bank and other financial institutions/supporting bodies for businesses, while the third largest share (53 letters) was redirected to the local administrative bodies (Democratic Party Ak Zhol 2014). Even when MPs want to help, they generally have no power to follow up on promises made to citizens. Some MPs have found a creative way to work around this issue. One former MP, for example, explained during the interview that as an MP, he lacked the means for follow up. However, in his function as a member of a party commission he could then make sure that the party took action on issues raised by voters (interview KAZ_48). As a result, it is not surprising that it is the party, rather than the parliament, which voters see as the access point to “power”. LARGE-SCALE: POLICY-MAKING

Unequivocally, MPs describe legislative work as the most important task of parliament, claiming that “parliament is a factory for the production of laws” (interview KAZ_42). In principle, parliament formally has the right to initiate legislation. However, if we compare the number of laws initiated by the Mazhilis with those initiated by the government, it is clear that the parliament does not use its right to initiate legislation very frequently. In line with their understanding of representing all ethnic groups, MPs of the Assambleia review legislation for potentially discriminatory passages (interview KAZ_49). Legislative work mostly consists of routine activity. The same law may pass over MPs’ desks several times during the same legislative period. The fact that legislative activity is always one step behind real-life developments is

MPs acting for citizens 125 used to explain the large number of adjustments to existing laws (interview KAZ_42). The parliament usually restricts itself to making minor adjustment to current laws, instead of initiating major legislative projects (interview KAZ_48). For example, during the fourth session, the Mazhilis passed 116 laws but made more than 700 modifications to existing laws (Press release of the Mazhilis 15.07.2015). Furthermore, the fact that the Mazhilis is not allowed to make adjustments to the budget without the consent of the government curtails not just pork-barrelling but also legislative activity in general (Rules of Procedure, Section 3, Art. 24–4). Looking at these figures, it is not surprising that people do not perceive parliament as the main body that drafts legislation; laws are seen as being owned by the government, with MPs having the role of supporter or critic of the law but not its owner (interview KAZ_48). Agenda-setting SMALL-SCALE: LIAISING WITH INDIVIDUALS AND ATTENTION-SEEKING

Kazakh MPs rely on attention-seeking in order to overcome their relative lack of power in the legislative arena. One long-serving MP explained how he managed to work around the lack of legislative power: I developed my own technique. Firstly, I met [with voters] very often. Secondly, I asked the party not to include me in the parliament’s [anti-corruption commission], but to give me a seat on the party’s anti-corruption commission instead. I controlled the government on the resolution of those tasks that we had included in the [party-] programme. It was easier for me this way. . . . When we found out that money had been stolen, e.g. for road construction, I went to the mass media, TV, the newspapers. (Interview KAZ_48) This bundle of activities described by the MPs has some elements of casework but also involves a degree of attention-seeking. However, the success of such a strategy depends on access to the media, which is not equal for all MPs. Sometimes, MPs’ contact with citizens does not involve any constituency service and is largely symbolic; for example, MPs who are in parliament on a ticket of the Assambleia just participate in meetings with representatives of different ethnic groups and watch cultural displays. MPs will not always do what citizens ask of them, even if they have the formal power to do so. For example, one MP explained why he did not help a citizen who had a disability and wanted to receive an apartment. The MP found the request unreasonable and made the suggestion that the person move into a dorm instead (interview KAZ_42). LARGE SCALE: PARLIAMENTARY QUESTIONS AND INQUIRIES

MPs use information received during visits to the region as the basis for parliamentary questions (interview KAZ_46). Sometimes, MPs feel that citizens’ requests concern a much wider section of the population and require a collective solution.

126 MPs acting for citizens Table 6.2 Legislation introduced into the Mazhilis, by initiating body Initiated by Bills passed by the Mazhilis

total

President

Government

MPs (Mazhilis)

fifth convocation I session (22.01.2012–30.06.2012) II session (01.09.2012–30.06.2013) III session (01.09.2013–30.06.2014 IV session (02.09.2014–01.07.2015) V session (01.09.2015–24.03.2016) total passed of these, signed into law

39 95 108 116 102 454 441

– 1 – – – 1 1

35 93 104 109 84* 425 414

4 1 4 7 12* 28 26

sixth convocation I session (25.3.2016–30.06.2016) II session (01.09.2016–30.06.2017) III session (04.09.2017–29.06.2018) IV session (01.09.2018–28.06.2019) total passed signed into law (as of 06/2019)

13 83 88 79 263 219

– 4 1 3 8 7

13 69 82 73 237 195

– 10 5 3 18 8

Source: Nur Otan website, Legislative activity (2012–2015) Annual Reports of the Mazhilis (2016–2019) * Information from Nur Otan, only available for part of the V legislative session. Please note that the figures refer to the bill approved by the Mazhilis, not the total of bills introduced, because the breakdown by initiating body was only available for the bills passed for the fifth convocation, and I opted for consistency across the convocations

In this case, they submit an oral or written parliamentary question based on it (interview KAZ_46). During the second session of the fifth convocation, MPs from both parliamentary chambers submitted 367 questions (Press release of the Mazhilis 28.06.2013). In the fourth session, the number was 326 (Press release of the Mazhilis 15.07.2015). MPs of the Assambleia also submit parliamentary questions; between the first and third session, they submitted 27 questions alone without the co-signature of other MPs and co-authored another 193 questions (Press release of the Mazhilis 28.03.2014). Several authors seems to be the norm for written questions. For the sixth convocation, a more detailed breakdown of parliamentary questions is available. The data shows that consistently across all sessions, a large share of questions is submitted by members of the two opposition parties. Their share among parliamentary questions ranges between 37% (I session) and 46% (IV session), in spite of their combined seat share being only 13%. In Kazakhstan, we can conclude, posing parliamentary questions is indeed an instrument predominantly used by the opposition. Answers to written parliamentary questions are provided either verbally or in writing, according to the wishes of the MPs who submitted them. The answers are

MPs acting for citizens 127 Table 6.3 Parliamentary questions submitted by MPs, by faction Session

Nur Otan

CPPK

Ak Zhol

Assambleia

total

fifth convocation I II III IV V total (fifth conv.)

– – – – – 592 (57%)

– – – – – 194 (19%)

– – – – – 192 (19%)

– – – – – 53 (5%)

210 247 296 226 52 1031

sixth convocation I II III IV total (I-IV session)

48 141 118 83 390 (46%)

16 59 68 54 197 (23%)

16 63 64 40 183 (22%)

7 17 21 29 74 (9%)

87 280 271 206 844

Source: Annual Reports of the Mazhilis (2012–2016, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019)

also posted on the parliament website and may be published in the media (Law on Parliament, Art. 27). This is generally considered to be good practice. MPs consider parliamentary questions to be a sharp knife in their toolbox, as the government is obliged to provide an answer within a month (interview KAZ_40, also Rules and Procedures, Section 4, Art. 11.152). Moreover, the questions receive media coverage so that people can see that their problems are being discussed and taken seriously by the politicians, and citizens can see through the media coverage that MPs are being responsive towards their concerns (interview KAZ_46). Hence, parliamentary questions also serve as a communication tool to the wider public. Material contributions SMALL-SCALE: FINANCIAL AID TO INDIVIDUAL AND COMMUNITIES

MPs spend a lot of time resolving individual citizen’s problems. One MP explained that every single member of the Mazhilis found themselves a niche groups of citizens that they attempted to help. He personally liked to help citizens with medical needs and had developed a wide network of contacts from the medical professions. He stated that he sometimes provided financial help out of his own pocket (interview KAZ_47). LARGE-SCALE: PORK-BARRELLING AND EARMARKING

Pork-barrel politics used to play an important role in Kazakhstan, with MPs attempting to allocate funds to their home regions (Bowyer 2008: 59). This practice changed in 2007 with the abolition of the majoritarian electoral system and,

128 MPs acting for citizens with it, the constituencies. Even more important in explaining the decrease in legislative allocation is the law that prevents the parliament from making adjustments to the budget without the consent of the government (Rules of Procedure, Section 3, Art. 24–4). This makes any legislative allocation by MPs impossible (interview KAZ_48). One consequence of this might have been that access to “pork” would then depend on MPs having a good relationship with the “powers that be”. Such an effect has been suggested for the cases of Jordan (Lust 2009) and Egypt (Koehler 2008). However, I have found no evidence for this in Kazakhstan – a good relationship with power, instead, has actually been associated with raising the public profile of parliament, particularly referring to the activities of MP Dariga Nazarbaeva (interview KAZ_44). The activity profile of MPs in Kazakhstan In sum, the observations about MPs’ activities show that MP–citizen linkages in Kazakhstan are qualitatively different from those found in established democracies. MPs spend a lot of time during their trips to the regions (and thus during their direct interaction with voters) on the dissemination of information and educating citizens about official government policy. This is reminiscent of practices found in the Soviet Union when MPs were expected to act as a “representative of the state to citizens” (Friedgut 1979: 145). MPs also use the meetings to collect information about issues that are important to the citizens and then pass it on to the government and its agencies. These activities all belong to the portfolio of linkages between the political sphere and citizens; however, they do not constitute activities by which parliament can be responsive towards the people. Although parliament formally has the right to initiate legislation, it rarely makes use of this power. Policy-making in the Mazhilis mostly means re-working existing laws at the initiative of the government. Legislative allocation is virtually non-existent, as parliament lacks the constitutional powers that would facilitate such behaviour. Direct interaction between MPs and citizens is managed in a top-down way by the party leadership. The organization of interactions facilitates a large quantity of linkages but disregards their quality; mass meetings with large crowds are the Table 6.4 Activity profile of MPs of the Mazhilis Political activity

Agenda-setting

Material contributions

Large-scale

Policy-making

Parliamentary questions

Pork-barrelling, Earmarking

Small-scale

– Casework, Grievance-chasing

++ Attention-seeking, liaising, showing presence +

– Financial aid to communities and individuals +

++

MPs acting for citizens 129 norm. The Mazhilis publishes figures on the number of interactions, the numbers of citizens received and the number of letters forwarded as proof of well-developed linkages. The settings of the meetings – which take place in large groups – and the fact that MPs do not usually visit the same place twice, curtails spontaneous interaction and critical questions. It also limits the opportunity for citizens to follow up on promises made and hold MPs accountable. Therefore, the large number of the meetings, which are carefully managed and showcased, goes hand in hand with a diminished opportunity for meaningful interaction. MPs react to their lack of power and autonomy with a focus on the few activities and areas where they can make a difference, such as the resolution of individual problems and the power to refer questions to the government, its agencies and local authorities, acting as case managers. Alternatively, MPs have found ways to leverage media appearances and the power of the party for oversight. However, this can be seen as an exception to the rule, as in total, the room for independent action by MPs has been shrinking since the 2007 reforms. The figure (Table 6.4) demonstrates that MPs in Kazakhstan predominantly focus on small-scale activities when acting for the citizens and on activities where they perceive they can make a difference, such as the formulation of parliamentary questions. This stands in sharp contrast to the large events dominating overall interaction. The top-down approach to substantive representation and the weakening of the actual powers of the parliament impede the development of strong ties between citizens and parliamentarians. MPs’ assessment of the representative relationship How do parliamentarians themselves see their activities and their relationship with the public? MPs in Kazakhstan perceive themselves to be role models for ordinary citizens. They are aware that they are under constant scrutiny by voters and the party alike, and they control their appearance and behaviour in public accordingly (interview KAZ_45). Interview partners attributed particular importance to direct interaction with individual voters during their personal receptions. One interview partner explained that she was constantly aware of the fact that the people coming to the reception had real problems and that she may have been one of the few people with the power to actually do something about it (interview KAZ_46). As a result of being constantly confronted with citizens in extreme situations, MPs found this part of their work to be emotionally draining (interview KAZ_46). One MP stated that she sometimes left the receptions feeling like a “squeezed-out lemon” (interview KAZ_42). However, MPs agreed that ultimately, they were working for the people and therefore had to accept people as they are (interview KAZ_46). When asked about how they allocated time for their different activities, one interview partner explained that the first priority was parliamentary work, then other tasks specified by the rules of procedure and finally, issues that were personal priorities for MPs (interview KAZ_45). In recent years, experts have noted an activation of civil society in Kazakhstan (interview KAZ_40). This came with increased demands on parliament’s work.

130 MPs acting for citizens However, these are more often directed towards the senate (as the more “powerful” body) than towards the Mazhilis (interview KAZ_35). People do not perceive the Mazhilis to be the right place to address their concerns, as their immediate problems are usually resolved by the local administration (interview KAZ_39). Moreover, an MP believed the population to be fairly unaware of the full range of activities of the parliament, as people’s information often was based solely on what they observed during the plenary session, while they were unaware of the work carried out in the committees (interview KAZ_42). Another interview partner conceded that while in principle, he was in favour of expanding parliamentary powers, a precondition for that would have to be that people gained more trust in parliament (interview KAZ_44).

Kyrgyz Republic: political entrepreneurs and their personal constituencies Political elites in the Kyrgyz Republic see in parliament a key instrument for building trust and support for the political system. Therefore, in the past few years the parliament in the Kyrgyz Republic has invested considerable resources into developing ties with voters and facilitating communication. Even though the purpose of the parliament is to foster close ties with the citizens, not all types and patterns of representative activities are deemed desirable; MPs’ activities should ensure that citizens from every group in society in every region feel represented and have the opportunity to get in touch with an MP, while at the same time preventing the “wrong” type of links that are “localist” and based on a patron–client relationship. Such clientelistic ties are considered to be harmful to a democratic transformation. The tension between nation-wide mandate and local ties becomes evident in the arrangements surrounding MPs’ trips to constituencies outside the capital. Outreach: your personal MP A number of laws and regulations govern interaction between MPs and citizens, in order to enhance parliament’s visibility and accessibility. In early 2014, a rule was passed that spelled out the obligations of MPs with regard to interactions with citizens and NGOs, the Regulation regarding the work of the Jogorku Kenesh of the Kyrgyz Republic with voters and the mechanism of their interactions, hereafter known as the “Regulation”. According to it, MPs are to travel to the regions for ten days in every quarter of the year. This is the same amount of time as in Kazakhstan, but MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic organize their travels more independently than their colleagues of the Mazhilis. Moreover, within the factions, responsibility for covering each of the different regions is divided up and distributed among the MPs for the whole of the parliamentary term, and each MP returns frequently to her or his designated region. The main pillars of personal interaction between MPs and voters are receptions of individual MPs in the parliament building and public receptions operated by the

MPs acting for citizens 131 factions. Each MP’s office is staffed by a secretary and a consultant, but there are no funds available for hiring employees in the regions. Some MPs hire additional consultants at their own expense or require the contribution of volunteers, who are sometimes associated with the party (interviews KG_24; KG_25; KG_27). The lack of resources as a problem hindering parliament’s activity is a recurring theme when talking to MPs, who not only lament the difficult financial conditions under which parliament operates but also fault the strained finances of the country for the lack of effectiveness of many laws (interview KG_22). When MPs visit the regions, their offices in the capital and local consultants help them prepare meetings. Local councils are also enlisted to provide logistical help for such events (Regulation, Art. 2.3.6). There is no budget line for MPs to maintain an office outside the capital. As a result, few offices operate permanently in the regions, apart from a few that were established as pilot projects. According to a monitoring report of the NGO Coalition for Democracy and Civil Society, 16 offices were operating in the regions in 2013 (Coalition for Democracy and Civil Society 2013). Even if MPs do have a constituency office, people may not be aware of its existence, as one employee of an NGO recounted: They [MPs] say they do have offices. . . . And we came to the office and it had no sign up to say that this was an MP’s office. And we had a conversation with that MP, and we asked her: “Why don’t you have a sign here, why don’t you advertise your office so that more people come? It does not look like there are any people coming”. And basically, she said: “Well, then there will be too many people”. So, well, if you are afraid of too many people, then why do you open an office? (Interview KG_11) MPs who belong to the same faction co-ordinate their activities, and the factions themselves support MPs’ trips. The faction’s secretariats are also tasked with keeping a record of all MPs’ trips to the regions, which then are included in the Annual Report of the Speaker. Details regarding the data to be collected are spelled out in the annex of the “Regulation”. As there are no a priori constituencies in the Kyrgyz system, visits to the regions are one means by which constituencies are created and reinforced. An MP visiting a region thus shows responsibility for the region as his or her constituency. In the previous chapter, Chapter 5, I described how MPs of one faction divided up responsibilities for the regions among themselves, “adopting” one region as their constituency. These stable, long-term arrangements have contributed to the perseverance of personal ties between MPs and their “adopted” constituency, which can often be the MP’s area of origin. Media The Jogorku Kenesh and its members have been developing their ties with the media, building up infrastructure with contributions from donors. The Jogurku

132

MPs acting for citizens

Kenesh has a parliamentary radio station, which operates daily 9:00–17:00. It was established in 2006 with the support of the OSCE (Press Service of the Jogorku Kenesh 19.09.2016). The station is available in most of the country, as well as online. Most often, the programme consists of live transmission of the proceedings in the plenary. Popular with listeners outside the Jogorku Kenesh is a weekly call-in show in which individual MPs answer questions. By 2014, 90 MPs of the fifth convocation had already participated in the show (Annual Report of the Speaker 2014). The 2019 Annual Report of the Speaker lists 1,089 broadcasts for the V session (2019: 57). In addition, a weekly 50-minute TV show by the name “Parliament” is aired on national TV. It is broadcast on two channels on Saturday and Sunday evenings (Press Service of the Jogorku Kenesh 25.09.2014). In 2019, 37 episodes of “Parliament” were aired; in addition to two other programmes dedicated to the parliament’s activities (Kun tartibinde – 69; Parlamentarizm sabaktary – 36) (Annual Report of the Speaker 2019: 57). MPs use the media for two purposes – one, to inform the public about their work and thus establish accountability – and two, to exert pressure on the government and the administration. MPs offer topics to the media when they feel the need to discuss an issue in public (interview KG_19). When they believe that the government is ignoring an issue of public concern, some MPs run media campaigns, to “make noise” and raise awareness. Not all MPs have equal access to mass media. One interview partner expressed the sentiment that it was getting increasingly difficult for people critical of the president to get airtime in the national media, and he had therefore intensified his use of social media (interview KG_32). In addition to traditional mass media, Kyrgyz MPs also use social media to interact with voters. The Kyrgyz parliament is active on Facebook, Instagram and YouTube (Annual Report of the Speaker 2019: 60). Use of social media varies considerably across the membership of the Jogorku Kenesh. MPs use Facebook, Vkontakte and also the Kyrgyz discussion forum diesel.elcat.kg. Few MPs have their own website (interview KG_12). Social media is predominantly used by younger MPs (interview KG_19). Moreover, members of the opposition who feel excluded from traditional mass media use social media to communicate directly with citizens (interview KG_32). MPs also use social media to announce meetings and to inform people about their activities (interviews KG_12; KG_19). One interview partner said that although she answered messages received via social media, the chat function was very time consuming, and therefore she used it sparingly (interview KG_19). Another interview partner remarked that it was unfortunate that not all social groups had equal access to social media (interview KG_32). Since 2011, the parliament’s website can be reached under the address kenesh. kg. It has been developed by members of the Jogorku Kenesh with the support of local website developers, the United Nations Development Program and the Parliamentary Strengthening Program of DAI/USAID (Dillon 2012: 2). The website has contact information for the factions, parliamentary administration and the press centre and the official mailing address of the parliament (via the office of letters and public reception). Information available on the website includes the legal documents pertaining to the work of parliament (Constitution, Rules

MPs acting for citizens 133 and Procedures of the Jogorku Kenesh) and information about individual MPs, factions, committees and the parliamentary leadership. Information about bills and voting records of individual MPs, which is crucial for establishing accountability to citizens, is also available. The parliamentary website received a major overhaul during the sixth convocation, during which information was added that commenters previously had found missing (Dillon 2012: 4). This includes contact information of individual MPs and committees and the opportunity to send requests to MPs via the site. What is still missing, however, is the is information on areas of expertise and work-in-progress policy projects of individual MPs (Dillon 2012: 3); such information would help citizens to contact an MP based on area of specialization rather than on biographical details. Visits to the Jogorku Kenesh Organized visits to the parliament building were introduced during the fifth convocation, as a measure to familiarize people with its work. They were mainly aimed at visitor groups from schools, universities and deputies of the local councils. Visitors can participate in meetings of committees and factions and listen in on the plenary debates. Since April 2014, visitor groups have to register their visit ten days in advance with the parliamentary administration (Tynaeva 2014). In 2014, 138 different groups comprising 2,914 individuals visited the Jogorku Kenesh (Press Service of the Jogorku Kenesh 17.02.2015). In 2019, the number of visitors had risen to 6,474 individuals, the majority of which were school classes (2,362 visitors) and students (3,459 visitors) (Annual Report of the Speaker 2019: 59). According to the press service, the visits not only helped people get acquainted with the work of parliament but, moreover, contributed to a more realistic impression of parliament, countering the popular belief that parliamentarians worked under luxurious conditions, lounging on “golden sofas” (Press Service of the Jogorku Kenesh 17.02.2015). One MP in particular, Dastan Bekeshev of Ar Namys (who joined the SDPK faction in 2015), takes credit for introducing tours of the parliament, claiming I do not want to boast, but I introduced this practice . . . from Europe, there is nothing like this in the neighbouring countries. Why bureaucratize it now? We are the representatives of the people; everybody should have the right to enter the Jogorku Kenesh. (quoted in Tynaeva 2014) Among the activities of Kyrgyz MPs, the dissemination of information plays only a marginal role. Individual interview partners mentioned that they attempted to teach citizens about politics and the effects of the recent institutional reforms (interview KG_32). In addition to disseminating general information, they also explained to citizens the work that MPs had been doing over the past few months (interview KG_23).

134 MPs acting for citizens Input channels for citizens: personal meetings and letter-writing What channels and mechanisms are available for citizens who want to provide input into the work of parliament, and not merely have casual meetings? The channels available to citizens range from letters and visits to parliament, to the participation in public hearings and roundtables. Firstly, the most heavily utilized means to contact members of the Jogorku Kenesh is by hard copy letter. MPs receive ten thousand letters from voters every year. Letters are regarded as the most “official” form of communication (and are often referred to as “petitions”). Letters that do not fulfil the basic requirements (date, home address of the sender, signature) are not processed. Some NGOs assist people in writing letters to MPs that fulfil the formal requirements (interview KG_9). An NGO developed an published a booklet instructing the public how to interact with the Jogorku Kenesh (OO Mezhdunarodnyi Zentr “Interbilim”). For example, the booklet, which is available in both Kyrgyz and Russian, contains information on how to write formally correct letters to the MPs. Contact details for all factions are published on the parliamentary website.1 A fairly recent phenomenon is that citizens’ requests can be submitted by email (interview KG_17). During the fifth convocation, legislation was enacted that obliged the Jogorku Kenesh to treat electronic communication the same as hardcopy letters. Kyrgyz citizens predominantly send their letters to parties and individuals whom they perceive to be closer to power. Most letters during the fifth convocation (about 40% across the entire legislative period) were addressed to the SDPK faction – the party of the speaker and also the party with the best infrastructure on the ground. The majority of these were sent to Asylbek Zheenbekov, Speaker of the Jogorku Kenesh in 2011–2015, who received 2,539 letters in 2012, 2,629 letters in 2013 and 2,481 in 2014. The second highest number Table 6.5 Distribution of letters by recipient Period*

Speaker

Factions

Committees

total

01.11.2012 2013 (calendar year) 01.09.2013–30.08.2014 01.09.2014–01.01.2015 2015–2016 2016–2017 2017–2018 2018–2019

– – – –

– – – – 16,875 24,867 21,554 14,188

– – – – 5,595 4,870 4576 4,416

12,461 14,355 12,882 4,489 23,434 31,849 28,108 20,565

963 2,175 1,978 1,961

Source: own table based on Statistics of the Office of Letters and Reception of Citizens of the Jogorku Kenesh; Annual Report of the Speaker (2017: 14, 2019: 16) * Reporting periods between 2012–2014 vary across the session and sometimes overlap. Reporting by parliamentary session (September–June since 2015)

MPs acting for citizens 135 of letters was addressed to Ormukbek Tekebaev, the leader of Ata Meken party (Office of Letters and the Reception of Citizens of the Jogorku Kenesh). The kind of information on letters reported changed between the fifth and sixth convocations. For the sixth convocation we know that the majority of requests was sent to the factions and the committees and fewer to the speaker. For the session 2017–2018, of the total of 28,108 requests as many as 21,554 were addressed to the factions (letters addressed to individual MPs are included in this count). During the 2018–2019 session, 14,188 requests were addressed to the factions, out of 20,565 in total. Electronic petitions have become increasingly popular in the past years. Nevertheless, the success of a petition that forced the parliament to retract a public tender for new chairs remains the exception to the rule (Lelik 2015). Individual, hard-copy letters remain the norm for now. Second, citizens may decide to meet their representatives in person. Although organized visits to parliament do exist, gaining access to the building for individuals who want to participate in a hearing of the Jogorku Kenesh depends on knowing who the appropriate contact person is for a particular hearing. Phone numbers for the secretariats are listed in an office next to the parliamentary building, where telephones are available for calling the parliament. However, this office also serves the president and gets crowded during peak hours (Dillon 2012: 1). Alternatively, people may visit the public reception offices maintained by the factions. During the fifth convocation, all factions in the Jogorku Kenesh maintained such an office which were all located in the same building in the vicinity of the parliament. According to the factions, there was always one MP (or member of staff) on duty during office hours. The majority of the factions made their schedule available on the parliament’s website. Visitors were required to enter their requests in a book, as a means to ensure accountability. Non-faction MPs lacked such a tool to get in touch with voters and developed other compensatory strategies instead; some non-faction MPs, for example, travelled extensively to the regions (interview KG_22). For the 2018–2019, most factions report up to 378 annual visits to the reception offices, namely 143 (Bir Bol), 229 (Kyrgyzstan), 301 (SDPK), 378 (Respublika-Ata Zhurt). In this period two factions report visitors in the four figures: 1,132 (Onuguu-Progress) and 1,948 (Ata Meken) (Annual Report of the Speaker 2019: 22–23). While the numbers for the majority of factions remain stable over time, it must be noted the report shows considerable variation in numbers of visits between years for Bir Bol and SDPK – in 2017–2018, for example, Bir Bol received 1,230 visitors, while SDPK reports none at all. Moreover, reception by the faction leaders and individual MPs are reported separately. When asked to evaluate the effectiveness of the public reception offices, one party official stated that the considerable decline in visitors they had experienced over the duration of the legislative cycle was due to the fact that more problems had been solved and that they no longer required attention (interview KG_27). As a result, the job of staffing the office was delegated from MPs to consultants (interview KG_17). Employees of another faction emphasized the fact that they actually preferred visitors to come in person to the reception rather than sending letters, because visitors’

136

MPs acting for citizens

requests could often be dealt with immediately and thus required the commitment of fewer resources (interview KG_27). Third, parliament and its members actively reach out to citizens to seek information on grievances and input for ongoing legislative projects. Information gathering can be rather broad, with MPs being available to citizens, or it can be targeted, using the formats of roundtables and public hearings. Individual MPs and groups of MPs travel to the regions whenever an urgent problem appears, in order to get a first-hand account of what is going on (interviews KG_19; KG_28). One such example, an “urgent issue meeting”, was conducted to study the border disputes at the Kyrgyz-Tajik border in 2014 (interview KG_20). One interview partner also visited a village that was severely hit by flooding, in order to determine where to direct help (interview KG_22). When a problem requires immediate attention, entire parliamentary committees of factions travel to the region and conduct an “external session” (vyezdnoe zasedanie). During such trips, citizens can address their demands and concerns directly to the MPs. When legislative projects are being prepared that are of especial interest to a wider public, parliament conducts public hearings, often involving civil society (interviews KG_11; KG_28). For example, during the fifth convocation, Kyrgyzstan’s entry into the Eurasian Customs Union was one of the issues that received the most public attention, therefore, the Jogorku Kenesh conducted a public hearing on the topic (interview KG_18). Roundtables are often organized by NGOs. MPs use roundtables as a platform to debate legislative projects with stakeholders, explain their opinion and receive immediate feedback. MPs who frequently attend roundtables see them as “a very efficient and practical and really problem-oriented tool” (interview KG_19). One topic that frequently came up during interviews with NGOs was the ad hoc nature of MPs’ activities. NGOs complained that MPs did not like to make commitments in advance to attend roundtables, and this made it hard to organize such events (interview KG_6). The lack of advance planning is also an underlying theme in MPs’ individual trips; despite some coordination within the factions, MPs’ trips are not closely managed by the secretariats. Many MPs only inform the secretariat after the trip has taken place, for the purpose of record-keeping. Although the factions and party leaderships have enacted rules that demand regular travel to the constituencies, travel patterns remain individual, irregular and unpredictable. Therefore, when individual MPs leave to travel outside the capital, few people find out about the schedule in advance (interview KG_6). That said, NGOs have noted some positive developments with regard to cooperation with the local councils and demands for accountability by council members: Local council women deputies are very well prepared. . . . And they do not only ask questions, but they have started demanding as well: “Two months ago, when you visited, like, At Bashy, you know, we raised this question, have you done anything about that?” (Interview KG_11)

MPs acting for citizens 137 This kind of relationship, where local councils follow up on past meetings, could only develop because MPs have stable travel patterns with a regional focus. Comparison with practices in Kazakhstan suggests that the possibility of individual citizens meeting the same MP several times allows for the development of accountability. However, MPs’ spontaneous travel patterns may also be a sign that controlling MPs’ activities can be mainly undertaken by the well-informed, such as NGOs and members of the local councils. Citizens’ concerns: other state bodies and social protection Citizens rarely contact their MPs because they want to contribute to a legislative project; they mainly contact them to voice an individual grievance. The majority of citizens contact MPs when they want to draw the parliament’s attention to a violation of the law by other state bodies (interviews KG_12; KG_30). The second most frequent kind of request addresses social issues, such as problems with pensions, social services or hospital equipment (interviews KG_19; KG_20). The data collected for the Annual Report of the Speaker shows the distribution of letters by topic, suggesting that grievances about the violation of rights remain high over time, while social issues have increased in share between 2011 and 2014. From the Annual Report of the Speaker 2019 we learn that the topics most frequently addressed in letter to the speaker concern social issues (993) and the rule of law (463). These same topics dominate letters addressed to the factions but in Table 6.6 Topics addressed in letters to MPs of the Kyrgyz Republic Topics of letters Rule of law, activities of the army, State National Security Committee (GKNB) and law enforcement agencies Social protection of citizens Education, science, sports, culture, young people Health Business, construction, transport, telecommunications and energy Housing Work of local government Economy Agriculture Other Total Source: Annual Reports of the Speaker * The reporting periods vary

2011–2012*

2012–2013

2013–2014

888

3,327

3,591

541 145

2,111 914

5,422 754

52 107

467 368

685 –

143 88 11 67 92 2,134

256 103 100 57 1,373 9,076

– – – – 537 7,039

138

MPs acting for citizens

reverse order: the rule of law ranking first (4,224) and social issues second (2,303). Most letters sent to the speaker concerned the very “casual attitude” of the executive, judiciary and local government towards the requests and letters sent by the public. Other requests reaching the speaker concerned the inadequacy of measures taken in the spheres of economy, law enforcement agencies, social protection, housing and the 2010 events in Osh and Jalal-Abad (Annual Report of the Speaker 2014). Local party offices and the factions are involved in the forwarding of requests to MPs. In the case of Ata Meken, which has a comparatively good infrastructure on the ground, party coordinators collect letters and forward them to the capital (interview KG_16). One MP explained that letters arriving via the party offices were distributed among the MPs according to their area of expertise. This particular interview partner, for example, was contacted primarily when social issues were concerned (interview KG_19). MPs’ substantive representation: balancing grievances and law-making Political activity SMALL-SCALE: CASEWORK AND GRIEVANCE-CHASING

Citizens frequently approach their MPs with grievances. The data on letters sent to MPs shows that citizens predominantly request help with problems that concern the judiciary or the local administrations. MPs corroborate the findings from the reports that citizens often contact them when they need to draw the parliament’s attention to a violation of the law by other state bodies (interviews KG_12; KG_16; KG_30). The large number of requests suggests that people expect help from their elected representatives, even with issues that are not the responsibility of the parliament. MPs confirm that many of the requests they receive in writing and in person from citizens approaching them during a trip to the regions do not fall within the responsibility of the parliament. For example, one interview partner said that complaints about the courts frequently reached the Jogorku Kenesh (interview KG_16). People also expect their MPs to resolve grievances that actually fall under the responsibility of the government, government agencies and the local administration (interview KG_13). The Annual Report of the Speaker keeps track of the letters forwarded by the speaker to local government, the courts, the executive and other public bodies. Of the 3,908 letters sent by the Speaker’s office in 2014, 562 were addressed to the government apparatus, 84 to the Ministry of the Interior, 139 to the Ministry of Education, 34 to the Ministry of Transport and Communication, 425 to local government and 162 to the courts. The speaker, whose help is sought out by the largest number of voters, conducted 34 meetings in 2013–2014, with the participation of government, the office of the attorney general and the supreme courts, for the purpose of resolving individual people’s problems (Annual Report of the Speaker 2014).

MPs acting for citizens 139 Table 6.7 Letters forwarded by the Speaker year

no. of letters

2012 2013 2014

2,975 7,313 3,908

Source: Annual Report of the Speaker. Please note that periods covered by reports vary

One MP estimated of the ten letters per month he received, the majority concerned problems that parliament could not resolve. He then forwarded them on to another state body, which usually could not resolve them either. The problem, he thought, was in the missing link between citizens and the towns’ mayors, who were unelected. The absence of this link was the reason so many local issues were referred to parliament (interview KG_32). Interview partners also assumed that for the government bodies, letters written by MPs and the factions were harder to ignore than letters from ordinary citizens (interview KG_16). Thus, the MPs function as an impartial third party, which encourages those in charge to act upon their responsibilities. This tendency to see MPs as “a last-chance administrative box”, which can be observed in the Kyrgyz Republic, has been documented for other cases and dates back to the early days of parliamentarianism (Costa et al. 2012: 308; Norris 1997: 29). The frequency of such requests shows that people expect MPs to help them effectively and that the Jogorku Kenesh has indeed managed to create an image of accessibility. However, the enhanced visibility comes at a cost of higher expectations and an overload with issues that the Jogorku Kenesh lacks the power to resolve. One MP explained that he heard out all requests but could not help in the majority of cases: “I do not refuse anybody, but it is true that I cannot resolve 90–99% of them” (interview KG_32). This could potentially contribute to public disenfranchisement with the parliament. One director of an NGO saw the problem as being an inadequate communication strategy on the part of MPs, who should have been more open in telling citizens that their preferred method of problem-solving was to provide for a collective solution via legislation – a strategy that takes more time than writing letters (interview KG_6). However, MPs do not always take it upon themselves to help citizens with complaints; one MP explained that dealing with bureaucracy took up a disproportionate share of his and his assistant’s time and resources. Hence, he said, he usually refused to deal with complaints that concerned the judiciary, as the success rate was low, and he would then lack the time to target collective problems (interview KG_12). Despite the apparent formality of the petition/letter system, the procedure after forwarding is not clearly set out. It is unclear what happens after letters are forwarded to the ministries, how quickly they have to be processed, whom the answer has to be addressed to and who controls to see whether requests have actually been fulfilled (interview KG_11). Consequently, the letters only allow for partial accountability, both for MPs who lack time to follow up on every individual request and for citizens who do not know whether their case is progressing.

140 MPs acting for citizens LARGE-SCALE: POLICY-MAKING

MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic all agreed that involvement in the legislative process is the most important task of parliament (interview KG_22). Indeed, the powers of parliament in this sphere have increased with the constitutional reform of 2010. MPs across all factions exercise their right to initiate legislation: According to the Annual Reports of the Speaker, MPs initiated about 50% of legislative bills during the fifth convocation (Annual Report of the Speaker 2012, 2013, 2014). The share of laws initiated by MPs somewhat decreased during the sixth convocation but apart from a low during the IV session has remained at approximately 40%. Two factors facilitate law-making by the MPs, namely rights and capabilities through larger staff numbers. Unlike Kazakhstan’s Mazhilis, the Jogorku Kenesh of Kyrgyzstan has the right to pass bills that increase government spending (Constitution, Art. 80.3), and the chairmanship of the budget committee is reserved for a member of the opposition (Constitution, 76.1); hence, the government cannot simply channel resources to its own clients. Staff numbers also contribute to more legislative involvement of the MPs of the Jogorku Kenesh. Excluding MPs, 982 members of staff work in the fifth convocation’s Jogorku Kenesh – an average of 9.2 members of staff per MP (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 29). Monitoring organizations explain parliament’s increased share of draft legislative initiatives with the rise in staff numbers, which coincided with a decrease in the number of employees of the various ministries and state agencies (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 33). However, the Jogorku Kenesh has problems with the low quality of laws passed so that legislation often has unintended consequences, and legislation frequently has to be amended after the bill has been passed (interview KG_22). When asked about the most important tasks of MPs, one interviewee conceded that in a perfect world, the legislature should predominantly legislate; as the Kyrgyz Table 6.8 Legislation introduced into the Jogorku Kenesh, by initiating body Initiated by Bills introduced

Total

MPs

Government

Jointly

Fifth convocation II session (01.12.2011–30.09.2012) III session (01.09.2012–30.06.2013) IV session (01.09.2013–30.06.2014)

281 355 265

137 168 131

144 185 132

– 2 2

Sixth convocation I session (29.10.2015–30.06.2016) II session (01.09.2016–29.06.2017) IV session (04.09.2017–28.06.2018) V session (05.09.2018–27.06.2019)

289 260 187 178

112 126 47 73

174 134 140 105

3

passed 253

184 186 120

Source: Own table based on data from the Annual Report of the Speaker (2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019). Please note that the III session of the sixth convocation was an irregular session that took place in parallel to the II session, Therefore, no separate legislative activity is reported

MPs acting for citizens 141 reality had many problems, though, MPs spent a disproportionate amount of their time resolving complaints and dealing with social issues. This was expected to change once the economy stabilized, when they would then be able to focus more on their core task of developing legislation (interview KG_23). Agenda-setting SMALL-SCALE: LIAISING WITH INDIVIDUALS AND ATTENTION-SEEKING

Sometimes, MPs help citizens without committing any tangible resources or advancing legislation. When they feel that the government is ignoring a matter of public concern, some MPs run media campaigns, to “make noise” and raise awareness. For example, one MP recounted how she wanted to help a local school that had fallen into disrepair, and the authorities were stalling on a decision about its future: The future of the school was not known. This is uncomfortable for people living in this district. . . . We came to the school with video, with mass media; we made a lot of noise about that. We invited all the city administration and everyone who makes the decision, asked questions, and kind of pushed. And we helped to find solutions. To find the funds, to approach people, find the funds and to resolve the future of the school. (Interview KG_19) MPs feel that such public campaigns help them put pressure on the administration to further the resolution of matters of public interest. Such activities show that non-material activities by MPs can have material consequences. Consequently, attention-seeking may actually be an effective strategy to solve problems. MPs can draw the attention of the media to a problem, or they can contact the main actors within the administration directly. When MPs attend large town hall meetings during their trips to the regions, members of the local administration usually participate. An interviewee working for an NGO that regularly interacts with MPs outside the capital provides an example of the effects this has on the accountability of local organs: That is a really good opportunity. For what? Because, when parliament members come to this meeting, all the local government, whom you never see in your district or you can’t catch them, they all come to this meeting. It is a good opportunity when these parliament members come and people talk to them about the local problems, and the local government [officials], who are responsible, they have to sit there. And parliament members are addressing questions to the local government. This is good. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. But it makes for a . . . a good control function. Because, when they ask them, parliament members . . . they are addressing this problem to the local government. And the local government can’t run away. So they have to answer. And parliament, it is like, you know, just when you come in as a judge

142 MPs acting for citizens between two sides, and you are sitting like “What’s the problem, why don’t you solve it? And what is my role?” . . . They understand that this is a good opportunity, to talk to this local government, just with parliament members and tell them that they do not work well. This is good [original emphasis]. (Interview KG_6) This anecdote shows that although MPs themselves do not resolve local issues, their mere presence allows citizens to hold the local administration to account. LARGE-SCALE: PARLIAMENTARY QUESTIONS

Kyrgyz MPs make frequent use of parliamentary questions; once a week, on Thursday mornings, MPs may raise issues of interest in the plenary, and this question time is transmitted on the parliament radio station (interview KG_19). MPs can also submit written questions. MPs make regular use of information gathered during their trips to the regions as a basis for parliamentary questions (interview KG_15). Parliament also has the right to initiate a parliamentary inquiry, with the establishment of a temporary commission (interview KG_18). A study by an NGO shows that of all the tools that MPs use to hold the government to account, parliamentary questions are among the two most frequently used, together with protocol assignments; while parliamentary inquiries are rarely held (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupzii 2012: 37). A breakdown of parliamentary questions by faction during the sixth convocation shows that the majority of questions does not, in fact, originate with the opposition parties. Instead, the faction that submitted the most questions (170/498 and 195/604) was the SDPK, a party that was part of the government coalition throughout the entire legislative period. Respublika-Ata Zhurt, which was part of the coalition of 03.11.2016 but joined the opposition for the coalition formed in 19.04.2018, submitted 138/498 and 161/604 questions, respectively. This amounts Table 6.9 Parliamentary questions in the Jogorku Kenesh by addressee Addressees Committees, leadership of the JK Presidential administration Government Ministries and government agencies Total questions

Submitted

Answers received

Enquiries ongoing

9

9

23

23

770 32

763 32

7

834

827

7

Source: own table based on JK website Note: Written parliamentary questions submitted during the fifth convocation of the Jogorku Kenesh, 11.10.2010–01.10.2015

MPs acting for citizens 143 Table 6.10 Parliamentary questions in the Jogorku Kenesh by faction Sixth convocation

II session (2016–2017)

IV session (2017–2018)

V session (2018–2019)

SDPK Respublika-Ata Zhurt Kyrgyzstan Onuguu Progress Bir Bol Ata Meken total

152 120 77 66 34 26 475

170 138 62 61 44 23 498

195 161 76 78 71 23 604

Source: own table based on Annual Reports of the Speaker (2017, 2018, 2019)

to a share of 28% (2018) and 27% (2019) of all questions submitted. These figures do not support research claiming that parliamentary questions to be a tool used primarily by the opposition. However, Kyrgyzstan has a divided executive, and the fact that the parliamentary majority actually submits a large share of questions can be a sign of the parliament exercising its control over government. Material contributions SMALL-SCALE: FINANCIAL AID TO INDIVIDUAL AND COMMUNITIES

In the Kyrgyz Republic, there is a long tradition of MPs making financial contributions to citizens, especially as ties between representatives and voters used to be based on clientelism (Radnitz 2010). MPs reported that they gave citizens money for paying medical bills or for sending a child abroad for a competition (interviews KG_14; KG_29). At least one faction reported the existence of a special fund from which MPs can draw money for such purposes. MPs then forward letters to the faction fund or even to the Speaker for fast and non-bureaucratic help (interview KG_3). Some MPs paid money out of their own pocket to some of the large number of citizens who asked for help with financial problems, like paying for medical expenses (interview KG_14). When MPs cannot provide money from their own pocket, they have to refuse the request (interview KG_14). One MP complained about this practice and the voters’ belief that MPs were their “sponsors” who were there to resolve all social grievances (interview KG_23). Two reserve funds – the speaker’s fund and a faction fund – were formed to guarantee the functioning of the Jogorku Kenesh (Rules of Procedure Art. 163). The speaker’s fund was established in 2009 by President Akaev. Both funds have the potential to provide resources to clients, due to the lack of transparency on disbursement of monies. In one report on parliamentary control, an NGO found that not even MPs were aware how the resources were used. Whereas 75% of MPs reported that the formation and use of the state budget took place in the Jogorku

144 MPs acting for citizens Kenesh plenary, 47% reported that decisions about the speaker’s fund were taken exclusively by the speaker. The faction’s funds were perceived to be private vehicles of the faction leaders, with 64% of MPs claiming that decisions on their use were taken by the faction leaders alone (PZ Grazhdane protiv korrupcii 2012: 42). Among the general public, there is confusion whether the funds should be used to alleviate personal emergencies or to guarantee the smooth working of parliament. Hence, rumours about improper use of resources have frequently appeared, for example in 2012, when the speaker was forced to repudiate claims that money from the fund had been given to women MPs for the purchase of clothes (Arch24 News Agency 2012). Under these circumstances, it is no surprise that the Fund has been decreasing in size. Under the budget law, which entered into force in January 2017, the speaker’s fund is capped to 0.02% of budget expenditures (Budget Code Art. 25). The law also specifies what the fund may be use for – namely, “the financial support of urgent and unforeseen expenses of socially significant character” – as well as what it may not be used for – namely expenses relating to the work of the speaker and the administration, election and referendum-related expenses (Budget Code Art. 25). This new regulation decreases the potential for using the fund for the speaker’s own clients. LARGE-SCALE: PORK-BARRELLING

There is very little data available on whether the focus on local constituency work translates into legislative activity by MPs. However, one MP interviewed by Erica Marat claimed that during the first 18 months of session, the fifth convocation of the parliament had adopted only 20–25 laws of national relevance, compared to over 1,000 laws concerning local matters (Marat 2011: 338). MPs do have the right to allocate public money to local communities; one MP, when asked to describe a typical day in the region, mentioned visiting a construction site of a school that he had procured the funds for (interview KG_22). Such activities are, moreover, frequently reported during the election campaigns. Activity profile of MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic This overview of MPs’ activities shows that MPs do develop ties with the public and are active at a local level. Parties and factions coordinate, fund and control liaison activities, making sure that they take place according to the standards laid out in the policy framework regulating the frequency and duration of travel. The amount of support local administrations and parties provide to MPs in the fulfilment of their representative activities is growing. However, after some initial coordination within the factions, MPs have a high degree of discretion in deciding how to fulfil their task of reaching out to the regions. Representatives in the Kyrgyz Republic tend to undertake their activities as individuals, avoiding control by their faction. Representatives prefer to travel to their home region, unless they have a leadership position. Most activity by MPs in the regions remains highly personalized and individual. Hence, the new framework fosters the development

MPs acting for citizens 145 Table 6.11 Activity profile of MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic Political activity

Agenda-setting

Material contributions

Large-scale

Policy-making

Parliamentary questions

Pork-barrelling, Earmarking

Small-scale

++ Casework, Grievance-chasing

++ Attention-seeking, liaising, showing presence +

(++) Financial aid to communities and individuals +

++

of ties and facilitates citizens’ access to MPs. However, MPs follow the letter of the law while maximizing their independence from party control. As MPs’ activity remains geographically based, local ties have not been weakened significantly. This runs contrary to the expectations of policy-makers. Some positive developments have taken place with regard to better accountability of MPs vis-à-vis their constituencies. Moreover, parliament shows increased legislative activity and has raised its share of legislation initiated to about 50%. Nevertheless, MPs still spend much of their time performing individualized services and resolving complaints. MPs themselves see their focus on such activities in a negative light, admitting that it keeps them away from working towards collective solutions. This local and small-scale focus is consistent with the high level of personal vote-seeking found among Kyrgyz MPs, and as long as the electoral system incentivizes these kinds of activities, change is unlikely to happen. Readers should note that there is little data available on the amount of pork-barrelling going on. Although anecdotal evidence and what we know from previous convocations suggests that pork-barrelling should, in theory, play an important role for the average MP, due to the weakness of the evidence available, it is just included in the figure in brackets. MPs’ assessment of the representative relationship Kyrgyz MPs recognize that the fifth convocation constituted a “critical juncture” for the development of parliamentarianism in the Kyrgyz Republic. In particular the rules that were drafted in the Committee for Rules and Deputy Ethics would determine the working mode of future convocations (interview KG_15). When asked about what they believe their voters expected from them, MPs explained that voters hoped to get targeted help with their own particular case (interview KG_19). Voters, they agreed, had high expectations of their MPs and hoped for a resolution of all of their problems (interviews KG_23; KG_29; KG_30). Of course, they conceded, high expectations were not necessarily a negative thing (interview KG_19). However, the fact that great power now resided with parliament created new responsibilities for the parliament, for example with regard to transparency (interview KG_15). Moreover, people had not yet come

146 MPs acting for citizens to understand the role of the Jogorku Kenesh as a primarily representative body (interview KG_15). However, MPs saw themselves as working for the citizens (interview KG_32). MPs emphasized the fact that as MPs, they had to care about the problems of ordinary people (interview KG_15). Even though they were not able to resolve every problem, it was important to show that the problem had at least been raised by the MP (interview KG_15). NGOs were more critical with MPs in this regard, claiming that MPs failed to say when something was outside of their mandate, saying even that MPs played a “populist game” and pretended to be able to resolve local problems (interview KG_6). It is noteworthy that the parties seem to take a “problem-solving” approach to constituency service. For example, when asked to evaluate the effectiveness of the public reception offices, one party official stated that the considerable decline in visitors over the duration of the legislative cycle was due to the fact that more problems had been solved and that they no longer required attention (interview KG_27).

Chapter summary The comparison of substantive representation in this chapter reveals similarities but also some differences between activities undertaken on behalf of the voters by MPs from the Mazhilis and the Jogorku Kenesh. The amount of material resources for independent activities available to MPs through parliament, their factions and their parties differs considerably across the two case studies. In Kazakhstan, MPs rely to a large degree on the parties and their faction to fund and coordinate their representative activities. Lacking individual resources, Kazakhstan’s MPs have adopted a top-down approach to representation. This approach is reflected in the terminology they use when describing their work, which they see as the fulfilment of “tasks” (zadaniia) given to them by the executive. The term reveals the top-down approach prevailing in the overall governance of the country, according to which the president assigns tasks outlined in broad strategic plans, which other state bodies then fulfil. In the Kyrgyz Republic, MPs have so far avoided attempts by the factions to tighten control over their travel. Representation remains individualized and is driven by the manifold problems the country faces. Lack of resources, in particular, is frequently mentioned by MPs, who see it as a serious obstacle to their work. It is also reflected in the way in which MPs describe constituency service, namely as a solving of “problems” (problemy). The perception is that once these problems have been solved, the country can proceed to what a “normal” legislative modus operandi should be. Political power, too, varies across the two cases, with Kyrgyz MPs having more power over resource allocation than Kazakhstan’s MPs. The different degrees of power are reflected in the respective activity levels in policy-making, with the Kyrgyz MPs using their right to initiate legislation much more frequently than the deputies of the Mazhilis. Similarly, the availability of staff with legal expertise

MPs acting for citizens 147 varies between the cases, with Kazakhstan’s MPs lacking such a consultant as opposed to Kyrgyzstan’s MPs. In both countries, individual MPs have developed strategies to overcome limitations to their power that are caused by lack of material or political resources; by engaging with the media, they draw attention to issues they could not resolve by themselves, thereby forcing government and local administration to take action instead. The meetings that Kazakhstan’s MPs conduct with citizens during their trips usually involve large crowds and allow for little spontaneity or critical questions by the audience. Often, MPs just explain government policies. The meetings have a ceremonial character and are not just devoid of personal vote-seeking but seem to be largely de-politicized. The leadership of the parliament prides itself on the large number of meetings conducted and requests received, but it gathers no data that would allow the casual observer to draw any conclusions about the effectiveness of its work. In the Kyrgyz Republic, in contrast to the practice in Kazakhstan, MPs are spontaneous in choosing their travel destinations and regularly meet villagers in the street. However, this practice does not allow for much accountability to develop either, albeit for different reasons than the mass meetings in Kazakhstan. Not all meetings are spontaneous to such a degree. However, NGOs do complain about the unwillingness of MPs to make long-term travel plans. When MPs make unplanned visits to their constituencies, NGOs or anyone else wishing to hold them to account is unable to prepare for the meeting. Parliaments in both countries organize the activities of MPs with the conflicting goals of fostering MP–citizen linkages, while diminishing the significance of localism. In Kazakhstan, the leadership of parties and the parliament maintain control over MPs’ activities “on the ground” so that the ties have, indeed, become de-localized. The downside of this development is that the focus now seems to be on ceremonial-type meetings, which do not allow for either accountability or a high-quality political involvement by citizens. In contrast to this, local activity by MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic tends to be rather problem-oriented, but due to the spontaneous nature of the visits by many of the MPs, citizens are not given the time to prepare for the meetings, which makes it difficult to hold MPs to account.

Note 1 During the fifth convocation the portal www.tereze.kg (“window”), funded by an UNDP programme, was developed to provide an additional link to parliamentarians. It went online at the end of 2015 but only containing the same information as the parliamentary website. It was discontinued after the new parliamentary website was launched.

7

Conclusion Patterns of authoritarian parliamentary representation

At the beginning of this book I posed the question of what forms parliamentary representation takes under authoritarian rule. The book’s central aim is to explore the link between regime type and the patterns of representation that it yields. It advances our understanding of the representative relationship, arguing that the patterns of representation that develop in competitive authoritarian regimes and in fully authoritarian regimes are a result of the specific ways in which politics is structured under the respective institutional configurations. In this concluding chapter, I will discuss what we may learn about representation under authoritarian conditions from the two case studies. I will briefly recapitulate the findings of the empirical chapters, before turning to a discussion of their wider implications: Which among the empirical results can be dismissed as a peculiarity of the case, and which findings suggest that we are, indeed, dealing with general “patterns” of representation under authoritarian conditions?

A summary of the empirical findings In order to examine the patterns of authoritarian parliamentary representation, I first established how the regime’s undemocratic nature affects electoral competition and manifests itself in specific deficits in formalistic representation. As the next step, I explored how the shape of formalistic representation affects the other representation components – descriptive and substantive – as well as the closely related question about the scope and nature of the constituency. Finally, I wanted to find out how individual MPs act within their respective institutional frameworks, how they fill out the room for manoeuvre left to them by the regimes. Formalistic representation I started my analysis with the expectation that Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic would stand for two distinct kinds of authoritarian rule, each with its own specific deficits and divergences from well-researched democratic models of representation. The aim of the first empirical chapter (Chapter 3) was to identify these idiosyncrasies, based on how and to what degree during the electoral process electoral competition is limited (and thus the “standard link” between MPs and

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their voters compromised). Although the general design of the electoral framework is the same in both countries, the conditions under which citizens in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic become candidates of their party and contest elections are strikingly different. In Kazakhstan, the concentration of power in the hands of one party allows it to adjust the legal framework at will. Candidate selection is centralized and remains opaque, not just for the casual observer but for many of the candidates, too. Parties retain control over candidates and MPs for the entire legislative period due to the prohibition of independent candidates and the tying of seats to party membership, which leads to high levels of party discipline. Opposition parties face considerable difficulty getting elected, counterbalanced only by the provision that reserves two seats for any party that comes in second. These severe deficits in electoral competition make formalistic representation in Kazakhstan essentially different from that found in democracies. In the Kyrgyz Republic, on the other hand, the electoral system is genuinely competitive, maybe even overly so. It grants excessive power to some wealthy and connected individuals. Candidate selection in Kyrgyzstan is a sellers’ market, with candidates who bring either the money or the votes necessary to win in a region being in a strong position vis-à-vis their parties. The downside of this trend is that money continues to play an important role in domestic politics, with public offices being sold (Engvall 2014, 2015) and money outweighing geography in citizen’s electoral considerations (Doolotkeldieva/Wolters 2017: 32). The electoral framework contains a number of safeguards as insurance against the dominance of a single party, such as a cap on the number of parliamentary seats that can be held by any one party and guaranteed opposition rights. The downside of the presence of a number of equally powerful groups is that the legal framework is constantly contested. This adds an element of unpredictability to political competition over seats and also over the “rules of the game”. Hale draws attention to the fact that the contestation we observe in Kyrgyzstan could be the sign of different branches of the “political machine” competing against each other (Hale 2015: 431). While I agree with Hale insofar as the competition in Kyrgyzstan should not be mistaken for being a sign of democratization, it is also the case that the existing forms of competition have real consequences for all actors involved. Overall, individuals and parties in the Kyrgyz Republic have a real chance of winning seats in the parliament, provided they have the resources to fund their election campaigns. Descriptive representation In Chapter 4, I explored the kind of groups and individuals that gain parliamentary seats in the respective regimes. The analysis in this book reveals that political power in Kazakhstan remains with Nur Otan, which has the highest number of seats to distribute, due to its large share of the vote. Moreover, it can pick and choose who will be MPs from its candidate list after the elections, which provides the party with control over the composition of the legislature. This makes it possible to fine-tune descriptive representation according to the wishes of the regime. That is why policymakers in Kazakhstan have chosen to manage descriptive

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representation informally, instead of relying on formal quotas (with the exception of the nine reserved seats for the Assambleia). Women are comparatively well represented in Kazakhstan – a clear sign that the regime does care about descriptive representation. However, this self-same level of dominance by Nur Otan that endows it with the power to create a legislature that mirrors society in its socio-demographical characteristics also diminishes its political plurality. This observation hints at why it may cost fully authoritarian regimes little or nothing to provide for highly representative outcomes for descriptive representation. At the same time, it leaves open to debate whether the presence of an opposition party in the legislature is (and should be) treated as just another category for descriptive representation. The Kyrgyz Republic, on the other hand, has chosen to build descriptive representation into the legal framework, putting the emphasis on the mechanisms fostering representation; the electoral law stipulates candidate quotas for women, young people, minorities and the disabled on the party lists. However, the actual outcomes themselves are less than satisfactory, as the representativeness of party lists does not necessarily translate into a representative parliament. Minorities are particularly under-represented, whereas the discrepancy between quota and seat-share is less pronounced for women. The Kyrgyz case is a textbook example of the complexity of the mechanisms through which electoral rules translate into parliamentary seats so that quotas do not actually yield the expected number of seats for under-represented groups. In this specific case, the candidate lists lack any provisions for a guaranteed ranking for minorities on the list. Moreover, the combination of the regional electoral threshold and the fragmented party system turn the administrative regions into de facto electoral districts. Some parties nominate well-known local people as top candidates on the party lists, who have no intention whatsoever of actually taking up a seat in parliament – which all adds to the distortions between a balanced candidate list on the one hand and a parliament that lacks descriptive representation on the other. On the positive side, a more beneficial result of the volatility and fragmentation of the party landscape is that the latter have acted as safeguards against the concentration of power in the hands of one party, an outcome which is reflected in the election of a multi-party parliament with its high degree of political pluralism at two consecutive elections. Constituency In the third empirical chapter, Chapter 5, I explored the question of which groups among their citizens MPs claim and treat as their constituency. Beyond the insights into the effects of a specific electoral system, the chapter also highlighted how the attempt to prescribe a constituency and to channel MPs’ activities exclusively towards it lead to different outcomes in the two regimes. Representatives in both countries have adopted the official discourse that the

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parliament represents the entire nation. However, activities pursued by MPs in the two countries reflect a different constituency-orientation. In Kazakhstan, MPs’ actions are largely in line with the nation-wide focus their mandate prescribes. The parties’ control over travel destinations and the recruitment of candidates out of the state structures has substantially contributed to the weakening of geographically based constituencies. MPs now perceive their constituencies as being based on their thematic specialization instead. In the Kyrgyz Republic, on the other hand, MPs pursue a more individualized representational style. They perceive their region of origin as being their primary constituency and maintain close ties to it. This orientation towards a local constituency can be explained by the electoral incentives to cultivate a personal constituency. Moreover, infrastructure and resources for constituency-related activities are not controlled by the factions but are often provided by MPs themselves. However, in spite of the general trend, some tendencies towards de-localization of constituency service have still emerged in Kyrgyzstan. Substantive representation Finally, in Chapter 6, I explored how legal frameworks, resources and individual characteristics play out to channel MPs’ representational activities towards a regime-specific pattern of activities. The Kazakh case illustrates a top-down approach to substantive representation being pursued by the regime. It also highlights the fact that whoever holds the material resources shapes the interaction between MPs and citizens. MPs in Kazakhstan lack staff of their own and rely on logistical support from their factions and parties for their constituency-related activities. This top-down approach to constituency relationships pursued by the parties is reflected in the terminology used to describe those relationships: MPs usually talk about “tasks” they need to fulfil for the regime. The kind of meetings MPs conduct with citizens during their trips to the regions is often centred around explaining government policies to large crowds of people, leaving little room for spontaneity or critical questions by the audience. The leadership of the parliament prides itself on the large number of meetings conducted and requests received; however, the meetings have a largely ceremonial character and are not just devoid of personal vote-seeking but have become de-politicized as well. The low number of laws initiated by MPs, which can be explained by the limited legislative power of the Mazhilis, is in line with expectations; it is nevertheless still noteworthy, as MPs do have the formal right to initiate legislation but hardly ever make use of it. Contrary to expectations, MPs do not compensate for their lack of legislative power with more initiative in other spheres – the activity profile of MPs in Kazakhstan suggests that MPs act as representatives of the government even when their activities are directed towards the citizens, explaining government policy to the population, raising issues on behalf of the government and providing some services to citizens. In general, Kazakhstan’s MPs have limited opportunity for

152 Conclusion independent action and have adjusted by focusing on small-scale assistance for their citizens in niches where they feel they can make a difference. Representation in the Kyrgyz Republic follows a different pattern, one that is highly fragmented and individualized and can be best described as “atomised”. MPs in the Kyrgyz Republic frequently interact with citizens, often on an individual basis. When citizens approach their MPs, they prefer to turn to an MP in a leadership position or to an MP from their own region. On the one hand, this practice has persevered from the highly personalized politics of the majoritarian system that was in place until 2007. On the other hand, informal practices within the factions, which assign MPs to a constituency as custodian for the duration of the legislative period, have reinforced these local ties. Consequently, attempts to weaken locally based representation and reinforce the role of the parties have all been to no avail. In spite of attempts to formalize and regulate MP–citizen linkages, factions in the Kyrgyz parliament are not regularly involved in MPs’ travel arrangements to their adopted constituency. Kyrgyz MPs arrange most of their travel by themselves, are often spontaneous in choosing their travel destinations, and regularly meet with villagers in the street. The minimal involvement of Kyrgyzstan’s parties in the activities of their MPs is in line with the expectations from the literature that weakly institutionalized parties would offer little support to MPs. Like the mass meetings in Kazakhstan, these ad hoc meetings in Kyrgyzstan do not allow for meaningful accountability to develop either. MPs are also well aware of external limitations to their options, frequently mentioning their lack of resources and the many challenges faced by Kyrgyzstan as drivers of their actions. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that MPs use the term “problem-solving” to describe their constituency-related activities. The Jogorku Kenesh has also become a legislature where MPs are active across the complete range of practices. Kyrgyz MPs do actually use their right to initiate legislation, with up to half of all Kyrgyz legislative proposals originating in the parliament. Unlike their colleagues in Kazakhstan, MPs in Kyrgyzstan have a member of staff with legal expertise, which is reflected in the higher output in legislative initiatives emerging from the Kyrgyz parliament in the period under study. Nevertheless, despite this fact, the main activity for Kyrgyz MPs is still dealing with complaints, forwarding the numerous letters they receive from citizens with complaints about other institutions. The Jogorku Kenesh, it would appear, has been adopted as the country’s main problem-solver of last resort. In both countries, individual MPs have developed strategies to overcome limitations to their power, caused by lack of material or political resources. By engaging with the media, they draw attention to issues they would not be able resolve by themselves, forcing government and local administrations to act instead. In the table 7.1, I summarize the main empirical findings from Chapters 3–6.

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Table 7.1 Representation in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic Kazakhstan Formalistic representation “non-competitive” • Single district closed-list PR; 7% electoral threshold • Post-election candidate selection; mandate belongs to party • Party law hinders opposition parties and limits competition • Guaranteed seats for opposition

Kyrgyz Republic “competitive” • Single district closed-list PR; double electoral threshold • Candidacy depends on ability to deliver votes or money • Power-sharing between powerful actors; cap on number of seats per party and guaranteed opposition rights

Descriptive representation “outcome-centred” • Reserved seats (Assambleia); no quotas • Representational outcomes for women satisfactory • Concentration of seats in the hands of one party; lack of political pluralism • Party control over representative outcomes fosters representation

“process-centred” • Quotas for women (list ranking), minorities, disabled, young people • Representation of women is below quota; under-representation of minorities • Quotas do not fully translate into descriptive outcomes • Political pluralism guaranteed

Constituency “nation-wide” • Official discourse: nation-wide representation • MPs travel across the whole country; contact is with citizens by MPs’ area of specialization

“local” over “nation-wide” • Official discourse: nation-wide representation • MPs become custodians of one constituency; regular travel to same region; local constituency • Emerging: nation-wide and functional

Substantive representation “top-down” • MPs receive “tasks” from government • Little use of policy-making initiative • Activities funded and managed by parties; MPs lack power and resources for independent action • Dissemination of government policy • Use of parliamentary questions and letters to hold government to account • Effective when helping individuals

“atomised” • “Problem-solving” discourse • Little direct involvement of factions beyond co-ordination • Lack of material resources • MPs have power to distribute resources to own constituency; MPs give money out of their own pocket • Initiate approx. 50% of all laws • Large numbers of citizens’ requests, often concerning issues outside of parliament’s remit; “impartial judge”

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“Patterns” of authoritarian parliamentary representation? This book advances the development of theory on parliamentary representation beyond democracies. It shows that an analytical framework that adequately captures representation processes in non-democracies needs to be broad enough to include different representation components in their inter-relationships, while factoring in the deviation from established democratic procedures (i.e. rules and practices that diminish competitiveness) as additional determinants. Hence, it does not undertake steps towards “decoupling” representation from democracy, as suggested by Kuyper (2016: 310); instead, it argues that in order to understand the full spectrum of representation, it is necessary to take into consideration the way in which democracy qualifies representation, and the forms that develop when democratic procedures are compromised. It also shows that in order for us to understand the wide array of representative practices that exist across the world, we need to move beyond that which we know from research on Western legislatures. The overwhelming majority of research on parliaments has been conducted on a very small number of cases from the European Union (most notably, the German Bundestag and the Westminster Parliament) and the US Congress. Adding in knowledge from other regions will help to deepen our understanding of parliamentarianism under different historical and socio-economic conditions. It shows that representation takes distinct forms in different kinds of regimes, and in order to understand the conditions under which parliaments are active and the conditions under which they are merely a tame beast, we need to move beyond the present focus on representative practices in Western democracies. This book also advances our knowledge about the inner workings of authoritarian regimes. The analysis of parliamentary representation in Kazakhstan and the Kyrgyz Republic shows that under different kinds of authoritarian conditions, distinct patterns of representation have developed. The analysis also highlights the fact that the two types of regimes each have their own specific and distinct deficits in the individual components of representation. Furthermore, we learn that autocracies are aware of the need to appear representative and accessible to the demands of citizens; empirically, the numerous attempts by elites to structure, manage and organize substantive representation and the attempts to fine-tune descriptive representational outcomes are evidence for this. With regard to formalistic representation, in the competitive case (i.e. Kyrgyzstan), representation is not significantly different from what we know from democracies. It seems that in this representation component, competitive authoritarian regimes have a lot in common with democracies. The Kyrgyz case suggests that the established concepts developed for democracies can explain the majority of the observations. This finding is in line with those works that claim the most important criterion for distinguishing regimes is the fact whether competition is real or not (refer to the introduction and to Donno 2013; Miller 2015; Simpser 2013). Although what we find in the fully authoritarian case is not representation in the democratic sense, representation in the other components may still be similar to that found in democracies.

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For both countries, we find that the specific conditions allow for competition and uncertainty to develop for individual MPs, regarding election and selection as candidate. Moreover, the analysis shows that uncertainty is not only something the individual MPs face; it also manifests itself at the level of the regime. Even the more authoritarian regimes cannot control all aspects of formalistic representation and therefore engage in constant fine-tuning of the rules surrounding it. Representation is not predictable, not even for authoritarian regimes, but the dynamics that develop are much more complex in the competitive authoritarian case than in fully authoritarian settings. Nevertheless, even if some of the representative practices may be unexpected, they can still be explained, and a close analysis of the structure and context reveals what influences them. The case of Kazakhstan draws attention to the findings that severe deficits in formalistic representation do not mechanically translate into equally deficient descriptive representation. Due to the absence of a significant opposition in the legislature, the party of power can still fine-tune the composition of parliament and attain good outcomes in descriptive representation, in the absence of institutionalized procedures. This arrangement, however, is dependent on the constant resolve of the regime to uphold it. The question is then how the lack of rules to engender descriptive representation plays out when a regime decides a characteristic should not be the basis for representation. The case of Kazakhstan also shows us that descriptive representation is relatively easy to attain for regimes that control a large number of legislative seats and rises with the share of the seats they control. The finding that Kazakhstan’s government choses to foster the representation of select groups bypassing electoral processes may seem puzzling at first sight. However, it might be related to the different role electoral procedures and outcomes play for the regimes’ legitimation strategy. As fully authoritarian regimes have per se unfair electoral processes, the mechanisms by which descriptive representation is reached cannot be an anchor for claims of legitimation based on representativeness. At the same time, such regimes have high control over representative outcomes and can foster the representation of groups they deem relevant regardless of formal means. Therefore, it is not surprising that such regimes emphasize outcome over process in their claims to representativeness. Scholarship exploring why a certain type of party-based autocracy might fare particularly well in promoting women’s rights points in a similar direction (Donno/Kreft 2019). On the other hand, competitive authoritarian regimes have less control over representative outcomes and therefore may need to emphasize the process instead. Hence, while competitive authoritarian regimes can still base their legitimation strategies on competitive electoral procedures, fully authoritarian regimes may do that to a much lesser degree (although the scholarship on alternative election observation points to the fact that they may still try). It might be that, therefore, having an outcome (legislative composition) that is widely recognized as “good” simply matters more to them. Current research on legitimation strategies of post-Soviet regimes indicates that elites rely on “procedural” or “institutional” legitimacy claims, as they lack sufficient alternative sources of legitimacy (Brusis/Ahrens/Schulze

156 Conclusion Wessel 2015). However, although recent research has made progress in identifying legitimation strategies of autocracies in individual cases and comparatively (e.g. Del Sordi/Dalmasso 2018 for the international dimension; Chikhladze 2019 specific to crisis situations), none of the comparative frameworks (e.g. Von Soest/ Grauvogel 2017) has developed a concept of procedural legitimation that would be fine-grained enough to test this assumption beyond individual case studies. It could be an interesting route for further inquiry to see whether certain kinds of representation – or rather, individual sub-components of procedural legitimation (competitive electoral procedures) – can be more easily provided by democracies and competitive authoritarian regimes, while others (descriptive outcomes) are more easily provided by full autocracies. Another, related issue that merits closer observation is the way in which the representation of political pluralism becomes relegated to the status of yet another descriptive category and, in the case of Kazakhstan, was even awarded reserved seats in order to dissuade international criticism. This is directly related to the fact that the process leading to seat distribution is not competitive and to the presence of a powerful party that dominates the legislature. Most authoritarian legislatures have descriptive representation with regard to some select characteristics and also report numbers on them, for example on its membership by gender, age, profession and educational level. However, the diverse membership of the legislature may be from one party only. This was, for example, the case in the single-party parliament of the Soviet Union that over-represented non-Russians (Chaisty 2012). Hence, regimes where the party systems are not structured around political diversity may represent a special case regarding descriptive representation. Earlier, we had asked whether in party systems dominated by one party that party has to act as the representative of all citizens and emphasize the overall representativeness of the legislature while downplaying the lack of political diversity within parliament. The Kazakh case has shown that the opposition parties are assigned specific groups to represent. This practice is reminiscent of the function the bloc parties fulfilled in the legislature of the German Democratic Republic (Schroeder 1999: 412). It could be a fruitful endeavour to link the “trend towards a multi-party legislature” observed by Svolik across authoritarian regimes (2012: 36) with this function of opposition parties to showcase political pluralism. Other post-Soviet countries that could provide interesting insights here are Turkmenistan – which held its first multiparty parliamentary elections in 2014 – and Belarus, where most candidates are nominally nonpartisan but where two MPs elected in 2016 were counted as belonging to the political “opposition”. Additionally, it is important to note that although the government of Kazakhstan places great importance on achieving descriptive representation, at the same time, it also discourages MPs from promoting the interests of particular groups whose characteristics they share. The existence of a “descriptive-substantive link”, which is explored in many research projects, is not perceptible here.1 The only accepted form of representation based on personal characteristics in Kazakhstan is representation relating to previous employment and area of expertise. Together with

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the finding that the policy framework on its own does not provide for descriptive representation, this supports the impression of it being detached from the other components of representation. These findings suggest that future research should examine the question of whether severe deficits in formalistic representation imply that the mechanical effects linking all components of representation are weaker in authoritarian regimes than in democracies. When looking at substantive representation in Kazakhstan, the most obvious pattern is that the regime has a top-down approach to representation and attempts to manage it in a way that conveys legitimacy to the regime. This leads to a subservient parliament, with MPs concentrating on the forms of representation prescribed by the regime and with MPs who are reluctant to overstep the boundaries set by the regime. Such a setting, the case study suggests, yields heavily managed, top-down representation, similar to the top-heaviness that characterizes representation in new legislatures (Styskal 1975: 254) or maybe in the terminology of Truex a form of “representation within bounds” (Truex 2016: 6–7). At the same time, carefully managing representation does not preclude legislatures and their individual members from acting outside of the limitations the regime has set for them and from expanding their wriggle room. From the literature, we know that institutions fulfil specific functions for the regimes only if they have sufficient resources and autonomy to act. At the same time, endowing institutions with resources makes it possible for them to act counter to their original purpose (Schedler 2010: 76). Although authoritarian leaders will constrain institutions, the activities of individuals within the institutions will remain partly outside of their control (Schedler 2010: 71, 76; Patzelt 2002: 21–22). What I observe about the legislatures in the two case studies is largely consistent with this reasoning. What the case studies also show is that the amount of influence the regimes have in channelling the activities of MPs and the size of the margins MPs have for undertaking independent action depends on a number of factors, among which two stand out: first, control over the resources necessary for independent, constituency-related action and second, control over candidacies and political careers. This, by itself, it not a novel finding and has been explored by other scholars. What is interesting is to see how these incentives play out in the cases under study. In Kazakhstan, the party leadership together with the presidential administration shape the electoral rules, determine candidate selection (leaving a very small niche for opposition parties), supply resources, and organize MPs’ activities. Together, these factors provide the cornerstones within which MPs’ activities take place. Nur Otan’s control over candidacies in Kazakhstan has already been thoroughly discussed. However, it is important to point out that MPs are generally recruited out of the government administration, and even if they do not pursue re-election, their future career is likely to take place within the state structures. This pattern of recruitment is not unique to Kazakhstan’s legislature but can be observed in Russia and Azerbaijan as well (Bader 2011: 194). MPs have few material resources at their disposal to organize their interactions with citizens independently from the political parties. The consequence is a parliament oriented towards the executive and the parties, with MPs who lack initiative

158 Conclusion and act like the public relations or outreach department of the government. Exceptions to this are MPs who enjoy privileged access to the media (for example as a result of their previous experience in public politics) and who use the media to mobilize for issues they consider to be worthwhile. Here again, the recruitment of MPs who have little experience with public politics is likely to reduce this kind of behaviour. Another niche successfully used by Kazakhstan’s MPs is the formulation of parliamentary questions. The data from the Annual Reports reveal that it is mostly the two opposition parties that use this tool. As parliamentary questions may be an effective means to hold the government to account and voice citizens’ concerns in the plenary (Malesky/Schuler 2010), their content and use could merit further research. Additionally, the case studies show how material resources matter for shaping substantive representation and that the regime can influence activities by funding outlets for interaction while limiting the resources that are at the free disposal of MPs. With regard to policy-making, it shows that formal power matters a lot, but it will not be exercised without the resources to back it up. This effect has already been shown to be the case for democracies (Schnapp 2004). In relation to authoritarian regimes, it has practical implications, as judgments about the liberalization of a regime are often made on the basis of formal rights – which, it seems, are inconsequential if MPs lack the resources and the staff to make use of them. Representation is taken seriously by both regime and citizens alike. That the regime cares about representation is illustrated by its constant fine-tuning and attempts to channel it. The introduction of “reserved seats” in Kazakhstan for the party that receives the second-largest share of the votes during the parliamentary elections only serves to further illustrate this point; confronted with international criticism for the single-party parliament that was elected in 2007, a multi-party parliament was guaranteed by the change, keeping up the appearance of political pluralism. At the same time, the opposition’s share of the seats is kept too small to pose any kind of challenge to the government. Nevertheless, the regime has adopted a rhetoric of democratization and has promised to enhance the role of the parliament (Nazarbayev 2007; Sarsembayev 2007). This is expected to come at a cost for the regime, as the gap between the rhetoric and the reality of parliament’s capabilities is bound to diminish its legitimacy in the eyes of the population. In Kyrgyzstan, opinion polls show a generally positive assessment of the legislature, with over 50% of citizens constantly saying they have a positive view of parliament – although the figure fell below 50% in the 2019 poll (International Republican Institute 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019) Moreover, the polls reveal that parliamentarians have actively contributed to this favourable opinion, with 61% of respondents saying that meetings with politicians have greatly influenced their opinion, even above the opinion of prominent people (56%) and articles in newspapers about the MPs (54%) (International Republican Institute 2016). This suggests that citizens are assessing the growing activity and autonomy of the parliament in a positive way. A more recent poll also reveals that the majority of citizens (66%) feel that they lack the knowledge about how to appeal to parliament or its members (International Republican Institute 2018). The high number might

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be related to the individualized and oftentimes spontaneous constituency-related practices adopted by many Kyrgyz MPs. One further implication of the findings has to be addressed: From the literature, we know that severe deficits in formalistic representation impede the regime’s ability to learn about the preferences of the voters. From a setting lacking in electoral competition, the literature leads us to expect that the “chain of responsiveness” is incomplete (Powell 2004) and that the regime would have to foster a connection between MPs and citizens through other channels. Therefore, we might expect the regimes to use parliament and MPs in order to gather the information they otherwise lack (Hough/Fainsod 1979: 370). The regime might attempt to limit this function to “nonpolitical” issues, which do not harbour the danger of mobilization based on them occurring (Truex 2016: 7). However, the case of Kazakhstan provides no evidence for this function being fulfilled; the arrangements surrounding substantive representation allow for little free interaction and make it unlikely that many citizens would voice their opinion. Tightly managed representation, it would appear, does not facilitate information gathering by the parliament. Instead, it suggests that information gathering requires a certain quality of interaction as a prerequisite. Consequently, we can expect the regime to learn about the opinions of the electorate through other channels, whether it be the party or the media. In a recent study about political participation in Kazakhstan, Schiek shows that the regime has created a number of alternative input channels for the public precisely because the institutions that are usually central in connecting people with power (among them parliament) don’t fulfil their purpose (2019: 11). This observation seems to support the argument that a parliament that lacks power and resources will also have limited potential to serve its purpose for the regime (Schedler 2010: 77). How generalizable are the findings of the book? First, as the project was exploratory in nature, generalizability of findings was not the main concern; the aim was to research an under-studied phenomenon in the contemporary scholarship on authoritarian parliaments, to update the analytical toolbox at hand for the study of such cases and, with that, also advance our understanding of parliamentary representation in regimes that do not conform to the democratic ideals many representation concepts implicitly share. However, some issues with regard to generalizability do need to be addressed in order to pave the way for a transfer of findings. Within the two case studies, qualitative semi-structured interviews constituted the main empirical source aimed at generating original, in-depth and nuanced data. MPs were interviewed across all factions. However, the number of interviews was not sufficiently large across all parties to allow for a systematic comparison of practices and ideological justifications, which are unique to individual parties. The literature suggests that these can be considerable (Patzelt 1997; Taylor 1992). However, we can also assume that they are less pronounced in cases with weakly developed party ideologies. In line with the exploratory purpose of the book, the rationale for approaching interview partners was to generate data across as many different groups as possible. Specifically, MPs from almost all factions and deputy groups were interviewed, with a few exceptions where members of staff were approached instead.

160 Conclusion When assessing the generalizability of findings across cases, the discussion inevitably comes down to the question of how specific to the post-Soviet space the institutional configurations are that characterize the two cases studies. On the one hand, Mezey offers a plausible explanation of how party system development and the strength of parties leads to either strong and democratic or weak legislatures (Mezey 1975: 107). This explanation is applicable to developing legislatures across regions. On the other hand, in his sample of closed authoritarian regimes, Allmark finds clear regional patterns for both legislative strength and activity (Allmark 2012). Also, in other regions, military regimes, personalistic dictatorships and monarchies are more frequent. In order to find out whether the institutional configurations are comparable, it would be necessary to undertake additional case studies on such regimes. An interesting study that goes in a similar direction was undertaken by Truex (2016) on the Chinese case, which shows that there are, indeed, similarities regarding the incentives to make MPs act according to the regime’s needs with the Kazakh case. However, both the Chinese legislature as well as the Vietnamese one that Truex compares it with are elements of a socialist regime setup with a single-party state, in which institutions are supposed to play a different role altogether than in the majority of autocracies that have (at least in their legitimation strategies) embraced liberal democracy. The existence of plural elections alone, if we stick with Schedler, should fundamentally alter how the regimes function (2013: 1). Regardless of these differences, it is certainly enlightening to find that MPs across these different regimes share certain behavioural patterns. For future research, it could be interesting to examine the similarities between MPs in legislatures with a single party, no parties and dominant parties.

Note 1 Recent research shows the link can in principle be in place in non-democracies (FormanRabinovici/Sommer 2019). The boundaries and context remain yet to be examined more closely.

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Annex 1 List of interviewees

No.

Language Interviewee

KG_1

Eng

KG_2

Eng

KG_3

Eng

KG_4

Eng

KG_5

Ger

KG_6

Eng

KG_7

Eng

KG_8

Ger

KG_9

Ru

KG_10

Eng

KG_11

Eng

KG_12

Ru

Academic, Coordinator of local NGO Academic, AUCA Academic, AUCA Programme Manager, international NGO Researcher OSCE Academy Bishkek Director, local NGO Director and programme coordinator, development consultancy Programme manager Director local NGO Two programme coordinators, development consultancy Four programme coordinators, international NGO MP, Ar Namys

Organization/ Status Position

Recorded/ duration

Conducted in no person 02/06/2014 Research Research NGO

Conducted in no person 02/06/2014 Conducted in no person 08/05/2014 Conducted in no person 07/05/2014

Research

Conducted in no person 08/05/2014

NGO

Conducted in 43:13 person 12/05/2014 Conducted in no person 21/05/2014

Int. NGO

Conducted in no person 12/05/2014 Conducted in 42:19 person 21/07/2014 Conducted in no person 23/05/2014

NGO

Int. NGO

Conducted in 51:23 person 13/06/2014

MP

Written reply

no (Continued)

186 Annex 1 No.

Language Interviewee

Organization/ Status Position

Recorded/ duration

KG_13

Ru

MP, Respublika

MP

12:49

KG_14

Kg

Aide to MP, Respublika

MP Aide

KG_15

Ru

MP, Ar Namys

MP

KG_16

Ru

Faction

KG_17

Ru

KG_18

Ru

KG_19

Eng

Leading employee of faction, Ata Meken Several employees, Ar Namys faction Head of committee office MP, Ata Meken

KG_20

Ru

MP, Ar Namys

KG_21

Ru

KG_22

Ru

KG_23

Ru

KG_24

Ru

KG_25

Ru

KG_26

Ru

KG_27

Ru

KG_28

Ru

Aide to MP, Ar Namys MP, Dep. Group “Onuguu – Progress” MP, Dep. Group “Yntymak” Employee of faction, Ata Zhurt High-ranking employee of faction, Ata Zhurt Employee of faction, Respublika High-ranking employee of SDPK faction MP, Respublika

KG_29

Ru

Aide to MP, Dep. Group Onuguu

Conducted in person 04/06/2014 Conducted by research assistant 04/06/2014 Conducted in person 05/06/2014 Conducted in person 05/06/2014

12:33 32:29 no

Faction

Conducted in 12:04 person 05/06/2014

Bureaucracy

Conducted in 21:06 person 05/06/2014

MP

Conducted in 21:08 person 06/06/2014 Conducted in no person 11/06/2014

MP, leadership position Aide MP MP Faction

Conducted in no person 11/06/2014 Conducted in 25:17 person 13/06/2014 Conducted in 20:33 person 16/06/2014 Conducted in no person 16/06/2014

Faction

Conducted in no person 16/06/2014

Faction

Conducted in no person 16/06/2014

Faction

Conducted in 17:40 person 17/06/2014

MP

Conducted in 7:43 person 23/06/2014 Conducted in no person 23/06/2014

Aide

(Continued)

Annex 1

187

No.

Language Interviewee

Organization/ Status Position

Recorded/ duration

KG_30

Ru

Aide

no

KG_31

Kg

KG_32

Ru

KAZ_33 Ru KAZ_34 Ru

Aide to MP, Ata Zhurt MP, Ata Zhurt

MP

MP, MP independent Director of local NGO NGO

KAZ_42 Ru

Two members of local NGO Director of local Research Organization Expert of local NGO (Human Rights) Independent researcher Researcher and party official, Ak Zhol Researcher, director of Research Company Director of NGO, former senator Party employee, CPPK MP, Nur Otan

MP

KAZ_43 Ru

MP, Ak Zhol

MP

KAZ_44 Ru

MP, Nur Otan

MP

KAZ_45 Ru

MP, Nur Otan

MP

KAZ_46 Ru

MP, Nur Otan

MP

KAZ_47 Ru

MP, Assambleia Naroda

MP

KAZ_35 Ru KAZ_36 Ru KAZ_37 Ru KAZ_38 Ru KAZ_

Ru

KAZ_40 Ru KAZ_41 Ru

NGO Research

Conducted in person 23/06/2014 Conducted by research assistant 23/06/2014 Conducted in person 24/06/2014 Conducted in person on 08/09/2014 Conducted in person 11/09/2014 Conducted in person 12/09/2014

14:48 20:07 31:05 25:44 26:33

NGO

Conducted in no person 13/09/2014

Research

Conducted in no person 17/09/2014 Conducted in no person 23/09/2014

Party Research

Conducted in 37:53 person 26/09/2014

Ex-MP (NGO)

Conducted in 1:13:15 person 29/09/2014

Party

Conducted in person 29/09/2014 Conducted in person 29/09/2014 Conducted in person 29/09/2014 Conducted in person 29/09/2014 Conducted in person 30/09/2014 Conducted in person 01/10/2014 Conducted in person 02/10/2014

17:01 36:33 20:42 36:13 31:48 39:28 36:27 (Continued)

188 Annex 1 No.

Language Interviewee

KAZ_48 Ru

KAZ_49 Ru

KAZ_50 Ru KAZ_51 Ru KAZ_52 Ru

Member of bureaucracy, former MP, former Deputy Minister, member of Nur Otan Researcher at Public Service Academy/ Assambleia Naroda Employee of party, Ak Zhol Former MP, former Akim, now OSDP Journalist, former member of OSDP

Organization/ Status Position

Recorded/ duration

Bureaucracy

Conducted in 38:12 person 02/10/2014

Research/ Bureaucracy

Conducted in no person 03/10/2014

Party

Conducted in no person 03/10/2014 Conducted in 49:47 person 10/10/2014

Ex-MP

Conducted in 31:53 person 17/10/2014

Annex 2 Interview guide for expert interviews with members of the parliaments in Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic and Russia Introduction Thank you for being available for the interview. Presentation of the project: (research project, funded by__________). Key research interest: the activities of members of the parliament in the countries of the former Soviet Republics.

Establishment of contact with citizens • • • • •

How do you usually interact with citizens? Can you describe a typical situation in which you interacted with your voters recently? How do you receive information from your constituents? How do you know which topics and issues matter to them? (probe for: parties, press, personal contacts, interest group) How do citizens typically approach you? Are there institutionalized channels for contact? (probe for: letters, dropping by at office, email) Who usually initiates contact? You or the constituents? How much time do you spend each week addressing the concerns of your constituents? Has this changed since you were first elected?

Channels and mechanisms linking representatives and citizens • • • •

How often do you appear on the media/give interviews to journalists? Do you use social media to directly get in touch with people? What do you use them for? Do you invite groups of citizens to visit you in parliament? Which kind of groups? (probe for: school classes, associations . . .) Do you attend events and festivities outside of parliament that are connected to your role as representative?

190 Annex 2

Geographic focus of representative relationship • • • • • •

Do you have any place of residence outside the capital? If yes, for how long have you been a resident of that region (city)? When and how are you assigned the districts that you are to represent? Can you please explain how this usually is done? Is it the same for all MPs/ parties? The district that you are representing – did you have any prior connection to it before becoming its MP? How much time do you spend in other cities? Do you have any offices outside the capital (ask for number of staff)? When you visit the regions, what does a typical day look like? What other activities do you conduct there?

Functional or social constituency •

Do individuals or groups approach you and ask you for help? Can you describe any such event in the recent past? And how did you react to the request?

Spheres of activity • • • • • •

When you are thinking about the issues that people approach you with – can you recount which were, from your point of view, the most important ones during the past year? Which issues were addressed most frequently? What action did you take to solve this problem? What are the three activities that you spend most of your working time doing? How much time does each of them require each week? What issues do you most actively promote/have you promoted in parliament in the past year? Who first drew your attention towards this issue? What do you think are the main expectations of your voters towards you?

Motivation • • •

Why did you decide to run for office in the first place? The reality of your work, is it the way you expected it to be? What do you see as the most important task of a member of the parliament?

Relationship with party • • •

How long have you been a member of the party? Was it difficult to get a safe position on the party list? Has it ever happened that party officials sometimes draw your attention to issues in your district that you could take action upon?

Annex 2 • •

191

Can you describe such a situation and how you handled it? Sometimes parties point out a problem to MPs and suggest what they should do about it, but the MPs favour another solution. What would a typical case like this look like? Did anything like this ever happen to you, and how did you react?

Biographical background • •

What did you do before you became an MP? Did you hold public office before? Has the relationship to your constituents changed since you were first elected to parliament?

Conclusion • •

Did we miss anything relevant? Are there any points that you would like to add? Do you have questions about my project?

Annex 3 Structure of the coding frame

A: Codes for the whole document 1 Country 1.1 1.2

Kazakhstan Kyrgyz Republic

2 Interviewee 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6

Member of parliament Staff Academic NGO Female Male

B: Representative practices 3 Outreach 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.12

Press releases and news show by the state news agencies Parliamentary website Press releases by the parliamentary factions and parties Parliamentary questions Mass media Social media Town hall meetings Festivities Organized visits to parliament Access to parliament for individuals On-site inspections and visits Other

4 Engaging citizens/C2MP Communication 4.1 4.2

Priemnaia (reception) of individual MP Priemnaia (reception) of faction

Annex 3 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9

Priemnaia (reception) of party Letters Phone calls Signatures collection Public input, roundtables and conferences Public councils Other

5 Constituency service and delivery 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9

Financial support to individuals Financial support to communities Policy-making Forwarding of requests Information collection Symbolic activity Refusal to act Dissemination of information Other

6 Work in the regions 6.1 6.2 6.3

Offices Frequency and duration of visits Other

7 Topics addressed by voters 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7

Infrastructure Social sector Violations of rights Financial grievances Business Governance Other

8 Change in relationship towards citizens over time

C: Factors influencing the representative practice 9 Resources 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5 9.6 9.7 9.8 9.9

National budget Party resources Personal resources Paid employee in capital Staff outside the capital Volunteers from the party Individual volunteers Time allocated Donor funds

193

194 Annex 3 10 Individual characteristics 10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4 10.5 10.6 10.7 10.8

Place of origin Tenure Professional background Ethnic background Office/position held Deputy group membership Assambleia Naroda Other

11 Beliefs and motivation 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4 11.5

Understanding of mandate Expectations of voters Motivation for running for office Difficulties of being an MP Accountability

12 Constituency 12.1 12.2 12.3 12.4 12.5

Nation Geographical Social Functional Other

13 Legal framework for MP–citizen interactions 13.1 13.2 13.3 13.4 13.5 13.6

Constitution Custom and practice Party list composition Electoral threshold During electoral campaigns Other

14 Actors influencing the representative behaviour of the MPs 14.1 14.2 14.3 14.4 14.5 14.6 14.7 14.8 14.9 14.10

Own initiative Countries and international organizations President Other members of the national legislature Party Faction Regional parliament Administration Civil Society Others

Index

accountability 31, 132–133, 135–137, 139, 141, 145, 147, 153; dual 50; view 35 activity profiles 47–48, 128–129, 144–145 agenda setting 47–49, 54, 116, 125, 128, 141, 145 Akaev, Askar 22, 77, 106–107, 143 Ak Zhol (Kazakhstan) 65–67, 83–85, 109–110, 120, 123–124, 127 Ak Zhol (Kyrgyzstan) 76, 79, 93–94 Ar Namys 17, 74–75, 94, 96, 101, 133 Assambleia Naroda Kazakhstana see Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan Assembly of the People of Kazakhstan 63, 65–66, 82–85, 103, 108, 118–120, 123–127; and group representation 88–89, 92, 150 Atambaev, Almazbek 23, 74, 79, 94, 99 Ata Meken 23, 71, 73–75, 77, 94, 96, 135, 138, 143 Ata Zhurt 74–75, 77, 94, 96–97, 135, 143 authoritarian regime types 4–9 Babanov, Ormukbek 23, 74 Bakiev, Kurmanbek 22–23, 71, 73–74, 77, 93, 98 Bir Bol 74, 94, 96, 135, 143 Burke, Edmund 45 candidate list 24, 31, 67, 75–78, 83, 95–96, 149–150 candidate selection 14, 24, 31–35; in Kazakhstan 67–70, 83, 92, 103, 149, 157; in Kyrgyzstan 75–78, 103, 149 citizens’ concerns 10, 44, 47, 122–123, 125, 134, 137–138 clientelism 5, 43, 130, 143 Communist People’ Party of Kazakhstan 65–66, 83–85, 94, 110, 117, 120, 127

competitive authoritarianism 8, 40–41, 148–156 competitiveness 8, 10, 13, 24, 50, 107, 153; limitations to electoral 33–34, 68–70, 78–79 congruence 28, 44–46 constituency 24, 42–43, 49–55; focus 43, 51, 105–108, 109–110; service 46–47, 49–52, 143–144; visits 108–109, 111–113, 117–118, 127–128 constitution 3, 7, 10, 62–63, 65–66, 87, 93, 104, 140; as data source 56; reform 20–22, 62–63, 70–71, 78, 111, 113, 116 co-optation 5–6, 11, 33, 67, 69 custodian MP 111–112, 114, 131, 153 deputy groups 75, 159 descriptive representation 27, 35–42, 81–105 descriptive-substantive link 53, 97, 102 disability 102, 125 dominant power regime 7 electoral connection 13, 27–28, 30–31, 35–36, 40–43, 62, 68, 107 electoral system 5, 15, 24, 31–32, 63–65, 70–73, 77–78; as determinant 38, 42–43, 50–51 electoral threshold 65, 71–74, 76, 79, 111, 113, 150 factions 75, 85, 96–97, 108, 113–114, 117, 130–131, 134–138, 144 feckless pluralism 7 formalistic representation 26, 28, 30–35, 50, 62–80, 148–149 grievance chasing 47–48, 124, 128, 138

196 Index hyper-democracy 70, 78 input channels 44–45, 118, 121–122, 134–137 interest 35–39 Jeenbekov, Sooronbai 23 Kulov, Felix 22, 74, 80 law-making, legislative activities 11, 46–48, 124–126, 140–141 legitimacy 9–10, 14, 33–34, 93, 155 letter writing 10, 112, 118, 121, 123, 134–135, 137–138; forwarding to institutions 124, 135, 138 limited legislature 14, 16, 151 local party structures 117, 138 mandate cap 41, 75, 79, 93, 149 mass media 48–49, 68, 78–79, 119–121, 125, 127, 129, 131–132, 141 material contributions 49, 127–128, 143–144 media freedom 21 minority representation 38–39, 76, 88–89, 98–101 nation-building 19–20, 87–88 native son representation 75, 106 Nazarbaev, Nursultan 20–21, 62–63 Nazarbaeva, Dariga 21, 66, 85, 128 new institutionalism 5, 10–11 Nur Otan 65–66, 69–70, 82–85, 92, 103, 110, 117, 126–127, 149 Onuguu-Progress 74, 77, 94, 112, 135, 143 opposition 5, 33–35, 41–42, 53, 65–70, 73–74, 79, 83–85, 93, 103, 126, 132, 140, 142, 149–150, 156 Otunbaeva, Rosa 22–23 outreach 44, 116–117, 130–131 parliamentary functions 9, 12, 46 parliamentary radio 132, 142 party registration 68–69 party switching 33, 75, 79 party system 5, 17–18, 32–34, 38, 41, 53; of Kazakhstan 66–67, 70, 84; of Kyrgyzstan 73–75, 78–79, 93, 111 petition 44, 48, 118, 121, 134–135, 139 Pitkin, H. 4, 23, 26–29 policy making see law-making, legislative activities

political diversity 41–42, 82–84, 93, 103, 156 power-sharing 2–3, 22–23, 71, 73, 87, 93–94, 111 profession 37, 40, 81, 89–90, 92, 101 public councils 121–122 quotas 32–34, 37–41, 71–72, 75, 77, 93, 103; for age 75, 101–102; for the disabled 102; for gender 75, 87, 96–97; for minorities 75, 88, 98–99 regime type 4–9 representation: components 4, 14, 23–30, 55; and democracy 3, 27, 30–32; see also descriptive representation; formalistic representation; substantive representation; symbolic representation representative claims 28, 42 reserved seats 32, 37–42, 53, 83–84, 103 resources, material 49, 50–55, 117, 131 responsiveness 45–47, 128 roles 48, 50, 52–55, 122, 129, 144–146 Respublika 23, 71, 74–75, 77, 94, 96, 102 Respublika-Ata-Zhurt 74–75, 77, 94, 135, 142–143 seat distribution 65, 70–71, 73, 84, 93, 99 social media 113, 117, 119–120, 132 Soviet Union 9–10, 14, 19, 22, 37, 40–41, 87, 89, 98, 106 subnational assemblies 73–74, 96, 117, 131, 133, 136–137 subnational government 67, 117, 123, 129, 141 substantive representation 26–29, 43–55, 115–147, 151 Supreme Soviet 22, 41, 89 symbolic representation 26–27, 45, 49 Tekebaev, Ormukbek 22–23, 74, 80 Third Wave 3, 25 travel to the regions see vyezd Tulip revolution 22–23, 25, 73, 93 turnover 35, 81, 91–92, 101–102 uncertainty 14, 78, 154 vyezd 108–109, 111, 117–118, 122, 130, 136 website 44, 89, 91, 117, 119–121, 132–135, 147 women’s representation 38–39, 75, 77, 85–87, 95–98