Russia vs. the EU: The Competition for Influence in Post-Soviet States 9781626371880

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RUSSIA VS. THE EU

RUSSIA VS. THE EU The Competition for Influence in Post-Soviet States

Jakob Tolstrup

Published in the United States of America in 2014 by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.firstforumpress.com www.rienner.com and in the United Kingdom by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU © 2014 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tolstrup, Jakob, 1980– Russia vs. the EU : the competition for influence in post-Soviet states / Jakob Tolstrup. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-935049-93-7 (hc : alk. paper) 1. Former Soviet republics—Foreign relations—Russia (Federation). 2. Russia (Federation)—Foreign relations—Former Soviet Republics. 3. Former Soviet republics— Foreign relations—European Union countries. 4. European Union countries—Foreign relations—Former Soviet republics. 5. Geopolitics—Former Soviet republics. I. Title. II. Title: Russia versus the European Union. DK67.5.R8T65 2013 327.4704—dc23 2013030240 British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. This book was produced from digital files prepared by the author using the FirstForumComposer. Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

List of Tables and Figures Acknowledgments Note on Transliteration 1

vii ix xi

Setting the Stage: Post-Soviet Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine

1

2

Studying the Influence of External Actors

23

3

A Theory of External Influence

35

4

The Period of Uncertainty: 1991–1994

51

5

Ruling Elites Regain Control: 1995–1999

97

6

Competition for Domestic Power and External Influence Intensifies: 2000–2004

139

7

The Return of Geopolitics: 2005–2010

193

8

Overall Trends in Russian and EU Influence

237

List of Acronyms Bibliography Index

263 265 289

v

Tables and Figures

Tables

2.1 Merkel’s Criteria of Embedded Democracy

25

2.2 Typology of External Actors’ Actions

32

2.3 Typology of the Effects of External Actors’ Actions

33

3.1 Revisited Version of the Leverage and Linkage Framework

40

4.1 Country Factors Affecting Leverage

52

4.2 Linkages to the EU and Russia at the Point of Independence

53

4.3 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 1991–1994

58

4.4 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 1991–1994

74

4.5 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 1991–1994

83

5.1 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 1995–1999

100

5.2 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 1995–1999

112

5.3 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 1995–1999

125

6.1 Trade Patterns of Ukraine, Belarus, and Moldova, 2000–2004 (% of total export to Russia and the EU)

142

6.2 Trade Patterns of Ukraine, Belarus, and Moldova, 2000–2004 (% of total import from Russia and the EU)

142

6.3 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 2000–2004

144

6.4 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 2000–2004

164

6.5 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 2000–2004

175

7.1 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 2005–2010

198

vii

viii

Tables and Figures

7.2 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 2005–2010

208

7.3 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 2005–2010

220

8.1 Direct Russian Influence

239

8.2 Indirect Russian Influence

240

8.3 Direct EU Influence

246

8.4 Indirect EU Influence

247

Figures

1.1 Freedom House Scores, 1991–2010

15

2.1 The Intentions-Actions-Effects Chain

30

3.1 Model of How External Actors Can Influence Democratization

39

Acknowledgments

The work on this book began in 2007 when I was in the Department of Political Science at Aarhus University. During the process of writing, a great number of people helped me in various ways. I owe them all great gratitude. First of all, I would like to thank Lars Johannsen and Mette Skak. Lars was a firm supporter, and he gave me solid methodological advice and encouragement, helping me navigate the project to completion. Mette’s invaluable contribution was to the substance of my work. Her knowledge of Russia and Russian foreign policy is impressive, and she offered many thoughtprovoking interpretations of the geopolitical game on the European continent. In addition, I wish to thank Jørgen Møller and Svend-Erik Skaaning for reading and commenting on chapters and working papers. The two provided me with great input, which sharpened my thinking. Furthermore, from the Department of Political Science in Aarhus, I thank Anja Dalsgaard and Annette Andersen for proofreading and the members of the Comparative Politics Section for insightful comments, encouragement, and good company. From outside the department, I received valuable comments from many people. In particular, I would like to thank Gerardo Munck, Jonas Linde, Roger E. Kanet, Julia Bader, Antje Kästner, Mark Kramer, Larry Diamond, Kathryn Stoner Weiss, Gail Lapidus, three anonymous reviewers, and of course Jessica Gribble from Lynne Rienner Publishers. Most important, however, I owe this all to my wonderful Tine and my sweet daughter, Frida. You simply make my life perfect, and I dedicate this first work of mine to you.

ix

Note on Transliteration

The spelling of names and places in the post-Soviet context is a delicate issue, as both Russian and national language variants abound. Throughout this book, I have used the Library of Congress conventions (but without diacritics), consistently transliterating Ukrainian, Belarusian, Moldovan, and Russian names and places based on the spelling of their national language. The spelling of some very common words has not been transliterated according to these criteria but follows instead the most accepted conventions, employing “Kiev” instead of “Kyiv,” for example.

xi

1 Setting the Stage: Post-Soviet Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine

In his famous book The Return of History and the End of Dreams (2009), Robert Kagan argues that the world is becoming increasingly divided between the axis of democracy (consisting of the Western world) and the association of autocrats (primarily represented by Russia, China and Iran). According to Kagan, the short-lived honeymoon period in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union is undisputedly over. It has been replaced with the re-emergence of “geopolitical fault lines where the ambitions of great powers overlap and conflict” (Kagan 2009: 12). His argument is that authoritarian regimes no longer accept the hegemony of the liberal order but increasingly challenge it and its Western proponents – thus creating a more conflict-ridden and unsecure world. Kagan may be dramatizing the level of conflict. Indeed, he could be accused of essentialism due to his division of the world into good and bad guys. But he is definitely on to something. Several scholars (e.g., Diamond 2008a; Gat 2008) agree that authoritarian great powers generally act with more and more confidence, and increasingly challenge the liberal order that was the trademark of the 1990s. This increasing great power competition has not just caught the attention of traditional international relations (IR) scholars but has also penetrated the literature on democratization rooted in comparative politics. A number of recent studies stress how the rising great powers actively inhibit democratization and strengthen autocratic tendencies in their regions (e.g., Bert 2004; Diamond 2008b; Ambrosio 2009; Corrales et al. 2009; Tolstrup 2009; Bader et al. 2010; Jackson 2010). Apparently, the authoritarian rise has dire consequences not just for the great powers themselves and the world system they act within but also for the many smaller states situated around them.

1

2

Russia vs. the EU

Scholars of Western democracy promotion are also becoming more skeptical. In general, the enthusiasm of the 1990s arising from a strong belief in the inevitable spread of democracy around the globe has yielded to a far more hesitant and pragmatic approach (Merkel 2010). The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and the fight against international terrorism have once again brought security matters to the top of the agenda, thus putting severe pressure on the goal of promoting democracy across the globe. And, to make things worse (from the perspective of a global democrat), the challenge at hand has grown during the same period, as autocratic governments around the world have found ways to, at least partly, protect themselves against the actions of the democracy promotion industry (e.g., Schedler 2002; Carothers 2006; Gershman & Allen 2006; Krastev 2006). Such reflections all point in the same direction – the overall perspective for the externally induced advancement of democracy is turning bleaker these days. The democracy-promoting external actors are losing ground, and the democracy-inhibiting powers are moving forward. But is the drama of two diametrically opposed forces competing for influence in regions around the world indeed an adequate depiction of what is going on? Are the various external actors truly capable of influencing the political development of other states in the first place? If so, has Western democracy promotion really received a serious blow during the last decade? Is the extrovert authoritarian resistance of the rising great powers an entirely new phenomenon, or has this been their modus operandi all along only now with increased vigor and power? And is it really fair to make the essentialist grouping that Kagan argues for? Are the good guys always good and the bad guys always bad? Or is the picture, perhaps, more blurred than black and white? Answering such questions brings us into the realm of the literature on the so-called international dimension of democratization (e.g., Pridham 1991a; Whitehead 1996b; Carothers 1999; Levitsky & Way 2005, 2010; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005b), a journey that I will argue is absolutely necessary if we are to fully understand the dynamics of political development around the globe. This book, therefore, follows up on this aspect by analyzing the role two great powers have played in influencing processes of democratization and autocratization in their immediate and shared neighborhood. More specifically, I concentrate on one of the fault lines mentioned by Kagan (2009: 12) – namely, the one that “runs along the western and southwestern frontiers of Russia”, thus effectively dividing Europe. On the one side, the democratic European Union (EU) has committed itself to promoting democracy in its Eastern neighbors through its enlargement policies and neighborhood policies (e.g., Vachudova 2005; Schimmelfennig

Setting the Stage

3

2007). On the other side, the gradually more autocratic and assertive Russia is eagerly trying to preserve its former sphere of influence (e.g., Nygren 2007; Trenin 2007) and has repeatedly been accused of protecting dictators and punishing regimes that seek integration with the West (e.g., Ambrosio 2009; Tolstrup 2009; Bader et al. 2010). In between, the former Soviet republics – Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova – find themselves squeezed between the two sides. This apparent increasingly antagonistic relationship indeed emphasizes the significance of assessing how important the actions of the two external actors are for the internal political development of the countries in focus. Are Russia and the EU really capable of influencing the “level of democracy” (what I will term the democratic performance) of their neighbors? How do they do it, and do they truly influence the countries in only a “positive” or a “negative” way,1 or do we see mixed patterns of influence? And if so, have these patterns changed over time, and do we see the significant change in the direction and the intensity of the external actors’ influence, as Kagan asserts? Through a comparative study of Russia’s and the EU’s influence on the democratization and autocratization2 processes of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova  in the period from 1991 through 2010, I seek to disentangle the role that the two external actors have played in bringing their neighbors closer to or further away from liberal democracy. These very important empirical questions constitute the backbone of this book. But at the same time, the empirical endeavor also serves as a springboard for bringing attention to an under-theorized and underinvestigated issue in the literature on transition and democratization. In my view, conducting an analysis like the one sketched above is simply not possible without a proper analytical framework for studying external actors’ influences on democratization and autocratization processes. And as I will argue below, the part of the democratization literature that deals with the international dimension lacks such a comprehensive framework. So the interesting and substantial questions asked above are naturally preceded by more fundamental theoretical and methodological questions of how, in general, one can study such external influence, and how we can expect this influence to vary. Thus, this book sets out not to just increase our knowledge of how specific external actors can influence democratization and autocratization processes but also to provide a theory explaining when external actors matter, and an analytical framework and a consistent terminology that can serve as common ground for future comparative analyses in the field. Before I turn to the main parts of the book, let me first explain in greater detail what this study is about and how exactly it contributes to existing knowledge in the field. The rest of this introduction is organized as

4

Russia vs. the EU

follows: first, I conduct a brief survey of the literature on the international dimension of democratization. This allows me to present the research tradition that this study builds upon as well as pinpoint the shortcomings that currently cripple it. Subsequently, I explain how I address these shortcomings, and finally, I present the strengths and weaknesses of the chosen research design and clarify how the analysis will be conducted, exactly what is under study and, as important, what is not. The International Dimension: The Birth of A New Research Agenda In 1991, Pridham (1991b: 18) labeled the international dimension “the forgotten dimension in the study of democratic transition.” Indeed, the topic had been neglected at large. So at the time he wrote, Pridham’s blunt statement was certainly correct. The transitologists (e.g., Linz & Stepan 1978; O’Donnell & Schmitter 1986; Di Palma 1991) that dominated the thinking in the 1980s mostly favored actor-centered theories embedded in the national context. In the seminal work on transitions from authoritarian rule, Schmitter (1986: 5) famously stated that “one of the firmest conclusions that emerged… was that transitions from authoritarian rule and immediate prospects for political democracy were largely to be explained in terms of national forces and calculations. External actors tended to play an indirect and usually marginal role.” Before that, only a few of the themes covered by today’s literature on the international dimension had been addressed. The obvious issue of outright foreign control and imposition of regime type – known from, for example, the Allied forces’ imposition of democratic systems in Japan and Germany after World War II – had been cursorily studied (see e.g., Dahl 1971: 189-202). The related issue of how either of the superpowers of the Cold War overtly and covertly intervened in other countries to uphold or install supportive regimes had only been investigated slightly further (see e.g., O’Donnell 1973; Muller 1985). Also in IR theory, only a few scholars (Gourevitch 1978; Putnam 1988) had sought to break down the artificial palisade between their own discipline and comparative politics, doing so by arguing that domestic politics and international relations are somehow related, and that one cannot be studied thoroughly without including the other. But their contributions only helped spur the debate, while their specific suggestions on how to study such phenomena did not resonate much with later works in the discipline. Apart from these notable exceptions, the founding decades of democratization theory were in general characterized by the consensus that a given state’s regime trajectory is primarily determined by its internal

Setting the Stage

5

conditions. So, at the time when Pridham was calling for more attention to it, the literature on the international dimension’s influence on transition and democratization was indeed severely underdeveloped. But 1991 marked a turning point. This was so for two reasons. First, empirical realities changed dramatically during the late 1980s and early 1990s. The end of the Cold War fostered “an explosion of international political and economic incentives for states to qualify as democracies” (Whitehead 2004: 135), and also led to a considerable increase in the number of democracies. In addition, the end of bipolarity made the ideological and security-related rationale for tolerating authoritarian regimes disappear. Instead, the Western foreign policy agenda increasingly embraced worldwide democratization as one of its top priorities, and international organizations and international NGOs committing themselves to democracy promotion proliferated (Magan 2009: 13-14). The international dimension simply turned more visible to the naked eye. Second, prominent scholars such as Whitehead (1986, 1996a), Huntington (1991), Pridham (1991b), Pridham, Herring and Sanford (1994) and Linz and Stepan (1996) began to stress the importance of the international dimension’s effects on transition and democratization processes. Even Schmitter (1996: 27-28), the most ardent proponent of domestic-centered approaches, admitted that “perhaps it is time to reconsider the impact of the international context upon regime change.” In the words of Levitsky and Way (2010: 38), the debate “turned from whether international factors matter to how much they matter.” That is, the international dimension had now, for the first time, achieved recognition as a research subject in its own right, and the path was set for actually developing the field. Here, one important contribution stands out. In the path-breaking book The Third Wave (1991), Huntington took up this task, setting the research agenda for the future. The main argument was that political development was a far cry from being determined by only internal factors. Policies of external actors (85-100), the prevailing zeitgeist (33) and demonstration effects (100-106) could simply not, a priori, be brushed aside. The emphasis on the latter two factors – and the overall argument that political development takes place in waves – sparked the onset of what has become known as the diffusion literature.3 Here, the external environment is seen less as consisting of intentional actors and more as uncontrolled surroundings that sporadically influence given countries. That is, a constant pressure and inspiration for regime assimilation emanates from both the regional and global environment that surrounds any country – and this, at least to some degree, seems to influence the crucial choices regarding

6

Russia vs. the EU

political development made by national leaders, oppositionists and the population at large. External Actors: What Has Been Studied and What Has Not? The second item on the research agenda of the literature on the external dimension of democratization emphasized by Huntington seeks to understand the influence of specific external actors.4 But with the easing of the Cold War atmosphere and the general spread of democratic and liberal ideals, researchers’ awareness that states can affect other countries both positively (facilitating democratization) and negatively (inhibiting democratization) simply faded away, and sole attention was dedicated to positive external actors. In particular, contributions on the West’s efforts to promote democracy around the globe proliferated. Scholars analyzed both the softer tools – diplomacy, persuasion strategies, democracy assistance (such as electoral assistance, support of civil society and independent media), and help with implementing legal and legislative reforms – and the harder tools – from political conditionality to the abovementioned democratization by force.5 Most recently, the literature on positive external actors has taken a theoretical quantum leap with the so-called Europeanization literature, emphasizing how the EU uses conditionality to force candidate countries, association countries and targets of the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP) to complete a plethora of political, economic and administrative reforms.6 But still, the sole focus in all these democracy promotion studies is to trace only positive effects of the actions of the Western external actors; possible negative effects are sometimes reflected upon but are seldom treated in any systematic manner. This is what I term the substantial shortcoming of the literature on the external dimension on democratization. Simply put, we have so far been predominantly occupied with the transition from dictatorship to democracy, and therefore, only the question of the West’s efforts to promote democracy (what I term positive influence) has been examined, thereby disregarding what I term the potential negative influence (influence that weakens democracy) of those same players or of other great powers. In my view, the specialized literature on the influence of external actors has suffered from a positive Western bias and, thus, has reduced the international dimension to a unidirectional push factor for democracy (Tolstrup 2009). True, quite a few authors point to the fact that regional great powers support autocratic incumbents or counteract democratizing states in their neighborhoods.7 Although these authors are aware of the phenomenon, only

Setting the Stage

7

very few of them carry out empirically-based comparative studies that thoroughly trace the actual effects. One very recent, notable exception who deserves mention is Ambrosio (2009), who convincingly juxtaposes Russia’s bolstering of the autocratic Belarus with its subversion of the democratizing Ukraine. Nevertheless, like the others, he focuses on the external actor’s actions rather than on the effects of these actions, and therefore does not pinpoint exactly what is influenced by the external actor in these countries. Burnell & Schlumberger (2010: 10) reiterate this criticism and note that “there is a striking neglect of attention to international factors (whether deliberate and policy-driven or unintended) in the development of nondemocratic regimes on a national level.” Thus, even though a small group of scholars have taken the first steps towards addressing the substantial shortcoming, the imbalance is still very real, and I propose that it be tackled much more consistently and thoroughly. Bringing into focus the substantial shortcoming necessarily begs the question of how we can discriminate between positive and negative influence in an unbiased manner. This question naturally leads to a second shortcoming of the literature: the methodology. In general, the literature on the external dimension has not been particularly concerned with methodology, at least not the positivist variant of it that I advocate. A few scholars have attempted to think of how the subject can be systematically studied (Pridham 1994; Whitehead 1996a; Schmitter 1996; Burnell 2006; McFaul, Magen & Stoner-Weiss 2008), but none of the contributions have gained a wide hearing so far. As a result, the field has not attained the level of methodological meticulousness characteristic of democratization literature proper. Basically, the problem is that only some studies clearly discriminate between various actions of external actors (the independent variable), and even fewer studies systematically pinpoint exactly what the external actors influence (the dependent variable). The two shortcomings combined mean that not only is our understanding of the international dimension’s influence on democratization and autocratization processes severely simplified, but we also lack the methodologically sound concepts and approaches without which we are ill-equipped to conduct stringent comparative analyses. So, if we are to “move beyond generalizations about the international context of democratization, and towards tracing particular sources of external influence, and testing their influences” (Magen 2009: 16), we need to work more with the methodology. Finally, the literature on the external dimension of democratization not only suffers from substantial and methodological shortcomings but also from a theoretical shortcoming. Several scholars have produced theories on

8

Russia vs. the EU

the circumstances under which external actors can influence the development of other states (e.g., Kopstein & Reilly 2000; Yilmaz 2002; Levitsky & Way 2005, 2010; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005a; Vachudova 2005). Yet, these contributions are constructed to account only for the influence of positive external actors (and sometimes even more narrowly, the EU), and by far, most of the authors emphasize either actors or structures as the crucial determinant in their explanation. I will argue that this leaves us with only a partial understanding of how the influence of the external dimension really comes about. Only if we construct a model that is applicable to both positive and negative external influence and that combines both the macro-logic and the micro-logic of when external influence matters will we be able to fully grasp the complexity of the international dimension. The Contributions of This Study This book does not offer a complete solution to the problems outlined above, but it does constitute an ambitious attempt to rectify some of the imbalances characteristic of the literature today. On the empirical level, I conduct a comprehensive mapping of the positive and negative influences of both the EU and Russia in the three post-Soviet republics of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova in the period from 1991 to 2010. Such a study offers new empirical ground in at least four ways. First, it provides new insight into the political dynamics of the postSoviet republics. Second, by analyzing not just the influence of the EU but also of Russia, I depart from the tradition of only focusing on Western external actors. Russia is a very important actor in the post-Soviet region; so if it is not included in analyses of external influence on processes of autocratization and democratization in the area, one simply ends up with a distorted and unreal picture of reality. Third, the study increases our knowledge of the EU’s capability to positively affect non-candidate countries. Indeed, as noted above, a steadily growing number of contributions address Schimmelfennig’s (2007: 4) call for “analyzing Europeanization beyond Europe.” But by far, the majority of these studies deal only with the period after the EU introduced its Neighborhood Policy in 2004. To the best of my knowledge, nobody has until now simultaneously mapped the European influence in three postSoviet countries, thus, covering the whole period of their independence as sovereign states. Finally, this book improves our understanding of the interplay between positive and negative external influences. The parallel investigation of what we normally conceive of as two very different external actors addresses

Setting the Stage

9

Whitehead’s (1999: 78) long-neglected call for studying cross-pressured states. Recently, the clash between the EU and Russia in the western part of the post-Soviet area has received a fair amount of attention (e.g., Malfliet, Verpoest & Vinokurov 2007; Haukkala 2008a, 2008b; Schmidtke & Yekelchyk 2008; Wilson & Popescu 2009; Averre 2009, Kanet & Freire 2012). Yet, the focus here is again mainly on the tools and interests of the conflicting great powers, not on their precise effects. And again, the period studied is mainly constrained to the latter part of the 2000s, not the entire post-Cold War era. To grapple with the methodological shortcoming in the literature, this book uses a new analytical approach as well as a new framework and terminology. Basically, I propose doing three fairly simple things. Most importantly, we have to be cautious of the essentialist trap. I will argue that Russia has on several occasions acted as a negative external actor towards its neighboring republics. Nevertheless, we have to develop concepts that are tied, not to particular actors per se, but to their influence. That is, focus should be on external actors’ effects – not on who they are or what they intend to do. Why external actors act the way they do is always interesting but is nonetheless irrelevant for studying the drivers of political development in the states affected by the external actor. So, if we are to steer clear of the normative bias that characterizes, for example, Robert Kagan’s division between the good guys (democrats) and the bad guys (autocrats) in world politics, we need to construct our theoretical concepts so that it is possible for an external actor to act as both a positive and negative factor depending on the time and place, thus leaving it to the empirical analyses to settle the question. Negative external actors need not be authoritarian, and positive external actors need not be democratic. So our concepts must never rule out the possibility beforehand. Second, to use concepts that do not determine external actors a priori, we have to take seriously the ever-present problem in democratization studies regarding the understanding of democracy and clarify what we understand as positive and negative acts. Certain criteria have to be established upon which an unbiased evaluation of the empirical data can be based. Simply put, it is of paramount importance to clearly define the dependent variable that I perceive as changes in democratic performance (i.e., democratization or autocratization). Once the dependent variable has been specified, it is essential to clarify precisely what the external actor influences in a given country and how this influence connects with the dependent variable. That is, if the influence of the external actor does not affect a given country’s democratic performance directly, then we need a step-by-step specification of the causal mechanisms that finally produce the positive or negative effect. Clarity about the dependent variable not only

10

Russia vs. the EU

increases transparency but also allows us to discriminate between positive and negative actors in an unbiased manner – thus avoiding the trap of essentialism. Third, I propose developing an objective analytical framework (consisting of typologies and categorizations of external actors’ actions and effects) that can be used by comparativists to analyze both positive and negative external actors regardless of choices of cases and time periods. That is, I scrutinize the independent variable by asking in what ways and with which means external actors can influence democratization in other countries, and I spell out the simple types of effects that this influence can take. This analytical framework is then applied in the empirical analyses in order to characterize the influence strategies that Russia and the EU have followed and applied since 1991. The aim is not only to introduce a more consistent terminology but also to promote an approach that sharpens our analytical thinking and hopefully produces more methodologically sound empirical analyses. Finally, on the theoretical level, this book offers a substantive corrective to the structuralist theory that currently dominates our understanding of when and how external actors matter. Basically, I hold that the widely cited theory of leverage (the vulnerability of the targeted state to external pressure) and linkages (the density of ties between the external actor and the targeted state), developed by Levitsky and Way (2005, refined in 2010), is somewhat flawed. I argue that the main explanatory factor, the density of linkages between the external actor and the target state, is determined by more than structure, which is what the two scholars limit it to. Linkages are not forever fixed or solely predetermined by geography or history but can be altered to some degree; they can be initiated, deepened or reduced by what I term the gatekeeper elites (political, economic and civil society elites of the target countries). So while Levitsky and Way offer a more or less static argument about international actors’ influences on political development, I, on the contrary, propose a dynamic model: one that accepts the structural premise but also takes into account how interactions between external actors and states evolve over time. As elites actively affect the density of linkages, they also change the importance and influence of the external actors. Thus, I propose a theory emphasizing not only power and interdependence but also the calculations and values of individual leaders. By synthesizing insights from both actor-centered and structuralist theories into one single framework, one can, in my view, come much closer to a rewarding explanation of when external actors matter.

Setting the Stage

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Research Design Designing a study in the right way requires that we are fully aware of the purpose it is to serve. In this book, I argue the necessity of studying not just positive external actors but also negative external actors. More specifically, I highlight the relevance of looking closer at the processes taking place in states subjected to intensive cross-pressure. Furthermore, I criticize Levitsky and Way’s leverage-linkage model, and argue for refining it by including the variable of gatekeeper elites. Thus, two considerations must steer the choices concerning the design: the need for studying cross-pressure and the need for testing my theoretical claim. As I have already pointed out, I address these challenges by conducting a comparative case study of Russian and European influence on the political development in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova in the period from 1991 to 2010. The comparative case method has at least two major advantages. First, the method allows me to meticulously map the intensity and character of the influence of the external actors under study. Using the framework laid out in Chapter 2 and taking advantage of the diachronic and cross-spatial nature of my design, I can track both the broader tendencies and the crucial changes in an external actor’s behavior. Thus, on the basis of focused and structured rules of comparison, the comparative case method allows me to present a thorough, in-depth examination of specific external actors’ workings in varying case settings (George & Bennett 2005: 69-71). Second, since the research field of external actors’ influences on processes of democratization and autocratization is far from well-developed, we really do not know much about which external factors are the most influential and why the effects of these factors seem to vary considerably across cases. That is, our understanding of which variables are important and exactly what the causal mechanisms look like is very limited. So, theory-building and a deeper understanding of how the independent and dependent variables are linked is required at this early stage. For this purpose, the comparative case method is especially well-suited, as it can give us “a richer understanding of particular contexts and processes, while at the same time providing a rich evidence base with which to test propositions, [and] establish empirical relationships” (Landman 2008: 82). This is not to say that the comparative method per se is better at disentangling complex causal relationships (Gerring 2007: 61), but it is definitely useful in grounding this work, and well-conducted case studies can also unfold the workings of a theoretical argument in greater detail and serve as a natural test of the validity of the claim.

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Russia vs. the EU

Why the Chosen Cases? Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova are interesting and useful cases for a variety of reasons. Currently, the three countries, to varying degrees, are in limbo concerning their future political development. So studying the forces that pull them in one or another direction is important and relevant. However, the case-choice has several other advantages. For one, the design is quite apt for meticulously mapping the crosspressure of Russia and the EU. Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova constitute good examples of what Whitehead (1999) terms cross-pressured states,8 and therefore, they are ideal for a study of the influence of competing international actors. In fact, their location on the fault line between Russia and the EU suggests that the external actors will be more likely to fight over their internal development. Therefore, the three cases can be regarded as most-likely cases for finding external influence in the first place (cf. Eckstein 1975: 118-119). That is, if neither Russia nor the EU has any effect on the democratic performance of countries where we expect their influence to be particularly strong, then it will be fair to assume that geographically more remote external actors do not matter at all in the post-Soviet area. Second, the chosen cases are excellent for testing the theory outlined in Chapter 3. The gist of Levitsky and Way’s argument is that the density of linkages (the ties conditioning the strength of the external actor’s influence on the target state) is structurally determined. I, on the other hand, argue that linkages are not forever fixed or solely predetermined by geography or history but can be altered to some degree by gatekeeper elites (they can be initiated, deepened or weakened). Consequently, to test the argument of the alterability of linkages, it is advisable to choose cases that share approximately the same geographical and historical traits because marked variation in the density of linkages to external actors between such cases would weaken Levitsky and Way’s structural theory. Such cross-case similarity is exactly what characterizes Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. The cases are crudely similar regarding historical preconditions, and they share commonalities on a wide range of important structural factors. For example, they all share a legacy of Communism and Russian imperialism; they are all classic borderlands that have been moved back and forth between neighboring countries and, therefore, show a cultural shading between the Russian orthodox to the East and the Latin world to the West (Ukraine between Poland/Austria-Hungary and Russia, Belarus between Poland/Lithuania and Russia, and Moldova between Russia and Romania) (Löwenhardt, Hill & Light 2001: 607). None of them have prior experience with independence or democratic rule, yet they have

Setting the Stage

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inherited a relatively robust infrastructure of state power (Way 2005: 241). They all lack natural resources and none of them are mature market economies. Furthermore, at the time of independence, the three cases were also crudely similar with regard to the level of linkages to Russia (Tsygankov 2000) and the EU (Levitsky & Way 2010: 375; Kopstein & Reilly 2000).9 Even if we take other relevant factors into account, the political trajectories of the three cases have unfolded in different ways than would have been predicted by the theories of the democratization literature. Take, for example, the factors highlighted by modernization theory (cf. Lipset 1959; Boix & Stokes 2003). The theory argues that richer and more equal societies are more favorably disposed to achieving democracy. But, if we consult statistics from the early 1990s on such parameters, then it becomes clear that Belarus performed the best and Moldova, the worst. Belarus had a comparatively high GNP/capita and a low Gini coefficient,10 but it was, nevertheless, the Belarusians who, by far, witnessed the oncoming of the most autocratic regime. Nor can differences in political culture or mass belief alone explain the differing political development of my three cases. Many scholars have posed that the autocratization of Belarus can be ascribed to the particularly undemocratic nature of the Belarusian political culture (e.g. Burant 1995). Yet, such arguments are contradicted by surveys conducted in the post-Soviet countries. The population of Belarus did indeed favor a “strongman” more than that of the two other cases in the early 1990s, but this tendency quickly changed, and by 1994, when President Lukashenka was elected, the Belarusian electorate actually figured among the most democratically inclined, while the attitudes of the populations in Moldova and Ukraine were the least democratic (Haerpfer 2003). Finally, we cannot attribute the diverging regime trajectories to institutional settings. Scholars have argued that parliamentarism is more favorable to democratization than is presidentialism (e.g., Linz 1990; Fish 2006). Yet, at the outset in 1991, semi-presidential systems were in place in Moldova and Ukraine, while the only parliamentary system was in Belarus, which, as mentioned, quickly descended into full-blown autocracy. This puts the institutional argument into question. Moreover, these basic state institutions have changed several times in all three cases since then. Rather, as Easter (1997) has convincingly argued, and as I will show in the analyses, the changes in institutions seem to be caused by changes in the concentration of political power among the elites rather than the other way around. Such commonalities allow me to control for a wide selection of background variables and, thus, from 1991 on, treat the three cases as most

14

Russia vs. the EU

similar (cf. Przeworski & Teune 1970: 32-34). Thus, the risk of confirmation bias (cf. George & Bennett 2005: 217) is minimized, as competing explanations, both with regard to how the influences of external actors are expected to vary and to why changes in democratic performance happen, do not co-vary systematically. Moreover, this similarity in antecedent conditions and geographical position prompts us to believe that the strategic importance for both Russia and the EU (and therefore also the intensity with which they sought to influence) can be kept more or less constant across the three cases. From the Russian viewpoint, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova were considered a natural part of the traditional Russian sphere of influence, and for the EU, the countries were important parts of the so-called Neighbourhood Policy, as they were the only postSoviet republics that had a slim chance of being granted candidate status in the long term.11 Hence, according to Levitsky and Way’s structural theory (as neither geography, history, leverage, strategic importance, intensity of external pressure, nor the initial level of linkages varies systematically across the three cases), we would expect that in the two-decade period under study, the external actors’ leverage over and linkages to the three target states should develop in much the same way, and consequently, the two external actors’ influences should be approximately the same across the three cases. If this is not what we find, then the theory of leverage and linkage might need some fine-tuning. This is exactly what I will argue in the empirical analyses that follow. Third, the design chosen minimizes the risk of both confirmation bias and selection bias, important because if the case choice is systematically biased, the variation of the phenomenon under study is not fully represented (Geddes 2003: 129). As the Freedom House scores in Figure 1.1 illustrate,12 all of the countries (albeit to varying degrees) have experienced both, what I in Chapter 2 term, democratization and autocratization, and therefore, the dependent variable “change in democratic performance” is not biased by including only democratic successes or failures.13 Moreover, the visible difference in political development across the three cases, combined with their similarity in structural preconditions, allow for a thorough examination of my claim that variation in gatekeeper elites is crucial for understanding when external actors matter. To sum up, the chosen cases are well suited for studying the competing influences of external actors and for testing the theoretical argument presented in Chapter 3. With this design, I avoid the dangers of selection bias and, at the same time, rule out counterarguments from many of the “usual suspects” of the democratization literature beforehand. So, using the most similar systems design (MSSD), I enhance the chances of successfully

Setting the Stage

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isolating the effects that the external actors under study may have brought upon the political trajectory of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. Figure 1.1 Freedom House Scores, 1991–2010 1990 1

1995

Years 2000

2005

2010

Democracy scores

2

3

4

Belarus Moldova Ukraine

5

6

7

 

Source: www.freedomhouse.org Note: the democracy scores are calculated as an average of the scores of political rights and civil liberties in each year. I have chosen to stick to Freedom House’s own, albeit somewhat arbitrary, scale running from 1 to 7, to allow for easy comparability with other cases. Thus, the higher the score, the less democratic the country is.

The Data and the Analytical Approach In order to examine the external influence of Russia and the EU on the democratic performance of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, one needs insight into the political development of the three countries since 1991. The narrative of what has happened in the three cases, and how the interactions between the two external actors and the target states have evolved, must be meticulously reconstructed. To do so, I rely on both primary and secondary data sources: specifically, academic literature on the three cases, and reports and policy

16

Russia vs. the EU

documents from Russia, the EU, various international organizations and NGOs, as well as articles from analytical news sites about the post-Soviet space, such as Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL),14 East Week,15 and Eurasia Daily Monitor.16 Moreover, I have used the Eastview database (www.eastview.com) to search Russian and English language newspapers in the countries under study for cuttings that cast further light on their development and interactions with the external actors.17 This all provides good insight into the context in which the events took place. The amount of data in the above sample is daunting, but in order to avoid selection bias in my material (cf. George & Bennett 2005: 94-98), I have found such pluralism necessary. Still, deciphering the enormous amount of data can be demanding, and an ordering principle is, therefore, absolutely necessary if one is to make sense of the information. Furthermore, to ensure measurement validity as well as transparency and inter-reliability, clear analytical criteria must be established a priori (George & Bennett 2005: 86, 89-90; Mahoney 2004: 95). Five types of observations can be identified as relevant for this study:     1. An external actor causes a change in the democratic performance of a target state. 2. A target state clearly intends to change its democratic performance, but the influence of an external actor makes the target state reconsider and, therefore, no change takes place. 3. An external actor pushes for a change in the democratic performance of a target state but does not succeed in changing it. 4. Gatekeeper elites are successful in initiating, deepening or weakening linkages to an external actor. 5. Gatekeeper elites fail in their attempt to initiate, deepen or weaken linkages to an external actor. Observations from the first three categories refer to the degree to which the external actor has influenced the political development of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. In the first two groups, the external actor matters by either changing or avoiding a change in the democratic performance of a target state, whereas in the third group, it does not matter – even though it attempts to do so. All these observations are, therefore, categorized according to the typologies developed in Chapter 2. The interesting question here is whether we can discern a pattern illustrating why some external influence attempts fail while others succeed. This is exactly where observations from categories 4 and 5 become relevant, as they cast light on the theoretical proposition put forward in Chapter 3. By studying these observations, we can find out whether the

Setting the Stage

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linkages that seem to determine the degree to which external actors matter are really non-amenable, as Levitsky and Way argue, or whether gatekeeper elites in the three countries are capable of influencing their density, thereby further enabling or disabling the influence of specific external actors. The Limits of This Study First, this is a study of effects, not intentions or motivations. Though the empirical analyses are intended to lay bare the degree to which and the way in which Russia and the EU have affected democratic performance in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, the study will not try to explain why the external actors acted the way they did but rather to trace the consequences of these actions. This does not mean there will be no discussion of the motivations and intentions behind all actions; they just are not the primary goal here. Second, since the primary focus is not on intentions, I will not engage in the normative debate concerning whether “the international community should be actively involved in democracy promotion efforts” (Schraeder 2003: 25). This book only seeks to analyze whether the EU and Russia facilitated or hampered processes of democratization and autocratization, not whether the interventions they made were illegitimate in the first place (Carothers 1999: 61-62). For the same reasons, the terms positive and negative external factors are not used to signal any normative stand but should rather be understood in the purely mathematical sense – that is, either as enhancing or diminishing a certain phenomenon (here: democratic performance). Third, no mention will be made of how external actors should prioritize the concerns of stability and democratization. That is, I shall not take a stand on when political stability is preferred over efforts to push democratization forward. Naturally, stability and political development are intrinsically connected – a strong regime (be it either an autocracy or a democracy) always rests on some degree of stability. Obviously, the stability dimension can be hypothesized to have an indirect bearing on democratic performance. Consequently, I cannot fully avoid this debate. In some cases, social conflict is so severe that dealing with the stability issue simply becomes a prerequisite for democratization, and thus, externally sponsored stability must be interpreted as a positive external act. Yet, in other cases, external stability support easily turns into overt support for, for example, an autocratic incumbent, who is then somewhat protected from criticism – and then the external act turns negative. But, the question is not easily answered and calls for some degree of discretion. In any case, I

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Russia vs. the EU

refrain from taking a normative stand on the issue and instead seek to disentangle the effects where relevant. Finally, even though the main focus in this book is on external factors and their effects on political development, I do not claim that the external factor is the prime mover. That is, this book does not attempt to give a fullscale explanation of the regime changes in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. The external dimension may be important in some periods, but only on rare occasions is it omnipotent and almost never can it drive development singlehandedly. The goal here is more modest, though important: to thoroughly analyze, what I argue to be, one of the main aspects influencing the political trajectory of these states. Only by summing up the positive and negative internal factors as well as positive and negative external factors do we get the full picture of the forces turning the wheels of political development throughout the world. And only then will we be better able to explain the striking regime diversity in the post-Soviet space and beyond. Book Outline This book is divided into two parts. The first, Chapters 2 and 3, addresses the methodological and theoretical challenges outlined above. This section constitutes the necessary foundation of the book. The second part, Chapters 4, 5, 6 and 7, then zooms in on the Russian and European influences on Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova during the period 1991-2010. Here, the value of the methodological and theoretical innovations of the first part comes to the forefront. This introductory chapter sets the stage for the study by singling out several substantial, methodological and theoretical shortcomings in the existing literature on the external dimension of democratization. In Chapters 2 and 3, I seek to resolve these shortcomings. Chapter 2 introduces the innovative approach and the coherent analytical framework for studying both positive and negative external influences, presenting the analytical framework of typologies and categorizations of external actors’ actions and effects. Overall, I argue the necessity of constructing clear concepts and typologies in order to advance the quality and comparability of studies of the international dimension’s impact on democratization processes. Chapter 3 presents the theory, explaining the circumstances under which external actors can be expected to influence political development. In the empirical study, the analyses are split up into four time periods, each constituting a chapter. Dividing the time frame (1991-2010) into smaller periods aids the presentation but also carries a comparative rationale within. The EU, Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova have changed substantially since the dissolution of the Soviet Union. So, to avoid having

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everything vary, I need to create controllable and solid “footholds” to base my comparisons on. This can be done by treating the external actors and the target states in time period X (during which the EU and Russia might be passive, and the internal situations for the three cases might be similar) as distinct from the external actors and the target states in time period Y (during which the EU and Russia might be active, and the internal situations for the three cases might differ). That is, with this approach, I compare not just countries but also time periods. My chosen periodization (1991-1994, 1995-1999, 2000-2004, 2005-2010), therefore, reflects an attempt to categorize different stages of both the intensity and character of external influence as well as different stages of the internal development for the three cases. In each chapter, I briefly introduce the period, then, analyze the external actors’ actions and effects in accordance with the analytical framework laid out in Chapter 2, and assess the relationship between choices of domestic elites regarding linkages to the external actors and these external actors’ influence, thus “testing” the validity of the theoretical proposition presented in Chapter 3. The last chapter of the book presents a summary of the results of the empirical analysis, an evaluation of the utility and validity of both the analytical framework and the theoretical argument, and a discussion of the implications of the findings.

Notes 1 The terms positive and negative should not, in this context, be ascribed to any normative connotation but are only meant as a reference to whether the external actor promotes or restrains processes of democratization in other countries. A thorough introduction to and definitions of the concepts will follow in Chapter 2. 2 The terms democratization and autocratization will be discussed and specified in Chapter 2. 3 See e.g., Starr 1991; Drake 1998; O’Loughlin et al. 1998; Kopstein & Reilly 2000; Gleditsch 2002; Starr & Lindborg 2003; Brinks & Coppedge 2006; Bunce & Wolchik 2006a, 2006b, 2009; Beissinger 2007, 2009; Leeson & Dean 2009, Weyland 2010. 4 Note that external actors need not only be states or international organizations (IOs) but can also be NGOs (see, e.g., Keck & Sikkink 1998; Risse, Ropp & Sikkink 1999; Thomas 2001) and even powerful individuals. In the rest of the book, unless stated otherwise, external actors are understood to be either states or IOs. 5 On the importance of diplomacy and persuasion strategies, see e.g., Checkel 2005; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005b; Adesnik & McFaul 2006; on democracy assistance, see e.g., Smith 1994; Diamond 1995; Carothers 1997, 1999; Newberg & Carothers 1996; Crawford 1997, 2003; Burnell 2000;

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Seligson et al. 2009; on political conditionality, see e.g., Schmitter 1996; Pevehouse 2002; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005b; Vachudova 2005; on democratization by force, see e.g., Lowenthal 1991; Forsythe 1992; Whitehead 1996a; Peceny 1999; Edelstein 2004; Tures 2005; Grimm & Merkel 2008; Merkel 2008; Beetham 2009. 6 On the Eastern enlargement see e.g., Youngs 2001; Pridham 2001a, 2001b, 2002a, 2002b, 2005; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2002, 2005b; Schimmelfennig, Engert & Knobel 2003; Kelley 2003; Jacoby 2006; Dimitrova & Pridham 2004; Vachudová 2005; Emerson 2005; on the Balkan association countries see e.g., Renner & Trauner 2009; Trauner 2009; Mungiu-Pippidi 2010; on the ENP, see e.g., Emerson 2002; Haukkala & Moshes 2004; Dannreuther 2004; Aliboni 2005; Smith 2005; Milcher & Slay 2005; Warkotsch 2006; Kelley 2006; Dannreuther 2006; Mancke & Gstöhl 2008; DeBardeleben 2008; Browning & Joenniemi 2008; Freyburg et al. 2009; Dangerfield 2009. 7 Diamond (2000) has accentuated how large countries (so-called “swing states” such as Russia, Nigeria, and Pakistan) turning away from democracy can exert critical negative demonstration effects in their region; Whitehead mentions Russia as a possible negative factor that may “produce significant constraints on the scope for democratic consolidation” (1999: 78), and Bugajski (2004), Ambrosio (2006; 2007; 2008; 2009), Kramer (2008), Tolstrup (2009, 2012), Jackson 2010, and Bader et al. (2010) exemplify in empirical analyses that Russia truly has attempted to limit Western influence in the post-Soviet space by acting as a negative external actor; Whitehead argues that China has precluded the democratization of Hong Kong and severely constrains democratic progress in Taiwan (Whitehead 2002: 258), and Bert (2004), Corrales et al. (2009), and Bader et al. (2010) expand this view of China as a negative external actor that also protects authoritarian regimes in Myanmar, Cambodia and Africa; Levitsky and Way (2010: 41) and Diamond (2008b: 113114, 119) point out that France has kept on supporting autocratic rulers in its former African colonies, and that the United States is still doing the same in, for example, the Middle East (see also Wittes 2008); Finally, as mentioned in the introduction, Kagan (2009) has pointed to an “association of autocrats” that deliberately counteracts the promotion of democracy and grants dictators around the world protection from Western sanctions. 8 Actually, they constitute the whole population of truly EU-Russia crosspressured states in the post-Soviet area. 9 The similarities at the point of independence are further substantiated in Chapter 4. 10 www.hdr.undp.org. 11 For the time being, Belarus is not part of the Neighbourhood Policy because of its autocratic ruler Alyaksandr Lukashenka, but the country is still offered the same possibilities and shares the same long-term perspective as the other countries (lately it has also been invited to join the new initiative The Eastern Partnership together with five other post-Soviet republics). 12 The democracy ratings from Freedom House are definitely not without their problems, and one should be cautious not to take all minor ups and downs at face value (cf. Munck 2009). Here, they are only reproduced to provide a quick overview of the overall development of the cases under study. 13 True, full variation in regime type is not present across my cases. Missing are regimes with average scores between 1 and 2.5 – the cases termed

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free by Freedom House – while scores between 2.5 and 4.5 dominate. In my view, this is not a major problem, as enough regime-variation exists to meaningfully investigate the research question at hand. However, when generalizing from the cases, it is important to remember that I have studied one full-blown autocracy (Belarus from 1995/1996) and several variants of hybrid and soft authoritarian regimes (Belarus in the early 1990s, and Moldova and Ukraine for most of 1991-2009), not real democracies. 14 Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty surveys developments in a range of countries, including the post-Soviet region. All newslines are available from http://www.rferl.org/. 15 Eastweek is a weekly analytical newsletter on Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, the Caucasus and Central Asia. All newsletters are available from www.osw.waw.pl/en. 16 Eurasia Daily Monitor surveys developments in Eurasia. All newslines are available from http://www.jamestown.org/edm/. 17 Often, such news reports are quite biased by political forces or the personal value judgments of journalists, but nevertheless, they provide detailed accounts of specific events (cf. Katchanovski 2006: 59).

2 Studying the Influence of External Actors

The literature on the international dimension of democratization is rich with studies on how external actors in a multitude of ways influence democratization processes in other countries. But due to the substantial and methodological shortcomings mentioned earlier, this literature is flawed. The first, or substantial, shortcoming (the Western positive bias) is best remedied by simply broadening the perspective and analyzing negative external influences on par with positive ones. However, doing so necessarily begs the question of how we can discriminate between positive and negative influences in an unbiased manner. This question naturally leads to the second, or methodological, shortcoming. Recalling Sartori’s (1970: 1038) famous dictum, of putting conceptualization before quantification, this chapter is dedicated to developing an objective analytical framework that comparativists can use when analyzing both positive and negative external actors, regardless of choice of case or time-period. The aim is not only to introduce a more consistent terminology but also to promote an approach that sharpens our analytical thinking and hopefully produces more methodologically sound empirical analyses. The basic claim is that clear concepts make the results of our empirical analyses more transparent, focused and (not least) more comparable. The argument of the chapter is twofold. First, I deal with the everpresent problem in democratization studies of how to understand democracy, which I do by specifying the dependent variable I term “changes in democratic performance” using Wolfgang Merkel’s (2004) notion of embedded democracy. I will argue that such clarity about the dependent variable is paramount for steering clear of the vagueness and ambiguity that weakens many studies on external influences. In addition, it allows us to discriminate between positive and negative actors in an

23

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unbiased manner – thus avoiding, what was termed in the introduction, the trap of essentialism. Second, building on existing contributions from, in particular, the literature on democracy promotion and studies of Europeanization, typologies and categorizations of external actors’ actions and effects are introduced. That is, I scrutinize the independent variable by asking in what ways and with which means external actors influence democratization in other countries, and I spell out the simple types of effects these influences can take. Such typologies and categorizations make it easier for us to structure our analyses, and they are useful for detecting patterns of similarities and differences in the actions of different external actors. Defining the Dependent Variable The main focus of this book is on the external actors’ impacts on a given country’s political development. More specifically, I am interested in the influence of their actions on other countries’ movements towards or away from democracy. Hence, the dependent variable of this study is one of change. But what, then, constitutes a change? The literature on democratization is rich with discussions of what democracy is and is not. Thus, we are dealing with an extremely contested concept. In this study, I use the maximalist, though still realist, definition of embedded democracy, as understood by Wolfgang Merkel (2004) (presented below in Table 2.1).1 In his view, democracy is characterized by three dimensions: vertical legitimacy, liberal constitutionalism and rule of law, and effective agenda control, under which we find (A) electoral regime and (B) political rights, (C) civil rights and (D) horizontal accountability, and (E) the effective power to rule (or the absence of undemocratic power domains), respectively. Merkel argues that the three dimensions are interrelated and mutually dependent, which means that the five so-called partial regimes (A, B, C, D, and E) reinforce and feed on each other. That is, each of the partial regimes is influenced by and relies on the support of the others – hence, the name embedded democracy (Merkel 2004: 43). Merkel’s perception of democracy is appealing for at least three reasons. First, the concept of embedded democracy draws on insights from most of the important advances within the field of democratic theory, and it is, therefore, theoretically well-grounded. Second, even though the concept is maximalist, it stays within the political domain (as it emphasizes procedural functionality), and its criteria are gathered in a clear framework, which is fairly easy to use as a guideline in an empirical analysis. Compared to other maximalist accounts, Merkel’s concept consists of only ten indicators ordered under the five partial regimes and the three overall

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dimensions. This makes it useful for addressing the main methodological shortcoming of the literature on external actors – that of clearly specifying exactly how external forces influence the process of democratization. Only if we can pinpoint the change that an external actor either directly or indirectly causes in one of the indicators can we, in my view, rightfully claim that the given action is relevant for the study of external effects on democratization. Table 2.1 Merkel’s Criteria of Embedded Democracy 1. Dimension of vertical legitimacy

2. Dimension of liberal constitutionalism and rule of law

3. Dimension of effective agenda control

A.Electoral regime

C.Civil rights

(1) Elected officials

(7) Individual liberties from violations of own rights by state/private agents

E.Effective power to rule

(2) Inclusive suffrage (3) Right to candidacy (4) Correctly organized, free and fair elections B.Political rights (5) Press freedom (6) Freedom of association

(10) Elected officials with the effective right to rule

(8) Equality before the law

D. Horizontal accountability (9) Horizontal separation of powers

Source: Wolfgang Merkel, “Embedded and Defective Democracies”, Democratization, Vol. 11, No. 5 (2004), p. 42.

Third, Merkel convincingly shows how each of the partial regimes supports and strengthens the functionality of the other regimes; indeed, none of them can be completely “meaningful” without the others (Merkel 2004: 37). The interdependence inherent in the concept of embedded democracy reminds us that even minor changes in one of the partial regimes have effects that go beyond that particular regime, influencing the level of other regimes as well. So, Merkel forcefully shows that if we fully want to

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understand the puzzles of democratization throughout the world, the whole package must be included if our concept of democracy is to be valid. Before ending this digression into democratic theory proper, I want to make it clear that what I have argued is not that Merkel’s definition of democracy is the only adequate definition for studying external influence. On a more abstract level, I am indifferent to definitions chosen. What matters is that these definitions are explicitly stated and are convincingly argued, and that the understanding of the concept is taken seriously and is reflected in the following empirical analysis. Nonetheless, for the reasons outlined above, I find Merkel’s concept an excellent starting point, and therefore it will be used throughout this book. Defining and Operationalizing Key Concepts Using Merkel’s embedded democracy, we can now turn to the question of terminology and more clearly define my key concepts. For the dependent variable, I differentiate between democratization and autocratization, and treat any of these developments as a change in democratic performance. A change in democratic performance is then defined as any change in a country that strengthens or weakens the fulfillment of any of the five partial regimes of embedded democracy. Only by referring to such clearly defined criteria can we clarify when an external actor is relevant, and why this is the case.2 Further, the definition of a change in democratic performance also allows us to objectively categorize external actors according to how they influence. This way, we deal with the increased complexity of studying both positive and negative external actors but avoid the problem of essentialism and disentangling preferences. So, a positive external actor is defined as an external actor that strengthens another country’s democratic performance, and a negative external actor is defined as an external actor that weakens another country’s democratic performance. It is important to note that the influence of external actors may indeed vary. Thus, at one point in time, an external actor may have a positive impact, and at another time or in another case, its influence may be negative. What is crucial is that we carefully connect an actor’s actions to changes in the listed criteria. Thus, the approach followed here focuses not on paradigmatic regime changes alone but rather seeks to investigate the stepwise changes that sometimes, and sometimes do not, accumulate to regime change. As evident from the first chapter, I hypothesize that the EU primarily acts as a positive actor, while Russia primarily acts as a negative actor. But note that, by using this context-specific definition, the question as to

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whether an external actor should generally be classified as a positive or a negative actor is avoided. Instead, it is possible for an external actor to act as both (regardless of its intentions), depending on the time and place, thus leaving it to the empirical analysis to settle the question. That is, I steer clear of the problems of essentialism that characterize Robert Kagan’s aforementioned division between the good and the bad. Thus, with the help of Merkel’s embedded democracy (or any other precise definition for that matter), researchers will be able to clearly establish which external actors are relevant, why they are relevant, and whether they should be characterized as a positive or a negative influence. The question now is how to operationalize these terms. Clarifying the “Scoring” Criteria The above approach might appear simple and straightforward. But before the analyses can proceed, we need to discuss the challenges of valid measurement (Mahoney 2004: 95). One such challenge is exactly how “to score” a priori the external impact on Merkel’s ten criteria. With regard to the electoral regime, any external actions that indirectly or directly affect the degree to which elections have been rigged (A1) or biased (A4), or have involved the exclusion of certain groups (A2) or candidates (A3), will be treated as influences on the electoral regime.3 Furthermore, instances where an external actor gives overt support to, or clearly denounces, a candidate in an election are regarded as interference in the campaign process, affecting the choice of the electorate, and is, therefore, counted as a negative action, biasing the election process (A4). Impact on the political rights regime will be registered when an external actor indirectly or directly impacts the degree to which freedom of speech is honored or the degree to which the media is allowed to work and publish freely (B5), or the extent to which parties, organizations, etc. are permitted to form and operate or the extent to which protestors are allowed to show their dissatisfaction in the streets (B6). When working with the civil rights and the horizontal accountability regimes, the clear separation of the various indicators become more difficult. According to Merkel (2004: 39), the rule of law criterion (C8) is understood as “containment and limitation of the exercise of state power”, and therefore both the absence of infringements on individual freedom and the independence of courts fall into this category. However, these two aspects already seem fully covered in criteria C7 (individual liberties) and D9 (separation of powers). To avoid confusion, the following rules will apply: external actions indirectly or directly affecting the degree to which individuals are oppressed through illegitimate arrest, state-sponsored

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harassment or other unjustifiable infringements on civil rights will be counted as impacts on C7, while actions affecting the separation and independence of the three powers (executive, legislative and judicial) and the inviolability of the constitution will be attributed to D9. That is, C8 will not appear in the case-studies that follow. Not because it is not relevant, but because I include it in criterion C7. The final indicator is the effective power to rule regime (E10). External influence assigned to this criterion includes impact on the degree to which the police, military or other units of the state apparatus turn into reserved policy domains, uncontrolled by those who are meant to govern. Acts affecting the extent to which the central government controls the whole territory of the state and maintains a “normal” control of the economy are also attributed to the effective power to rule regime. That is, external actors who strengthen the work of separatists or resort to excessive economic sanctions, in effect depriving elected leaders of the ability to exercise control over the economy, will be regarded as negative influences on this regime. Aggregation In Merkel’s understanding of democracy, the keyword is interdependence. Changes in indicators in one partial regime affect indicators in other regimes, and vice versa. But if this is our theoretical standpoint, how do we measure it? How do we weigh and add up the elements? That is, which aggregation rule do we follow? Regarding weights, the gist of Merkel’s argument is that engaging in such a task is unproductive. All of the five partial regimes are necessary. One cannot work without the other, and therefore, we must treat them as equal. Only the electoral regime seems to enjoy the somewhat more treasured standing of embedded democracy’s partial regime sine qua non (Merkel 2004: 38). But again, without the other partial regimes, the electoral regime is simply not fully functional, and therefore, all criteria are treated equally. Turning to the exact aggregation rule, things become a bit more complicated. Fortunately, Gerardo Munck (2009) has provided some guidelines in his thorough discussion of this issue. In essence, he argues that the theoretical logic underlying the relationship between the defining elements of one’s concept should always be the guiding principle for operationalization. If each of the attributes included in our definition is thought of as independently necessary (noncompensatory) as well as mutually interdependent (interactive), as is the case with the partial regimes in Merkel’s embedded democracy, then aggregation of the attributes must follow the rule of multiplication (Munk 2009: 40, 50).

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This means that we cannot simply add, for example, all the positive developments to obtain an adequate picture of the full change. When attributes are interdependent, a positive change in one regime spills over to other regimes, and therefore, the aggregated changes are more than the sum of the positive developments – the same logic, of course, applies with regard to setbacks. Consequently, aggregating the influences of an external actor, we must bear in mind that changes in partial regimes cannot be studied independently of each other and cannot simply be added up. What does this mean in practice? In this study, I do not apply numbers to the variables observed; I merely examine whether positive or negative changes in the specified elements of democratic performance occur. Nonetheless, the issue of weighing and aggregating is still pertinent. If, for example, an external actor positively influences a partial regime, we must expect spillover effects in all other regimes as well. Nevertheless, such thorough tracing of all the adjacent effects is very demanding and will not be consistently pursued in this book. Therefore, it is fair to assume that the estimations of the external effects reported are conservative. That is, if a positive effect on, for example, the political rights regime is reported, then the external actor has not only influenced this regime but also the other regimes (albeit, to a lesser degree). Hence, the effects are expected to be somewhat greater than what is reported as merely a change in the political rights regime. The same, of course, applies to negative influences, but with the opposite sign. Isolation of Individual Effects The last challenge is how we isolate external actors’ effects from each other. For example, the EU has seldom acted alone and has not always sought influence through only EU channels. In Europe, a clear division of labor existed, in particular in the 1990s: the Organization for Security and Cooperation (OSCE) dealt with conflicts and elections, the Council of Europe (CoE) dealt with human rights and democracy, while the EU increasingly touched on all of these issues. Thus, at times, not only the EU but also the CoE and perhaps the US pushed for changes in much the same way (what Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier (2005:15) term parallel conditionality), while at other times the EU deliberately chose to seek influence through other European organizations that had more well-established relations to the countries under study. But how, then, is the contribution from the EU influence alone estimated? Or what if, for example, the EU and Russia influence the same partial regime in the opposite direction (Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier (2005a:15) have termed this cross-conditionality)? How, then, are the individual effects disentangled?

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In the qualitative study here, such a precise estimation of isolated effects is impossible to achieve, though we can try to assess what this means for the credibility of our findings. In the former scenario, where the EU, the CoE and the US push for the same changes in approximately the same direction, we must expect the positive European effects reported to reflect a liberal estimate. That is, the reported effects are somewhat greater than they really are. In such a scenario, it is important to differentiate the prime mover from those joining the choir. If the EU takes the lead in pushing for reforms, then this actor is credited for the changes taking place.4 Surely, this is not an easy task. But one should not despair. As Gerring (2007: 69) argues: “all data requires interpretation”, and we must, therefore, do the best with the tools we have at hand. What is important is that we take the problems we face seriously and not stretch our conclusions beyond what is justifiable. Categorizing Actions and Effects of External Actors Now that the problems regarding key concepts and their measurement have been addressed, I turn to the second part of the analytical strategy. If we are to build a general framework for the study of external actors, it is essential to distinguish between the external actors’ intentions, the actors’ actions, and the effects of those actions (see Figure 2.1). Only by keeping these three parts of the causal chain analytically separate will we be able to systematically compare different external actors. Although the causal chain consists of three steps, I will, as mentioned, construct typologies for only the actions and effects. Figure 2.1 The Intentions-Actions-Effects Chain

  Intentions

Actions

Effects

    Constructing the analytical framework, I use two existing typologies of external influence developed by Burnell (2006) and Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier (2005a). Albeit, both contributions were designed for positive actors only,5 I will argue that they can readily be refined in order to cover negative external actors as well. Burnell operates with a fourfold differentiation between democracy promoters’ active/passive and direct/indirect influences (Burnell 2006: 3-4). The formula is simple but useful. The active/passive dichotomy underlines how an external actor can both actively seek to promote change in a given

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country and passively influence that country by its mere existence (as a desirable model that other countries seek to emulate and/or integrate with, or as a feared or dominant actor that other countries try to distance themselves from or separate from). The direct/indirect dichotomy stresses how an external actor attempts to promote change in a given country through various strategies: some aimed directly at political objectives and others aimed indirectly through mediating channels. In the other study, Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier (2005a) theorize on the Europeanization of the Central and Eastern European countries (CEEC). Here, they develop a framework for explaining why candidate states adopt the rules of the EU by distinguishing between three different models that vary in two dimensions: a dimension that defines the main driving force in the adaptation/integration process (EU-driven/CEEC-driven) and a dimension that defines the dominant logic of behavior in the process (logic of consequences/logic of appropriateness).6 In the first model, the external incentives model, the external actor (here, the EU) consciously attempts to influence a state by appealing to the rational and instrumental logic of the recipients. The main driving force in the process is the external actor’s conditionality; that is, rewards and sanctions that affect the recipients’ cost-benefit calculus. Within the external incentives model, Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier further distinguish between three possible strategies that the external actor can follow: reinforcement by reward (the reward is only paid if certain criteria are fulfilled), reinforcement by punishment (the wanted action is encouraged by ex ante inflicting extra costs), and reinforcement by support (the wanted action is encouraged by ex ante offering extra benefits). The second model, the social learning model, is also externally driven. But instead of appealing to material incentives, the external actor attempts to persuade the recipient by drawing on soft power resources, such as legitimacy of its institutions and its ideology. Finally, the only model that is not perceived to be driven by the external actor is the lesson-drawing model. Here, the external actor only serves as a passive example that a given state wishes to emulate or integrate with for different reasons – be they either instrumental or normative (ibid: 8-11). As mentioned, Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier present their framework as explanatory models of why candidate countries adopt EU rules. But in my view, it can readily be used as a typology of how the EU acts. At the end of the day, this is indeed also what the candidate countries react to. And, as was the case with Burnell’s typology, I will argue that Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier’s framework can easily be broadened to cover not only positive external actors (like the EU) but negative external actors as well. Hence, in Table 2.2, I have combined Burnell’s

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active/passive dichotomy with a slightly refined version of Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier’s framework. The result is a fairly straightforward typology of external actors’ actions that scholars can use to structure their analyses of this important part of the international dimension of democratization. That is, I propose that when analyzing external actors’ influence on democratization processes, we must distinguish between whether the external actor is active or passive (throughout this book I mainly focus on the active part), whether it appeals to the consequential or behavioral logic of the target state, and not least, whether the external influence is captured by the external incentives model (and its subtypes), the social learning model or the lesson-drawing model. Table 2.2 Typology of External Actors’ Actions Influence logic of external actor

Role of external actor

Active

Logic of consequences

Logic of appropriateness

External incentives model (reinforcement by

Social learning model

reward, punishment or support)

Passive

Lesson-drawing model

Lesson-drawing model

Note: This table draws heavily on Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier (2005a: 8).

Turning to the effects of external actors’ actions, I propose the parsimonious distinction depicted in Table 2.3. Such a typology has several advantages. Not only does it clearly discriminate the effects of the actions of external actors (are they positive or negative, and do they affect the target country positively or negatively, directly or indirectly?). It also forces researchers to think of (and be true to) their concepts of democracy, and it explicitly calls for clarifying causal mechanisms, in particular, when effects have only indirect bearing on changes in democratic performance.

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Table 2.3 Typology of the Effects of External Actors’ Actions Positive

Negative

Direct

Direct positive influence

Direct negative influence

Indirect

Indirect positive influence

Indirect negative influence

Summing Up In this chapter, I have presented an analytical framework for studying external actors’ influences on democratic performance. This has been done to resolve the serious weaknesses identified in the existing literature: the lack of theoretically grounded, comparable concepts and methodological stringency. I have proposed clear definitions of external actors and have presented a guide for studying them. Furthermore, I have developed typologies and categorizations of external actors’ actions and effects. My hope is that these crucial conceptual clarifications will contribute to the production of more focused and more comparable empirical analyses of the international dimension of democratization.

Notes 1

The following draws heavily on Tolstrup (2009). Note, however, that I do not wish to signal any linearity or determinacy by using language referring to the endpoints of democracy or autocracy. Democratization can take place without leading to democracy, just as autocratization can take place without necessarily resulting in full-scale autocracy. Rather, the terms are used for want of anything better and merely reflect a desire to stick with the terminology most often used in the literature. 3 The letters and numbers in the parentheses, of course, refer to the criteria listed in Table 2.1. This way of illustrating which of the ten indicators is affected will be used throughout the rest of the book. 4 In trying to solve such a puzzle, counterfactuals (cf. e.g., Gerring 2007 165-168) such as “would the US have acted, if the EU did not take the lead?” can prove an effective tool for weighing the empirical evidence at hand. Still, disentangling who should primarily be credited as the initiator of a push for democratic reforms cannot tell us exactly how many of the changes pushed for can be attributed to exactly that actor – but it can, nevertheless, reveal parts of the story of the external actors’ workings. 2

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5 Although Burnell acknowledges that, “in principle, anti-democratic versions… are possible too” (Burnell 2006: 4). 6 Inspired by the works of March and Olson (March & Olson 1989: 160-62)

3 A Theory of External Influence

In Chapter 2, the issues of how we define and analyze external actors were discussed. In this chapter, I turn to the conditions under which external actors can influence democratization. I offer a theoretical explanation of when and to what degree external actors matter – an explanation based on Levitsky and Way’s (2010) highly regarded and widely used model, refining it by supplementing their structural determinants, leverage and linkage, with an actor-centered concept of gatekeeper elites.1 Even though the theoretical argument proposed here builds to a large part on Levitsky and Way, contributions of other scholars of Europeanization and democratization have inspired the model as well. As is often the case in political science, these explanations can be grouped by their emphasis on structures or actors. In general, structuralists do a good job explaining interregional patterns of external influence, but they are weak when explaining cases that do not adhere to an overall structural pattern – that is, with intraregional differences. Conversely, researchers employing actor-centered explanations cannot duplicate compelling parsimonious explanations of clear-cut regional patterns but can explain some of the intraregional differences that puzzle the structuralists. Recognizing the strengths of both approaches, I synthesize insights from both groups into one theoretical argument. To do this, I first review the main structurally grounded theories of the international dimension of democratization. This involves a critical assessment of the theory of leverage and linkage developed by Levitsky and Way (2005, 2010). Specifically, I argue that Levitsky and Way’s arguments for the primacy of structures are not entirely valid. The determinants (linkages) that constitute the basis of their explanation are not as nonamenable as they claim (2010: 44) but can be influenced to a great degree by what I term the gatekeeper elites of the target country. That is, I claim that domestic elites should not only be perceived as mere objects of external influence, as they are in the structural accounts but also as gatekeepers that

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actively facilitate or constrain ties to external actors. By upgrading or downgrading these ties, gatekeeper elites directly affect the reach of the external actor. More precisely, I argue that, to understand under what conditions external actors matter for democratization we need to focus on how these ties come about in the first place. And here, domestic elites become interesting because they, to a large extent, control the degree of impact of external actors. Structural Explanations of External Influence By and large, structural accounts claim that the size and power of a state, its geographical location and its ties to the outside world determine the strength of external influence on its political development. As discussed in Chapter 1, structural accounts can be divided into those that analyze the active measures taken by specific external actors, such as the US or the EU, and those that examine the more passive and sporadic pressures emanating from the external environment in general, in the form of diffusion processes.2 The former stress how an external actor’s influence is constrained by its relative power vis-à-vis the target state, its geographical proximity and its density of ties to the target state. The latter stress that diffusion processes travel best within geographical regions characterized by fairly close cultural traits and that they are even stronger within closer and more secluded neighborhoods in particular. As argued, both types of structural accounts are very good at explaining large trends, such as overall regional patterns, but they have a hard time accounting for countries that do not fit into the broad model. Clearly, something is missing in these structural models. A much-cited article by Kopstein and Reilly (2000), concerning geographic diffusion, illustrates the problem at hand. In trying to explain the divergent development of the postCommunist states in Europe, Kopstein and Reilly present what they term a “Western proximity model” (2000: 12). In essence, their argument goes: the closer a country is to Vienna or Berlin, the more exposed it will be to the Western diffusion of norms, resources, and institutions, and the better it will perform regarding democratization and market economy reforms. Being close to the Western neighborhood produces structural pressure for democratic change. But what is first presented as a more or less deterministic structural claim is later toned down, making space for an actor variable when they introduce their so-called “openness criterion” (2000: 14). Basically, the criterion states that a country must be open and receptive to external influence; otherwise, the diffusion process will not work. Thus, Kopstein and Reilly are aware of the fact that some regimes are capable of

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“turning off” external influence by isolating themselves from the input, leaving their model with some amount of unexplained variance. In their highly praised model, Levitsky and Way propose that the degree to which Western external actors succeed in promoting democracy in other countries is conditioned on two factors: leverage (the vulnerability of the targeted states to external pressure) and linkages (the density of ties between the external actor and the targeted state).3 In essence, external actors can exert strong influence only if an asymmetrical power relationship and a high degree of interdependence are in place – that is, if leverage is high and linkages are dense. Accordingly, leverage is, in itself, important as it reflects the strength and credibility of Western pressure. But it alone is not sufficient for bringing about change (2010: 40-42). If this was the case, the West should indeed have been equally successful in promoting democracy across the globe. Consequently, only differences in the density of linkages can explain why Western attempts to influence have proven highly successful in some regions and less so in others. Linkage is seen as the decisive factor because it more intensely affects the motivations of both the external actor and the decision makers in the target state. When ties to a state are dense, external actors are more motivated to react, and the many pressure points enable external actors to forcefully follow up on their words, significantly raising the cost of non-compliance for the target state (2010: 45-50). So where Kopstein and Reilly remain silent on the micro-mechanisms, Levitsky and Way elegantly explain how structural differences change motivations of the relevant actors and, thus, increase the success rate of Western influence. But just as Kopstein and Reilly do not do a good job explaining differences in openness, neither do Levitsky and Way satisfactorily explain differences in the degree of density of linkages. Basically, they argue that linkages come about as a product of, primarily, geography and history, and linkages are, therefore, considered to be “less amenable to short-term foreign policy manipulation” (Levitsky & Way 2005: 33, 2010: 44, 72-73). Taken to its extreme, this means that the density of linkages is more or less fixed and not expected to differ significantly among countries with similar geographical and historical traits. Such a perspective means that some regions are simply much more prone to external influence from the West than others. Even countries that hold, what Levitsky and Way term, high organizational power (i.e., strong resourceful authoritarian regimes) and, therefore, do not conform to the overall regional pattern, must be considered as merely temporary outliers that will, necessarily, succumb to the structural model with time. Though Levitsky and Way’s theory of leverage and linkage provides a much more detailed, elegant, and far-reaching explanation of Western

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democracy promotion, successfully arguing that some regions are, on average, simply more susceptible to Western influence due to their geographic proximity, their model does not solve the essential dilemma of the openness criterion. Nor do I agree with the determinism that follows from their model. Consequently, in the following sections, I propose an alternative view – that linkages are not only created by structural factors but can actually be initiated, developed and reduced by what I term gatekeeper elites.4 Introducing Gatekeeper Elites The full argument for how external actors can influence democratization is illustrated in Figure 3.1. Whether an external actor is successful in its attempt to influence democratization in Country X is, in accordance with Levitsky and Way, determined by its leverage over that country and its linkages to that country. Linkages may, in their own right, influence democratization, but most often, they work as facilitators that influence attempts by the external actor. Unlike Levitsky and Way, however, I claim that linkages are not determined by a country’s geographical, historical and cultural traits alone. Gatekeeper elites are, at least, just as important – they may both condition the relationship given by the structural factors and create linkages on their own, independently of structural preconditions. Consequently, the influence of an external actor may vary, not only across regions but often also within them. I will argue the importance of three types of gatekeeper elites: the political elites, the economic elites and the civil society elites. Political elites are distinguished by two types: the ruling political elites and the oppositional elites. The ruling elites resemble those that Linz and Stepan refer to as “the core group that is in day-by-day control of the state apparatus” (Linz & Stepan 1996: 66), while the oppositional elites are defined as those groups that openly struggle for winning office. Economic elites are defined as leaders of the largest corporations in a country, and civil society elites are defined as leaders of the largest NGOs in a country. Revisiting the Unamenability of Linkages While Levitsky and Way’s original framework was constructed to only account for positive Western democracy promoters, my theory of leverage,

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Figure 3.1 Model of How External Actors Can Influence Democratization

Gatekeeper Elites of Country X

Geography, History, Culture of Country X

Linkages to External Actor

Leverage of External Actor

+/-∆ Democratization of Country X

  linkages, and gatekeeper elites applies to both positive and negative external actors. The logic of Levitsky and Way’s theory and the concepts of leverage and linkage, all of which they have constrained to represent only Western democracy promotion, are equally important for determining the success rate of both positive and negative actors. In Table 3.1, I have, therefore, generalized the definitions of Levitsky and Way’s original framework, thus applying it to all actors constituting the external dimension of democratization. Returning to my earlier claim that linkages are not fixed, take a closer look at each of the six dimensions of linkages listed in the table. It is clear that the level of many of them can be, if not controlled, then at least influenced substantially by gatekeeper elites.5 Look at economic linkages. As a rule, the overall economic policy of a country is run by the elites that hold political power. This group is in charge of making or breaking trade agreements, applying for foreign credit and economic assistance, and deciding whether or not to accept external assistance offered, and therefore, strongly affects economic ties to external actors. Furthermore, if a substantial part of a country’s economy is under direct control of the government, the ruling elites can also encourage or restrict investment flows from certain external actors and, even to some degree, influence import/export patterns. The self-imposed isolation of the autarkic economy during the late years of Hoxha’s rule in Albania, or the aggressive re-nationalization policy in Mugabe’s Zimbabwe, forcing out white farmers with ties to the West, are examples of how ruling elites cut economic linkages to the external environment and, thus, can seal off external economic influence.

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Definition

Concept

Table 3.1 Revisited Version of the Leverage and Linkage Framework Leverage

Linkage

Governments’ vulnerability to external pressure

The density of ties to the external actor and multilateral institutions dominated by it

1. A states’ raw size and military and economic strength

1. Economic linkage – trade flows, credit and investment

2. The existence of competing issues on external actor’s policy agendas

Elements

3. The existence of alternative regional powers that can support the country politically, economically and militarily

2. Intergovernmental linkage – bilateral diplomatic and military ties as well as participation in alliances, treaties and international organizations 3. Technocratic linkage – share of elites educated abroad and/or with professional ties to foreign universities or multilateral institutions 4. Social linkage – tourism, migration and diaspora networks 5. Information linkage – cross-border telecommunications, Internet connections and foreign media penetration 6. Civil society linkage – ties to international NGOs, international religious and party organizations, and other transnational networks

Note: Based on Levitsky and Way 2005: 21-23; 2010: 40-45.

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In less state-controlled economies, the business elites also influence the level of economic linkages to external actors. By actively seeking foreign direct investment, deciding from where to import goods, and choosing export markets, economic elites create or cut economic linkages and, thus, also facilitate or constrain this important channel of external influence. Also oppositional and civil society elites may establish economic links to external actors by applying to them for financial assistance to boost their campaigns, to strengthen their organizational structure, or to establish independent media outlets. This, of course, does not influence a country’s economy as a whole, but as the weight of an opposition or civil society is boosted, changes to the existing political system become more likely. Turning to intergovernmental linkages, the political elites in power again have the decisive role in joining new intergovernmental initiatives or not, or creating ties to one country on behalf of another. Though a country may not have freedom to completely void its memberships in various alliances and organizations (as a rule it is quite costly to leave such institutions), the ruling elites have the power to adjust their commitments to their various international activities. In this way, they facilitate or inhibit intergovernmental linkages to external actors. As above though, the ruling elites do not hold a complete monopoly. Oppositional and civil society elites can connect on their own to foreign governments and international organizations and, thus, facilitate external influence by circumscribing official channels. Technocratic and social linkages are, in general, more difficult for a country’s domestic elites to substantially affect. Only in totalitarian regimes, such as the Soviet Union or today’s North Korea, are the ruling elites capable of controlling flows of tourism and migration, which they do by severely restricting the issuance of entry and exit permits. These extremes aside, such flows normally fluctuate independent of deliberate elite choices; they are rather a product of the broader population’s actions.6 With information linkages, the ruling political elites are in a position to pursue policies that either aim at increasing Internet access and encouraging foreign media expansion or, as we have seen in China, for example, restricting cross-border information flows by controlling distribution licenses or introducing digital censorship (Schedler 2002). Despite such information blockades, oppositional elites and civil society may independently develop communication linkages to external actors by, for instance, importing and distributing banned media outlets. But just like social linkages, communication linkages are more often deliberately cut by gatekeeper elites, to monopolize information flows, than intentionally developed by them.

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Finally, both political elites and civil society elites may influence the civil society dimension. Ruling political elites can restrict the links by cracking down on the parts of civil society that cooperate with unwanted external actors. This is what we have seen happen in Putin’s Russia (e.g., Ambrosio 2009: 45-69). But at the same time, oppositional elites and civil society elites may, on their own, attempt to tie bonds to international NGOs, party organizations, and other networks. Recall the well-established contacts between youth movements in Serbia, Georgia and Ukraine that played a vital role in toppling the autocrats in power (e.g., Bunce & Wolchik 2006a). In short, linkages are not just structurally determined; they are also affected by actor choices. Consequently, domestic elites should be perceived as both objects of external influence and as gatekeepers that hold the capacity to facilitate or constrain ties to external actors, thereby playing an important role in facilitating and restraining the influence of external actors. In this way, the concept of gatekeeper elites should prove helpful in explaining the discrepancy between the potential and the actual density of linkages unaccounted for by existing structural theories. Motivations Guiding Gatekeeper Elites If we accept the premise that linkages are potentially changeable, then it is essential to figure out what motivates gatekeeper elites to deliberately try to facilitate or restrain the development of links to external actors in the first place. Economic elites can be expected to follow a profit-maximizing logic. That is, they constantly opt for solutions that bring them the largest possible profits given the lowest possible risk. Consequently, they will cut linkages to one external actor and build linkages to another if doing so increases profits. If, for example, they can make a larger profit by exporting to country A than to country B, they will try to do this if the increased vulnerability to country A does not outweigh potential gains. For civil society elites, a somewhat similar logic dominates. Just as economic elites struggle to advance the position of their economic corporations (by maximizing profits), civil society elites try to advance the interests of the organizations that they represent. Accordingly, they build linkages to external actors that strengthen their cause and cut linkages to external actors that weaken their cause. If, for example, a repressed minority group believes that a particular external actor can pressure the leaders of the country to implement a more liberal policy concerning their basic rights, the leaders of this group will be expected to try to intensify linkages to this external actor. Political elites are somewhat more complicated. They are not tied to only one organization or cooperation but make decisions that have

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consequences for society and their country’s political regime as such. Fortunately, a rich literature on the subject offers two different perspectives – a rationalist one and a value-driven one. The rational perspective holds that, regardless of whom the political elites are their most important goal will be to outperform their opponents in order to hold office (Downs 1957). So, just as Easter (1997) has argued that elites choose institutions such as presidentialism or parliamentarism based on their perception of how such bodies will affect their chances of retaining power, the rational perspective tell us that both ruling and oppositional elites choose to initiate, develop or restrain linkages to external actors based on how they think such choices will influence their chances of preserving or winning political power. That is, if ruling elites want to maintain tight control over the economy and the distribution of rents and, at the same time, preserve the freedom to suppress, they will try to diminish the external costs of suppression (Yilmaz 2002) by cutting linkages to external actors that are favorably disposed to a market economy and democratization. Oppositional elites, on the other hand, will seek to build ties to external actors that can help increase their chances of winning office by strengthening their power vis-à-vis the ruling elites. That is, they seek to level the playing field by winning financial and political support, thereby raising the internal and external costs of suppression. But, as O’Donnell and Schmitter noted in their distinction between hard-liners and soft-liners (1986: 15-17), political elites are not only driven by strategic calculations but also by basic values and ideologies. Some elites value the authoritarian order as a virtue in itself (the hard-liners), while others are more pragmatic and ready to sacrifice that order in trying to hold on to, at least, some of their privileges (the soft-liners). Transferring this value-driven logic to my terminology, the political gatekeeper elites are expected to build linkages to external actors they perceive as legitimate and just, representing an identity that they share, and cut linkages to external actors they regard as illegitimate players, representing a non-desirable value system. More simply, committed authoritarians would prefer to build linkages to authoritarian external actors and cut linkages to democratic external actors, while committed democrats would prefer to cut linkages to authoritarian external actors and build linkages to democratic external actors. Finding Common Ground: Exploring Scope Conditions As stated in the introduction to this chapter, I seek a balance between the structural and the actor-centered explanations of external influence of democratization. Thus far, I have argued that structures are not everything.

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Neither are actors. Introducing elites into the model “is not to deny that the macrostructural factors are still ‘there’” (O’Donnell & Schmitter 1986: 5), actors are not free to choose at will in all situations (Przeworski 1986), and the choices they make have consequences in the long term. So which factors may condition the degree to which gatekeeper elites matter? Proposition 1: Geography Constrains but Does Not Solely Determine the Level of Linkages The level of linkages between an external actor and a state is not a tabula rasa that gatekeeper elites can fill out as they please. Levitsky and Way’s emphasis on a state’s geographical, historical and cultural traits is definitely important for the density of linkages. Not only do these traits lead to linkages that are more difficult to alter than others (see below), but they also by and large determine the possible scope of the density of ties. Gatekeeper elites are interesting, then, because they can influence the actual level of ties by downgrading or upgrading integration measures – sometimes by closing the gates, lowering the density of linkages below the potential level given by the structural environment, and sometimes by raising the level beyond what we should expect (evident in, e.g., Cuban-Russian or US-Taiwanese relations). Therefore, we cannot be certain, as Levitsky and Way argue, that even stable authoritarian regimes will succumb to Western external pressure if only it takes place in potentially high-linkage areas. The strong autocrat may simply have resisted the establishment of linkages in the first place, or cut a significant share of them once he came to power, thus deflating the external pressure significantly. This means that geography does not determine the level of linkages but rather constrains the range of actions available to gatekeepers by making extreme positions more unlikely but not impossible. A geographical position close to an external actor, for example, makes linkage isolation much more difficult than would be the case in a more distant position where the “natural” level of linkages is simply thinner. Similarly, intensive linkagebuilding to a distant external actor is more “unnatural” and, therefore, such actions often take more effort and commitment. But apart from these extremes, I will argue that we should still expect much more variation than Levitsky and Way are ready to admit. Geography constrains but does not solely determine the level of linkages.

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Proposition 2: Not All Linkages Are Equally Important, nor Equally Amenable Linkages encompass a wide range of ties, and one should be cautious not to treat them all alike. Even though the importance of different types of linkages may vary from case to case, some are easier to change than others, and some are simply expected to matter more. It seems plausible to assert that economic and intergovernmental linkages are most important for facilitating a concentrated, time-specific pressure from external actors, while the other four linkage-types (technocratic, social, information and civil society linkages) facilitate a more slow-moving and gradual external influence. Hence, depending on the linkages affected, facilitative and obstructive gatekeeping is expected to impact differently on democratic performance, making some external effects more likely than others. In addition, the discussion of the amenability of linkages showed that while some linkages are extremely difficult to alter and can only be changed after a long period of time (take, for example, dependency on energy import), others can be changed on a day-to-day basis at the whim of the ruling political elite (such as the decision to ban externally sponsored and independent media outlets). Successful gatekeeping is contingent on whether or not the linkages in question can be changed at all, and how fast they can be changed. As shown, though, by far most linkages really are amenable. Proposition 3: The Denser the Ties, the More Costly Cutting Them Will Be Linkage-cutting is seldom a free lunch. In fact, most often it will be quite costly – in particular, with regards to external actors with whom a state is deeply integrated. As more and more linkages develop, the greater the power of the external actor becomes and the more difficult it becomes for gatekeeper elites to effectively cut the ties again. The logic proposed by Levitsky and Way tells us that the more a state becomes entangled in linkages with one external actor, the more vested interests will consolidate on both sides to preserve the ties. In addition, the external actor itself will not stand passively by if the influence it has accumulated over time is destroyed. In most cases, it will fight to keep its privileges. So, the determinacy of the external actor in combination with vested interests will seriously limit the free choice and maneuverability of gatekeeper elites. Following the logic of path dependency proposed by historical institutionalists (see Thelen 1999 for an overview), once a path has been

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taken, it is difficult to move to another one, and elites are constrained for many years. Nevertheless, in such a situation, gatekeeper elites will not always succumb; sometimes they will unify to overcome vested interests and to challenge external actors. But, for such punctuated equilibriums to happen (in the terminology of historical institutionalism), gatekeepers need momentum. A clear-cut example is provided by the breakdown of the Eastern Bloc, in which the Central and East European states (along with the Baltic States), within a decade, practically freed themselves from a tightly woven network of economic, political and cultural linkages with Russia and the post-Soviet space, and established itself in a network with the EU. Or consider how quickly the Iranian revolutionists in the years after 1979 cut the strong ties that the Shah had developed with the US superpower. Thus, successfully dissolving a deep integration with an external actor is possible – history is fairly rich with examples of gatekeeper elites doing this. But as a rule, persistent and comprehensive obstructive gatekeeping in high-linkage cases is a costly activity, and consequently, such gatekeepers will be rare. Once ties are established, they truly bind. But this is not the same as saying that interdependence cannot be reduced: varying degrees of obstructive and facilitative gatekeeping will almost always take place. Proposition 4: Ruling Elites Are the Dominant Gatekeepers Just as all linkages are not equally important for the influence of external actors, neither are all types of elites equally involved in gatekeeping: the gatekeeper types most vital for facilitating external influence will likely differ from case to case. However, the above discussion supports the proposition that, on average, the ruling political elites are more important than other gatekeepers. This is the only group with the potential capacity to orchestrate a complete close-down of a country and, thus, disarm other elite groups of their gatekeeping powers. Whether the ruling political elites can and would autocratize politics will be discussed below. The basic point here is that gatekeeping carried out by oppositional elites, civil society elites and economic elites is contingent upon ruling elites not holding the will and the resources to deprive these other groups of this possibility. Proposition 5: Gatekeeping Is Contingent On the Resources Elites Hold and the Maneuverability They Enjoy All gatekeepers are dependent on a certain degree of freedom to act. At least three domestic factors will constrain such freedom: the degree to which gatekeepers hold independent resources, the degree to which gatekeeping

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efforts are circumscribed by other elite groups, and the degree to which the country’s population at large strongly favors or disfavors cooperation with certain external actors. As noted, the ruling elites may be strong enough to preemptively disarm other elite groups by depriving them of their independent resources and thereby of their gatekeeping powers. If the ruling elites control the economy to the extent that no independent economic actors can operate and at the same time successfully repress oppositional elites and civil society groups, these other groups have no power to establish links to external actors as they might otherwise. Thus, the more repressive a regime, and the more centralized its economy, the more gatekeeping activity is monopolized by the ruling political elites. This also means that ruling elites that face consistent pressure from powerful rival elites more peripherally connected to the ruling coalition, from strong opposition elites attempting to seize power, or from resourceful independent economic actors, have less freedom to act vis-à-vis an external actor. When such ruling elites calculate costs and benefits associated with building or cutting linkages, they have to take into account not only whether these steps will alter the interests of their supportive coalition or powerful independent economic actors (who both might otherwise turn to the opposition) but also whether they might strengthen the existing opposition. Furthermore, ruling elites have to take into account the preferences of their populations for or against cooperation with certain external actors. In a scenario in which an external actor is highly popular, linkage-cutting may be a dangerous strategy; in cases where an external actor is highly unpopular, linkage-building may also. In both examples, the pursued gatekeeping strategy conflicts with the majority wishes of the electorate, and therefore makes it possible for an opposition that advocates an opposite position to win broader support. Thus, the maneuverability of different gatekeepers is deeply affected not only by regime-type but also by the preferences of the population and the broader configurations of power between different types of elites. The more concentrated the power and the more “passive” the foreign policy preferences people hold, the more freedom of maneuverability the ruling elites enjoy. Summing Up Recapitulating, neither structures nor actors can be given absolute primacy in explaining external influence on democratization. As both structures and actors are important, a symbiotic understanding of when external actors matter for democratization is the only way forward. The theory of leverage and linkages is correct in highlighting the importance of the structural basis for external influence. But, this is simply not enough to explain the full

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story since real cases do not always fit the pattern inferred by structural models. By incorporating the notion of gatekeeper elites, however, we breathe dynamism into an otherwise fairly static account of the external dimension of democratization. This enables us to reduce the residual variance in Kopstein and Reilly’s model and increase the explanatory value of the density of linkages that neither history nor geography can account for. Moreover, the conditions under which external actors influence the democratization process become clearer. An external actor matters the most for the democratic performance of a target state when the actor is relatively more powerful than the state, has a tight network of linkages with that state, and is welcomed by gatekeeper elites that work to strengthen these ties and, thus, transmit pressure from the external actor onto the political system of the state. In contrast, an external actor will be much less capable of influencing the democratic performance of a target state when the actor is not very powerful vis-à-vis the target state, does not have a dense set of linkages with that state, and is repeatedly confronted by gatekeepers that work to constrain the influence of the external actor. In short, even strong external actors need partners inside the countries that they are trying to affect, for without such partners, their influence is strongly reduced, and they risk being relegated to the status of observer rather than driver of the processes that mold political development.

Notes 1

This chapter draws heavily on Tolstrup (2013). On the US, see, e.g. Lowenthal 1991; Smith 1994; Whitehead 1996b; Carothers 1999, 2009; Hook 2002; Adesnik & McFaul 2006; Magen, Risse & McFaul 2009; on the EU, see, e.g., Pridham 1991a, 2002a, 2002b 2005; Youngs 2001; Schimmelfennig, Engert & Knobel 2003; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005b; Vachudova 2005; Schimmelfennig 2007; on diffusion see, e.g., Huntington 1991; Hale 2005; Brinks & Coppedge 2006; Bunce & Wolchik 2006b; Beissinger 2007; Berg-Schlosser 2008; Kern 2010. 3 See Table 3.1 later in this chapter for the exact specification of the elements of the two variables. 4 The term, gatekeeper elite, is inspired by David Easton’s seminal A System Analysis of Political Life (1965). Here, the notion of gatekeepers is used to describe the actors that control which demands from the environment pass the threshold and enter the political system. 5 For a more thorough discussion of each linkage type, see Tolstrup (2013). 6 The diaspora communities that are listed under social linkages, however, merit special attention. Ruling political elites can weaken the influence that an external actor may exert through such minority groups by restricting their political rights (as happened with the Russian minority in the Baltics in the early 2

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1990s) or by forcing them out of the country (as President Mugabe did with the white farmers in Zimbabwe).

4 The Period of Uncertainty: 1991–1994

With the analytical and theoretical framework in place, these next four chapters present the second part of this book: empirical analyses of Russian and EU influences on the democratic performance of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova in the time periods 1991–1994, 1995–1999, 2000–2004, and 2005–2010, respectively. The layout of each chapter follows the same structure: first, the time period and the central developments in Russia and the EU are presented, then, in-depth analyses of the role played by external actors and gatekeeper elites in each country case are carried out, and finally, a cross-case section compares the findings. Only this chapter deviates slightly by including a short section that compares the three cases at the outset of their independence. Comparing the Outset of the Cases To assess the variations in external influences of Russia and the EU and the gatekeeper actions within each country, and to properly understand the developments that took place in each country, it is first important to examine similarities and differences at the point of departure in 1991 by sketching each country’s history and related country facts. Ukraine Ukraine has a long and troubled history, not as an independent state, but as a contested and disputed territory, repeatedly split between Poland, AustriaHungary, and Russia. Only after World War II was the Ukraine we know today again united in the Ukrainian SSR (Wilson 2002). During the Cold War period, the country underwent rapid socioeconomic changes but stagnated politically under the conservative Brezhnevite, Volodymyr

51

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Shcherbytskyi (1972-1989). Shcherbytskyi’s rule was characterized by extreme corruption, repression, Russification and the division of state resources between regional clans based in Kiev, Dnipropetrovsk, Kharkiv and Donetsk.1 At first, Perestroika did not bring much change; the first real, anti-Communist opposition movement, Rukh, was based in the Western part of the country, and was not given official approval until 1989 (Prizel 1997: 335-337; Beissinger 2002: 192). Thus, when the crumbling of the Soviet empire accelerated in 1990 and 1991, Ukraine was characterized by four distinctive traits. First, it was a country characterized by regionalism: different regions had distinct historical experiences, and the corrupt clan-based system fostered during Communism had created many regional elites with access to independent resources (Gelman 2008). Second, Ukraine was not one of the frontrunners to Perestroika. But once the process of Soviet dissolution started rolling, secessionist sentiments spread from the western to the eastern part of the country, and Ukraine played an important role in bringing the USSR to its knees. However, though Rukh spearheaded protests and broadened its geographical support-base, it never evolved into a potent, all-national, opposition movement like the Popular Fronts of the Baltic States (Beissinger 2002: 195-198). Table 4.1 Country Factors Affecting Leverage Ukraine

Belarus

Moldova

Size (sq. km)

603,628

207,600

33,843

Population (millions, 1989)

51.7

10.2

4.3

Nuclear power

Yes

Yes

No

GDP (1991, Current US $bn)

77.5

17.8

3.1

Sources: Encyclopedia Britannica, www.worldbank.org; Åslund 2009: xxiii.

Third, the country emerged as one of the potentially strongest FSU republics. As Table 4.1 shows, its population, at the time of independence, stood at 52 million and its territory constituted more than 600,000 square kilometers (rendering it the largest fully European state). Additionally, Ukraine controlled the World’s third largest arsenal of nuclear weapons, and

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its GDP was significantly large. This country bore substantial weight on the international scene. Table 4.2 Linkages to the EU and Russia at the Point of Independence Ukraine

Belarus

Moldova

Share of EU in exports (1992)

10

32

3

Share of Russia in trade (1987)

72.9

62.6

50.0

Inter-republican trade (% of foreign trade, 1990)

82

87

88

Gas dependency (% imported from Russia, 1992)

79

98

100

Oil dependency (% imported from Russia, 1992)

100

100

100

Russian military bases and/or troops

Yes

Yes

Yes

Ethnic Russians (% of population, 1989)

22.1

13.2

12.9

Fluency in Russian by titular nationality (% of population, 1989)

59.5

60.4

53.3

Sources: Åslund & Warner 2003: Tsygankov 2006: 82, Åslund 2009: xxiii; www.eia.gov.

Finally, as Table 4.2 illustrates, Ukraine had strong economic, intergovernmental and social ties to Moscow. Russia dominated its trade profile and had a near monopoly on deliveries of oil and gas. A large Russian diaspora was living in Ukraine, the Russian language was widely used, and the Black Sea Fleet base on the Crimean peninsula allowed Moscow to maintain its military presence on Ukrainian territory. At the same time, Ukraine’s ties to Europe were weak, as reflected in the 10 percent of total exports going to the EU.

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Belarus Like Ukraine, the territory of what is now Belarus was historically cast back and forth between different powers, mostly Poland/Lithuania and Russia. It never constituted a state of its own until after World War II when all its regions were united under Soviet control. During the Cold War, the development of Belarus was very similar to Ukraine’s. In the economic sphere, the country prospered and was considered a Soviet showcase, while the political sphere was stifled by the Moscow-loyal, hard-line rule of the first secretaries Kiryla Mazuraŭ and Petr Masheraŭ. In Belarus, Perestroika and liberalization was especially slow-moving, and things did not really start to change until 1989, when developments in Russia spilled over to the other republics (Zaprudnik 1993; Sanford 1996; Ioffe 2004). In the same year, the Belarusian Popular Front (BPF) was established. But in comparison to its Ukrainian counterpart, Rukh, the BPF confronted an even more conformist and conservative state, firmly committed to fight the further spread of nationalist sentiments. As a consequence, the BPF was effectively restricted from developing into a coherent, all-national opposition movement capable of seriously challenging Communist authorities (Eke & Kuzio 2000: 526; Beissinger 2002: 255). Thus, at the time of independence, Belarus was, in many regards, very similar to Ukraine. The historical experiences of the country’s regions differed, opposition in the Soviet period had been only sporadic, and it too had developed very close, economic, intergovernmental and social links to Russia, while links to the West were generally few and weak (cf., Table 4.2.). It differed only in three ways: with regards to its sheer strength – simply being a smaller country with a smaller population and a smaller economy, but still a nuclear power (cf., Table 4.1.); with regards to the centralization of its authority and resources during the Soviet period, unlike that in Ukraine, which was dispersed among various regions (Gelman 2008); and, finally, with regards to the fierce resistance of Communist elites towards change during the years of the Soviet dissolution. Moldova Moldova was also a borderland cast between various nations and empires throughout its history – sometimes united and sometimes split. As with Ukraine and Belarus, Moldova was divided again in the aftermath of World War I: the western part, on the left bank of the Dnestr River, Bessarabia, came under control of the Romanian Kingdom, while the eastern part, on the right bank of the Dnestr River (what is now the self-proclaimed Transnistrian Republic), was included in the Ukrainian SSR. In 1924, the

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Moldovan Autonomous SSR was created inside Ukraine, and after World War II, the whole of modern Moldova was united as a Soviet republic, the Moldavian SSR (King 2000). During the Cold War period, Moldova, like Ukraine and Belarus, developed into a perfect Soviet model: it became an agricultural center, portrayed as a “flourishing orchard”, and its political leadership (completely dominated by Transnistrian elites) was among the most loyal in the whole Union, effectively quelling what little national dissent that arose, pursuing heavy Russification (King 2000: 99, 101, 115). However, once the drive for independence picked up – propelled by the main opposition movement, the Moldovan Popular Front (MPF) – it gained momentum in a way similar to the Ukrainian case. But while the Ukrainian counterpart, Rukh, struggled to consolidate in the East and South, the MPF immediately won broad support in most parts of Moldova proper (except in Transnistria). Consequently, when Moldova gained independence, it was as economically fit as Belarus and the Baltic States (Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 15-16). Only later did it show signs of a willingness to struggle for independence. There was a distinct division between agricultural Bessarabia, and industrial Transnistria, and, given Moldova’s more remote geographical location with respect to Russia, its economic, intergovernmental, and social links to Russia were, as Table 4.2 illustrates, impressively strong. Europe, in contrast, played a marginal role in Moldova’s external relations. As Table 4.1 shows, Moldova differed markedly only with regard to its non-nuclear status, its small size and its small economy (with GDP in 1991 being 25 times smaller than Ukraine’s and almost six times smaller than Belarus’s). Similar Legacies and Linkages, but Different Power Configurations In a larger sense, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova did not differ much from each other at the time of independence in 1991. All three countries were faring rather well economically (compared to the other Soviet republics); all of them had a split historical mentality, characteristic of borderlands; none of them had particularly strong ties to Europe; and they had all shown exceptional loyalty to Moscow, as characterized by their strong economic, intergovernmental and social linkages. The three countries differed, nonetheless. In 1991, Ukraine was the most powerful state. Belarus was much smaller, but also held the nuclear card. Only Moldova lacked special strengths. Furthermore, the three countries differed with regard to the independence drive and the strength of the main opposition parties during the late Perestroika years (when Moldova and Ukraine mustered the clearest and most powerful opposition to the

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Russian center) and with regard to the domestic distribution of resources and political power (Belarus was centralized, Ukraine was split between various clans, and Moldova was bifurcated between Chisinau and the Transnistrian capital, Tiraspol). As I will show in the following, these early differences were important for shaping the political trajectories in Kiev, Minsk and Chisinau. Introducing the 1991–1994 Period The dissolution of the Soviet Union in December 1991 was an earthshattering event. Fifteen republics gained their independence and then faced the daunting task of dismantling the Communist system and replacing it with new structures. As many of the former Soviet Union (FSU) republics had never been independent before, the political elites were left to steer their respective countries through the quadruple challenge of simultaneously dealing with economic and political transformation along with building a nation and establishing viable state structures (Kuzio 2002). They also had to figure out how to act in relation to the surrounding world and form a foreign policy orientation of their own. This was a transitional period characterized by great uncertainty (O’Donnell and Schmitter 1986), and Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova had to muddle their way through. Russia faced many of the same challenges. The early 1990s was marked by staunch political disagreement between President Boris Yeltsin and his supporters on the one side and the more conservative deputies in the Congress of People’s Deputies and the Supreme Soviet2 under the leadership of Chairman Ruslan Khasbulatov and Vice President Aleksandr Rutskoi on the other. The two groups fiercely fought each other on three interrelated issues: the pace and the degree of economic reforms (Åslund 2007), the relative power of the presidency and the parliament (McFaul 2001) and foreign policy orientation (Tsygankov 2006). While Yeltsin advocated radical market reforms, strong presidential powers and a Western conciliatory foreign policy, the conservative opposition, the former nomenklatura, fought for maintaining their economic privileges, increasing state subsidies, restraining the presidency and increasing the power of the parliament. Moreover, the opposition favored a foreign policy focused on maintaining Russia’s position as a global power as well as on pursuing a more assertive and dominant role in regard to the FSU republics in the socalled “Near Abroad.”3 This non-consensual political landscape resulted in a foreign policy in flux as a multitude of actors sought to strengthen their political capital on the domestic scene by interfering in developments in neighboring countries. Consequently, during the 1991–1994 period, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova experienced a Russia that often conducted an

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uncoordinated and polyphonic (mnogogolosiye) foreign policy (Skak 1996: 152-156; Sherr 2002: 161) that mainly had one-sided effects in the form of negative influence on the democratic performance of these neighboring countries. For the EU,4 the 1990s was also a period of change and uncertainty. At the time of the Soviet dissolution, the European powers were in the middle of implementing the last part of the Single European Act (SEA), dealing with German reunification, and negotiating even closer cooperation in the fields of monetary policy, foreign policy, and Justice and Home Affairs (Dinan 1999). Just like the rest of the world, Europe was surprised by the Soviet collapse, and as if this were not enough, the end of the Cold War triggered an avalanche of applications to the EU from former neutral states and communist satellite states in Central and Eastern Europe (Anderson 2006). Thus, the EU was confronted with fifteen new countries at the same time as it was trying to cope with issues of enlargement, deeper integration and a redesign of its institutions (Wallace 2003). Given this perspective, the political development of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova did not figure at the top of the EU agenda during the first period, and the EU’s impact on democratic performance during this period was, thus, small and in most instances negative. Ukraine 1991–1994 When the Soviet Union formally dissolved in late December 1991, Ukraine’s political landscape had already undergone a rapid transformation: In the all-Union March 1990 elections for the Republican Supreme Soviets, a legitimate opposition, the Western-oriented, nationalist movement that spearheaded anti-communist demonstrations, Rukh, appeared for the first time. Due to quick defections from former communists, Rukh came to control 108 of 450 seats. The more moderate Democratic Platform gained 28 seats, while the Communists and independents took the rest (Wilson 2002: 160). In July 1990, the Ukrainian parliament, the Rada, elected Leonid Kravchuk parliament chairman.5 On December 1, 1991, he was elected president in the first round by 61.6 percent of the votes on promises of a conservative, independent Ukraine (Wilson 2005: 31-32). His strongest opponent, Rukh candidate Viacheslav Chernovil, obtained 23.3 percent of the votes, but his support was concentrated only in the Western regions, reflecting a lack of an all-national backing for the country’s primary opposition movement. A national referendum on the same ballot revealed a staggering 90.3 percent support for independence (Prizel 1997: 344).

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Table 4.3 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 1991–1994 Positive changes A. Electoral Regime

Negative changes Biased parliamentary and presidential elections 1994 (A4) Biased election law 1993 (A3)

B. Political Rights C. Civil Rights

D. Horizontal Accountability

Increased state control of media (B5) Liberal language and citizenship laws 1991 (C7)

Killing of Rukh activist 1994 (C7)

Attempt to abolish the PM post and increase control over the government 1993 (D9) Attempt to shut down parliament by force 1993/1994 (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

In periods losing control over Crimea (E10) In periods losing control over the economy due to Russian energy sanctions(E10)

Thus, Kravchuk began his term with a strong popular mandate, but was hindered from operating freely by strong pressure from a wayward government, a stalwart prime minister, and an increasingly opportunistic parliament. Moreover, as time progressed, the stability and territorial integrity of the new state weakened and became threatened by a nearlybankrupt economy, an out-of-control energy policy, and growing secessionism on the Crimean peninsula. As Table 4.3 shows, both Kravchuk

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and the deputies of the Rada responded with incursions on democratic performance, but overall they remained too weak and too reluctant to concentrate power. In order to understand how Russia and the EU affected these developments, a more thorough introduction to the trajectory of Ukraine’s first independent years is necessary. Ukraine’s Domestic Political Struggle and Its Impact on Democratic Development From the outset, President Kravchuk’s priorities were clear. The daunting economic challenges that his country faced was downplayed, and instead he focused on securing his own political survival and safeguarding Ukrainian independence. The former goal was pursued by a muddling-through tactic of elite bargaining and cooptation (Wilson 2005: 36), perfectly illustrating the political culture in Ukraine, while the latter one was sought realized through a clear-cut foreign policy of engaging the West and distancing Russia (Wolczuk 1997: 155), In the beginning then, Kravchuk counted on Rukh and another Western-based right-wing party, the Republican Party, to support his nationand state-building measures. But the right quickly fell into internal struggle, and its influence on Ukrainian politics gradually decreased (Prizel 1997: 341, 345), leaving more room for the return of conservative forces. As Wilson (2002: 171) writes, “the old guard were still in charge, a little dazed perhaps, but still perfectly capable of looking after their own interests.” Kravchuk not only had to deal with Vitold Fokin6 as prime minister and head of the government, he also faced a parliament in which a reformaverse left and an opportunistic center were strong enough to block legislation and reforms incompatible with their main aim of securing economic privileges for themselves and their supporters (Wilson 2002). So, after a short period of convalescence, the nomenklatura again dominated politics, promoting slow partial reforms perfectly suited for extorting enormous rents.7 By the end of 1993, 95 percent of state enterprises remained non-privatized (Wise & Brown 1998: 128). The two sides in parliament became increasingly antagonistic. By September 1992, Kravchuk sacked Fokin but was forced to replace him with Leonid Kuchma, a typical “red director” from Dnipropetrovsk with close ties to dubious criminal organizations and the nomenklatura (Prizel 1997: 346-7; Wilson 2005: 37). Clearly, the Western-based right was becoming marginalized at the expense of the Eastern clans that had so dominated in Soviet times (Melvin 1995: 88). With Kuchma confirmed on October 13, 1992, the industrial managerial faction of the parliament, favoring some degree of

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modernization in order to participate in the world economy, entrusted the prime minister with the president’s rights to rule over the economy by decree for six months. Kuchma gathered a young reform team and succeeded in carrying through the most necessary reforms. Many protectionist characteristics remained, though, and the ruble credits to ailing enterprises kept flowing (Prizel 1997: 347). By spring 1993, Kuchma’s popularity ratings matched those of the president (Wolczuk 1997: 157), and by June, it became clear to everyone that Kravchuk’s power was waning. In the coal districts of the Eastern Donbas region, miners, longing for better living conditions, regular payment, and an end to anti-Russia/anti-CIS policy, were instigated to strike by the local Donetsk clan. By fanning the flames of socio-economic grievances and disappointment with the foreign policy conducted, the oppositional elites in this Eastern stronghold were trying to “claw themselves into politics in Kiev” (Wilson 2005: 9). Kravchuk tried to secure his political survival by first printing extra money to pay salaries (adding a stunning 82 percent to nominal GDP). But intense pressure from the Rada forced him to call for early parliamentary and presidential elections, scheduled to take place in 1994 (Wilson 2005: 9). Challenging Democratic Performance Up until this point, Kravchuk had overwhelmingly played by democratic rules. Using the terminology introduced in Chapter 2 (cf. Table 2.1.), he had improved the country’s civil rights regime (C7) by pushing for the adoption of a non-discriminatory language law and a civic citizenship (Smith & Wilson 1997: 848; Wilson 2005: 34), and he had shown a democratic disposition when agreeing to settle the 1993 miners’ conflict by agreeing to early elections. Only a few times did he move toward autocratization by weakening media freedom and, thereby, the political rights regime (B5).8 But by autumn 1993, the president clearly felt the heat, and tried to regain control. Possibly inspired by Yeltsin’s success with forcefully subduing parliament, he attempted to abolish the prime minister post and to merge the presidential administration with the cabinet of ministers, clearly violating the principle of separation of powers and, thus, the horizontal accountability regime (D9). However, Yukhum Zviahilskyi, the leader of the Donetsk clan who had just replaced Kuchma (who in turn was preparing to run for president), continued to act as prime minister anyway, preventing the president from concentrating all executive power. Thus, Kravchuk was clearly trying to maintain power with undemocratic means, but he was not strong enough to force it through. This victory for the left emboldened the conservative forces in the face of the approaching March 1994 parliamentary elections. On November 18,

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1993, they mustered the majority for an election law that heavily skewed the playing field regarding candidate registration, discriminating against contenders from the right and center-right parties, thus negatively affecting the electoral regime criterion of equal right to candidacy (A3) (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 4 Dec. 1993; PACE 1995). In late December 1993 and early January 1994, as the March parliamentary elections approached, Kravchuk made another attempt to outmaneuver his political opponents by ordering the military to shut down the Rada (a serious incursion on the horizontal accountability regime (D9)). But again, he was stopped by domestic actors, as the interior minister, supported by the left-leaning government and parliament, refused to provide the necessary forces to do so (Way 2005: 246, 249; Levitsky & Way 2010: 216). The strained atmosphere was further intensified by the disappearance, and presumed murder, of Rukh activist Mykhailo Boychyshyn in January 1994. Who did it and why remains unclear (Åslund 2009: 65), but it clearly added to the picture of fierce competition for power in Ukraine; further intimidating free participation in the pre-election campaign (A4) and displaying a lack of respect for the civil rights regime as well (C7). Power was obviously slipping out of the hands of Kravchuk. In the March 27 parliamentary elections, voters, as anticipated, voted left, further strengthening the anti-reformist forces in parliament. Rukh was completely marginalized, winning only 27 of 450 seats (Wilson 2002: 205), and with this Kravchuk’s most ardent supporters were eliminated from the political landscape. Despite the problems with the election law and the tense preelection atmosphere, the OSCE9 considered the elections relatively free and fair, though many irregularities were pointed out (OSCE Annual Report 1994). In a last attempt to gain control before the first round of the June presidential elections, Kravchuk issued a decree on April 25, establishing the National Council for Television and Radio Broadcasting and charging it with monitoring compliance with media legislation and issuing licenses. The president single-handedly appointed its eight members and instrumentally used it in the pre-election campaign to secure preferential treatment in the state media. Moreover, on June 30, when it was clear that he and former Prime Minister Kuchma were to face each other in a second round, the Council suspended the broadcasting of the pro-Kuchma TV company, Gravis (Nikolayenko 2004: 665). Thus again President Kravchuk tampered with democratic ideals, limiting press freedom (B5) in an attempt to bias the elections that threatened to oust him from power (A4). Recapitulating, for more than half a year, Kravchuk repeatedly tried to secure his own political survival with undemocratic means, but for the most the attempts proved futile or ineffective. For one, the president did not hold

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the resources to effectively re-claim power. And since his opponent, Kuchma, enjoyed the backing of the powerful conservative left and the clans in the East, and campaigned on a platform of establishing closer economic links to Russia, more and more popular with the majority of the electorate, it was not surprising that he emerged as the winner of the June 1994 presidential elections with 52.1 percent of the votes (Åslund 2009: 66). With Kuchma in power, the tension between the presidency and the parliament calmed, at least for some time, thus ending Ukraine’s first bumpy years of independence. The Crimean Conflict Before we move on to analyze the influence of Russia and the EU during this period, a short digression into another important political conflict of the early 1990s is necessary: the clash between the central government and separatists over the Crimean peninsula. Understanding this conflict is important for two reasons; first, the conflict hampered the democratic performance in this period, diminishing central ruling elites’ de facto power to control all of Ukraine (E10), and because of Russia’s strong ties to and interests in the region it constituted one of the biggest stumbling blocks in Russo-Ukrainian relations in the early 1990s. Crimea’s population had, in recent history, been primarily Russian,10 and the territory did not become part of Ukraine proper until 1954, when Nikita Khrushchev transferred it from the Russian to the Ukrainian SSR. From the beginning of independence, Crimean political elites, strongly supported by, primarily, the ethnic Russian electorate, sought greater autonomy as a means for increasing their control over local resources and strengthening rapprochement with Russia. Thus, the conflict between ruling elites in Kiev and oppositional elites in the Crimean capital, Simferopol, was, first and foremost, a battle for political control over local economic resources, but also for the direction of foreign policy. But the conflict had clear implications for democratic performance, as it weakened the central government’s effective power to rule (E10) over the whole territory of Ukraine. In a March 1991 referendum held in Crimea, 93 percent of voters supported autonomy for Crimea “as a subject of the Soviet Union and a party to the Union Treaty.” The former communist elites, headed by Crimean parliament chairman Mykola Bagrov, a moderate, were supportive of gaining more sovereignty and control over local resources, but they did not favor independence from Ukraine (Kuzio 2007: 110). The radical nationalist party, Republican Movement of Crimea (RDK), under the leadership of Yurii Meshkov, in contrast, did favor outright independence,

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and throughout the rest of the year, the RDK profited from and deliberately fanned separatist sentiments (Melvin 1995: 91). In the first half of 1992, the confrontation between Crimea and Kiev rapidly intensified, peaking in early May when the Crimean parliament declared independence and issued the Constitution of Crimea (Wydra 2003: 116-7). Kravchuk and the Rada reacted strongly, demanding that the secessionist actions be rolled back. Bagrov took the lead, and after protracted and loud negotiations with Kiev, succeeded in securing farreaching autonomous rights to the peninsula. More importantly, he secured rights to property and natural resources, which seems to have been the main objective of many of the criminalized political elites in Crimea (Motyl 1993: 106; Wydra 2003: 116-7, Kuzio 2007: 145-147). Following this first clash with central authorities, Crimean secessionism lay simmering while the radical Meshkov and the newly established Russia Bloc, for a time bringing together several fractious pro-Russian movements, became more and more popular as voters became more and more aggravated by the country’s deteriorating economic situation.11 In January 1994, the conflict re-surfaced after Meshkov won the newly-established presidency (Melvin 1995: 91-92; Kuzio 2007: 110, 143-144). Though Meshkov had run on a platform of only facilitating closer ties to Russia, as president, he soon made it clear that he intended to continue efforts of secessionism, threatening to deprive Kravchuk and his government of authority to rule over the whole of Ukraine. The ruling elites in Kiev decided to act, demanding that Crimean legislation be kept in accordance with Ukraine’s, threatening economic sanctions and a strengthening of military presence in the area (Kuzio 2007: 134-5). Meshkov seemed determined not to give in, but when he simultaneously tried to wrest power from the Crimean communist parliamentarians by increasing presidential powers and boosting Russian participation in privatization bids, more and more of his former supporters defected. An intense struggle for local power unfolded, but in the end Meshkov was defeated when the central authorities teamed up with the more moderate Crimean deputies to oust Meshkov and regain control of the local parliament (Wise & Brown 1998: 123; Wydra 2003: 119). Though this meant the end of talk about Crimean secessionism, the conflict left its mark on the political trajectory of these first turbulent years of Ukrainian independence. Central ruling elites’ de facto power to control all of Ukraine had been severely challenged, and in periods effectively circumscribed (E10). The Crimean issue only exacerbated the already unstable political situation in the country, adding a serious territorial conflict to the catastrophic economy and the stultifying political struggle for

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power between Kravchuk and the Rada. As such, it made stabilization and implementation of necessary reforms even more difficult. Towards Europe without Russia, though Moscow Hangs On Given this presentation of the trajectory of Ukraine’s internal political development in the first years of independence, let me turn to the analysis of Ukraine’s external relations with Russia. In the early 1990s, a large part of Ukraine’s political elites were under the impression that their country was rich and full of resources, but Russian exploitation had made it poor (Åslund 2009: 27). Some Ukrainians even held the belief that Russia’s own economic disasters were self-inflicted in order to destroy Ukraine’s democratic transition (Motyl 1993: 130). This was a period of harsh nationbuilding rhetoric, and President Kravchuk took a clear stand, strongly advocating that Ukraine distance itself from Russia and “return to Europe” (Kuzio 2001: 359), so that Ukraine could enjoy the fruits of its mighty potential. Consequently, consistent efforts were made to reduce economic and intergovernmental linkages to Russia.12     First, Kravchuk did everything possible to resist integration measures taken under the auspices of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), the regional organization founded as the successor to the USSR. In May 1992, he rejected joining the Russia-initiated Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) – also known as the Tashkent Treaty – as it would have precluded joining other alliances. In January 1993, he once more challenged Moscow by refusing to sign the CIS Charter. As a consequence, Ukraine never became a de jure member, though it clearly acted as a de facto member all along (Dragneva & Dimitrova 2007: 176). In September, 1993 Kiev relented, partially joining the CIS Economic Union, insisting on the addition of a wealth of opt-outs to the agreement. Ukraine’s abstentions put an effective brake on intergovernmental linkages to Russia, and because of the country’s weight in post-Soviet space, it also slowed down CIS integration in general (D’Anieri 1999). In latter 1994, after Kuchma had become president, relations only marginally improved, despite his election promises of stronger relations to Russia and the CIS. In addition to the obstructive stance towards political integration, the Ukrainian government promulgated economic independence from Moscow. Threats of early withdrawal from the Soviet Union Ruble Zone and introduction of a Ukrainian currency, the Hryvnia, were repeatedly proposed.13 Even with the final withdrawal protracting longer than expected, Ukraine was among the first FSU republics to cut this economic link and, thus, free itself from Russian monetary control. Furthermore, no efforts were made to re-establish the trade links ruined by the collapse of the Soviet

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economy, as indicated by the above-mentioned wary approach towards the CIS Economic Union. Despite its commitment to the strategy to turn “away from Moscow” and the success it had in cutting intergovernmental and economic linkages, Ukraine was, as I show below, still strongly tied to Russia. In particular, the close connections to Crimean political elites and Ukraine’s near complete energy dependence allowed Russia to exert a strong influence on the democratic performance of its newly independent neighbor. Crimea and the Black Sea Fleet Of all the successor states, Ukraine proved most problematic for Russia (Birgerson 2001: 98). That Kiev is considered the birthplace of Russian history played an important role in explaining this regret. For many Russians, Ukraine was simply a natural part of their country and their history, and coming to terms with its independence was, therefore, not easy.14 Crimea, in particular, was symbolically significant because of its important role in Russian cultural history. The peninsula symbolized not just the crux of the greatness of century-long Russian/Soviet empires, but also retained geopolitical significance because the city of Sevastopol, housing the Soviet Black Sea Fleet, provided a perfect base for controlling the Black Sea. Tensions started rising, already in January 1992, at which time Yeltsin challenged Ukraine’s right to the Black Sea Fleet and claimed full ownership of it. The Russian parliament quickly followed suit – on January 23, it voted to examine the legality of the 1954 transfer of Crimea from Russia to Ukraine, and on May 21, it approved a resolution ruling the transfer invalid. In April, Russian Vice President Rutskoi, who openly challenged Yeltsin in the first years of independence, travelled to Crimea (as well as to all other CIS hotspots), calling for Crimea’s secession from Ukraine, declaring that the Black Sea Fleet “was Russian and will remain Russian” (Simonsen 2000: 292-294, 300). Thus, official Russian politicians and institutions were not demanding just their right to the fleet, but to Crimea as well. All at a time when Ukraine was struggling to win the conflict with the Crimean separatists. Between late June and early August 1992, Yeltsin and Kravchuk met to find a solution to the then highly politicized matter. It was agreed that the Black Sea Fleet would be placed under joint command for three years, during which the ownership issue would be solved. Nowhere in the documents was the question of Crimea directly mentioned, signaling Yeltsin continued to support the territorial integrity of Ukraine at that time (Motyl 1993: 112). But the oppositional deputies in the Russian parliament would not accept Yeltsin’s agreement since the question of the fleet and the status of

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Crimea was an issue on which they could challenge the president’s power. They accused him of selling out Russia’s grandness and of betraying the rights of Russian citizens who now found themselves outside Russia’s borders. And on December 7, 1992, as Kiev was prepared to leave the Ruble zone, the Russian Congress of People’s Deputies prepared a bill granting federal status to the city of Sevastopol (Melvin 1995: 93). Finally, in early 1993, the Russian deputies proposed that Russia support a referendum to make Crimea independent, and declared their readiness to accept the peninsula as a member of the CIS. However, this radical proposal was later withdrawn (Wydra 2003: 117). By mid-July, the Russian parliament again declared Sevastopol Russian. To challenge this, Ukraine got the issue onto the agenda in the UN Security Council, which advised Russia to abide by the principles of the UN Charter (Kuzio 2007: 81). This tempered Moscow for a short while (Simonsen 2000: 295-296), but back on Crimea, the declaration from the Russian parliament was immediately used by Meshkov, then president-to-be, to strengthen his secessionist course, declaring that “now Sevastopol is again united with Russia, the rest of Ukraine is soon to follow” (Wydra 2003: 117). Russian pressure peaked at the Massandra summit on September 3 1993. President Yeltsin gave the, by then, severely weakened President Kravchuk an ultimatum: full control of the fleet or complete cut off of gas supplies. Kravchuk initially agreed, but backed off in October after the constitutional crisis between Yeltsin and the Russian parliament led to Yeltsin’s victory, which calmed the waters within Russia and between Russia and Ukraine (Bukkvoll 2001: 1144). During April 1994, Yeltsin and Kravchuk renewed a former agreement they had had for splitting the fleet and the subsequent sale of the majority of Ukraine’s shares to Russia (Simonsen 2000: 292). By autumn, when Meshkov, the Crimean parliament and Kiev were in deep conflict over who should control the peninsula, Meshkov appealed to the Russian government to intervene (Wise & brown 1998: 123). But the strong Russian support for Crimean independence did not materialize when the Crimean Russophiles most needed it partly because of Yeltsin’ growing control over Russian politics and the West’s pressure on him to soften his approach, and partly because an agreement was nearly reached on a Russian military base on Crimea. The intense conflict over Crimea clearly illustrates the polyphonic character of Russian foreign policy in the early 1990s (Melvin 1995: 97). On the one side, the Russian parliament took an aggressive stand, repeatedly encouraging separatism. Several politicians from across the political spectrum travelled to the peninsula to meet with Russian nationalists and openly support their irredentist dreams. On the other side, Yeltsin and his foreign ministry tried, mostly in an attempt to please the West, to dissociate

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from the harsh rhetoric – their goal was not to win back Crimea as such, but to increase Russian military presence by gaining concessions on the Black Sea Fleet issue (Simonsen 2000: 293, 295; Diuk 2001: 59). The Crimean conflict is a good example of how an external actor can make use of existing linkages and how various gatekeeper elites can either hinder or facilitate these ties to strengthen their own domestic power. While the political elites in Kiev tried to reduce military integration with Russia by cutting the intergovernmental link that the Black Sea Fleet constituted, Russia resisted fiercely by exploiting Ukraine’s energy dependence and the strong social links to the large Russian population living in Crimea, and by strengthening ties to the Crimean separatist political elites. In addition, Russia’s aggressive rhetoric, the financial and organizational support granted to the Russophile separatists, and the military protection offered in the form of unconditional support from Black Sea Fleet officers all contributed to justify the secessionist paroles and strengthen Crimean political elites.15 Thus, the combination of Russian politicians granting support to Crimean political elites and a majority of the Crimean population supporting further rapprochement with its great neighbor enabled the separatist elites on the peninsula to successfully expand intergovernmental and economic linkages to Russia and, thereby, bolster themselves in their struggle with central authorities. Witout Russian protection it would have been easy for Kravchuk and the Rada to effectively quell all dreams of seccessionism. For Kiev, the persistence of these issues coupled with the general Russian decline to accept Ukrainian independence, most clearly illustrated by its refusal to demarcate borders and conclude a Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation formally recognizing Ukraine’s territorial integrity,16 was more than just an irritant (Ambrosio 2009: 135). Russian actions severely destabilized the country and, for a period, contributed to circumscribing Kravchuk’s and the Rada’s effective power to rule (E10) over the whole territory of Ukraine. Simply put, Ukrainian politicians’ legitimate right to decide solemnly over military issues and their peaceful attempts at regional consolidation were impeded from the outside. The Energy Issue As mentioned, the first couple of years of Ukrainian independence were marked by an exclusive focus on nation- and state-building. To illustrate, by summer 1992, Ukraine had neither a budget nor a substantial economic program. The quickly deteriorating economy was not given much attention – GDP declined by a massive 17 percent in 1992 and 1993, and hyperinflation reached 1,210 percent in 1992 and a staggering 4,735 percent in 1993 (Prizel 1997: 348; Åslund 2009: 44, 48-53). Yet, as discussed

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above, the political elites were busy with rent-seeking and, therefore, carried through only the most necessary reforms to keep the economy afloat. Ukraine was unable to pay Russia for the gas and oil it imported. Disagreements constantly resurfaced about quantities supplied, prices to be paid, size of the transit fee Ukraine should receive for pumping energy to Europe, and the problem of ever-increasing debts from deliveries not paid for. Ukraine’s very strong dependence on Russian oil and gas, inelastic in the short run, combined with the state-controlled character of the Russian energy sector (Balmaceda 2008) and the cash-strapped, reform-reluctant situation in Ukraine, provided Moscow with ample opportunities to influence the political development in its neighbor country. Through a series of commercially unjustified supply cuts, Russia dealt Ukraine one economic blow after another, exacerbating the Ukrainian crisis and negatively influencing Kievan leaders’ effective power to rule over the economy (E10). On August 31, 1992, Ukraine and Russia struck an agreement; for the first time, import quantities as well as prices and transit fees were agreed on (Smolansky 1995: 72). But this agreement was broken a month later when the Russian government announced the imposition of world prices on all inter-republic trade of gas and oil (Krasnov & Brada 1997: 827). What this meant in reality was unclear; regardless, it reopened negotiations. And to show they meant business, Russia decreased gas deliveries to Ukraine due to lack of payment. Ukraine retaliated by siphoning off export gas meant for Europe. A few days later, deliveries were back to normal (Smolansky 1995: 72). By mid-November, Russia, for the first time, linked the economic issue of energy to the political dimension. Yeltsin declared that FSU republics no longer part of the ruble zone would no longer enjoy benefits associated with the ruble zone and would, therefore, be obliged to pay in hard currency for oil and gas imports. Despite this threat, Ukraine stuck with its decisions, leaving the ruble zone at the end of 1992, rejecting the CIS Charter in January 1993. Following this, Russia re-opened the discussion, doubting whether enough oil could be supplied in 1993 to cover Ukraine’s demands. Subsequently, supplies were cut. In the following months, as price negotiations dragged out, Ukraine faced a growing petroleum shortage that threatened to bring the economy to its knees (Smolansky 1995: 72-75, 80). In early June 1993, when Kravchuk’s power was already weakened by the miners’ strike in Donbas, Russia tightened the screws on Ukraine and cut oil supplies further, crippling the production to Ukrainian refineries. Kravchuk hastened to Moscow and, faced with the domestic situation at hand, was forced to succumb to Russian demands, which doubled gas prices to $80, and raised oil prices to $100, as of January 1, 1994, bringing prices very close to those in the world market (Smolansky 1995: 81). This,

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however, did not settle the issue. In late July and in late August 1993, Russia reduced oil and gas deliveries, respectively, due to Ukraine’s nonservicing of the debt it had accumulated for payment arrears. Yeltsin was clearly preparing the ground for the ultimatum he presented to Kravchuk at the September 3 Massandra Summit (Bukkvoll 2001: 1144). This Russian pressure had the effect of forcing Ukraine into partly joining the CIS economic union established later that month. As a gesture of cooperation, oil deliveries were resumed in October (Smolansky 1995: 82, 84). In early March 1994, Russia, once more, reduced gas deliveries, which remained reduced until Kiev agreed to pay its 1994-incurred debts in hard currency and to give Russia’s main gas company, Gazprom, a 51 percent share in various gas transport enterprises (Smolansky 1995: 83). Thus, with only three weeks until the parliamentary elections, for which the primary topic was the disastrous economy, the Ukrainian delegation had no choice other than to succumb to Moscow’s demands. So by signaling to Ukrainian voters that without good relations with Russia, economic improvement was impossible, Russia interfered in the pre-election period. In this way, the Kremlin actions biased the election process (A4) by indirectly strengthening the campaign of pro-Russian candidates and parties. Also in the presidential elections, Russia supported Kravchuk’s main opponent, though this time with other means than energy.17 Thus, from mid-1992 until spring 1994, threats and follow-through of supply cuts and price increases were repeatedly used, though Russia was not solely to blame. On several occasions, Ukraine siphoned off gas it did not register in its payment obligations. However, at least three of the four direct threats and four of the five supply cuts during the period 1991-1994 were directly linked to political issues of great importance to Russia, not to commercial relations. Russia used this vital economic linkage in three ways: to extract concessions from the Ukrainian leadership on the Crimea and Black Sea Fleet issue, to punish Kravchuk for his Western-leaning, anti-CIS policy orientation, and to weaken the president on specific occasions when his political survival was at stake, such as during the miners’ strike in Donbas in June 1993 and the parliamentary elections in March 1994. By directing the intensity of the energy conflict, Moscow held the key to the stability of Kravchuk’s rule, thereby significantly stripping him of his effective power to rule (E10) over vital parts of the economy. As would be expected, then, the threats and cut-offs stopped after proclaimed proRussian Kuchma took office in summer 1994. This so, even as energy debts kept on growing throughout 1994. Hence, throughout the 1991–1994 period, Moscow imposed its will on a fragile, but also confrontational Ukraine. Though Kravchuk tried to minimize linkages to Moscow, not all efforts succeeded, and because the

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president did not control domestic politics, oppositional elites from clans on Crimea and in eastern Ukraine were free to pursue gatekeeping themselves, successfully building independent ties to the Kremlin and/or Russian opposition politicians, and this way mustering political and economic support in their struggle against the incumbent. These new ties, in combination with existing economic and social links, enabled Russia to exert its influence on Ukraine’s political development, negatively affecting democratic performance through both the electoral regime (A4) and the effective power to rule regime (E10). Engaging the West At the same time that Ukraine’s ruling elites were seeking to distance the country from Russia, they were eagerly courting the West. In May 1992, Ukraine’s foreign minister Anatolii Zlenko enthusiastically stated that “Ukraine is a European Nation […] Everything European is characteristic of us” (cited in Motyl 1993: 124). In the same month, President Kravchuk travelled to Washington, signed the US Lisbon Agreement, which lay down the procedure for returning strategic nuclear missiles to Russia for destruction, and, in return for which Ukraine received most-favored-nation status (Motyl 1993: 182; Potter 1995: 14). These two examples are characteristic of the Western-leaning foreign policy pursued by the Ukrainian government in the first three years of independence: it made lofty statements, sought to promote intergovernmental and economic linkages to Western organizations in general, and to the US in particular, and, in return, cashed in on substantial financial assistance and political support. The West’s first and foremost order of business with Ukraine was to get it to bring its large number of nuclear weapons (the third largest in the world) under firm control by transferring all arms to Russia.18 For Ukraine, the nuclear weapons were a valuable bargaining chip, which was given up in early 1994 only after protracted negotiations brought Ukraine substantial US financial concessions in the form of more than a billion dollars in assistance, aid and credits, and security assurances for Ukraine from the nuclear powers (Åslund 2009: 40; Krasnov & Brada 1997: 840; Potter 1995: 22-23). Going non-nuclear paid off, and in the process, a close relationship was built to the White House in Washington. In contrast to the breadth of US’s activities with Ukraine, EU involvement with Ukraine was much more limited. Brussels did not participate directly in the non-proliferation negotiations; neither did it fully engage in any other of the main issues of the first years of independence. Rather, a restrained wait-and-see approach was pursued, gradually building intergovernmental ties in the form of bilateral institutional structures, such

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as setting up representations in Ukraine and Brussels and, from March 1993, negotiating and, finally, as the first CIS member in 1994, signing a Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA). The PCA strengthened intergovernmental ties by institutionalizing a permanent political dialogue through regular meetings at the heads-of-state level, ministerial level and parliamentary level, and by facilitating economic linkages through the introduction of WTO principles in trade (Vanhaeverbeke 2002: 253; Kubicek 2003: 153). Only in late November 1994, after the Rada had ratified the PCA, did the EU Council outline a decision for a common position on Ukraine, calling for economic and political reforms as well as de-nuclearization (EU Council, Common Position 1994). Apart from these institution-building efforts, the EU provided Ukraine with €283.4 million, from 1992 to 1994, in the form of macro-financial assistance loans and grants under the TACIS program – mainly supporting the economy and nuclear safety (TACIS 1998). Compared with US support, EU assistance in this period, however, was minimal (Kubicek 2003: 159). Thus, the 1991–1994 period was characterized by a deepening of intergovernmental and economic linkages between Kiev and the West. President Kravchuk eagerly expanded ties with the West in order to minimize dependency on Russia. Washington and Brussels welcomed such efforts of facilitative gatekeeping, seeking closer strategic ties to the new big power in the post-Soviet space. EU and Western Impact on Democratic Performance While Russian influence on the democratic performance of Ukraine was very concrete and affected several issues, Western impact was more indirect and sporadic in nature. In general, the West awarded financial assistance to Ukrainian political elites (the president, the government, and the Rada), even though these political elites increasingly tampered with the country’s democratic performance. Thus, Western and EU support indirectly strengthened the power of the elites, whose only deed was giving up nuclear weapons. The steady financial undergirding they extracted through their agreements contributed to a reform-averse equilibrium in which negative developments in democratic performance could be pursued without consequences. Though Kravchuk could not be characterized as a hardcore autocrat, as incursions on democratic performance were indeed small, and though the West occasionally criticized anti-democratic behavior, the political and economic support from the US strengthened the political elites in Ukraine, in effect, though indirectly, legitimizing the attempted and implemented infringements that took place as part of their struggle for domestic power.

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Apart from this general, indirect impact, the West also had a more specific and direct influence on Ukraine’s democratic performance during the 1994 parliamentary election period. Though the CoE characterized the newly implemented election law as “flawed” (PACE 1995), the EU did not find this criticism disturbing enough to put linkage-building on hold. In fact, it timed the signing of the PCA to take place just four days before the March 27 parliamentary elections rather than making it conditional on the implementation of free and fair elections. As Ukraine was the first CIS member to sign a PCA (Burant 1995: 1131), this timing was most likely done to boost those candidates supportive of Kravchuk’s Western-leaning foreign policy and thus can be interpreted as a slightly negative interference in the fairness and impartialness of the pre-election campaign (A4). However, support was not given to specific candidates, as Russia did with Kuchma in the presidential elections later that year. These activities were a win-win situation for both the West and Ukraine. The West’s focus on de-nuclearization and the need to maintain Ukraine as a weighty ally in a region in flux gave the Ukrainian political elites ample room to conduct foreign policy arbitrage – that is, they talked the talk of political and economic reforms, received abundant political and economic support, but did not have to walk the walk (cf. Vachudova 2005: 64). Ukraine simply “knew that it was too valuable to be allowed to fail” (Wilson 2002: 263-3). Not only did the EU not challenge this perception, it indirectly contributed to Ukraine’s democratic backsliding and corrupt cronyism. However, Brussels’ impact was minimal compared with that of the US, the frontrunner in establishing political and economic relations with Ukraine and supporting Kravchuk. The EU basically followed along, not investing much in pushing a specific agenda forward. At the same time, though, the West’s support for Kravchuk meant Ukraine was less vulnerable to Russian pressure on the issues of Crimea and the Black Sea Fleet. By building ties to the US in particular, Kravchuk succeeded in bringing in a positive external counterweight to Russia’s negative incursions on the effective power to rule regime (E10), somewhat moderating Yeltsin in particular. Thus, without Kravchuk’s facilitative gatekeeping towards the West, Russian pressure for gaining control of the Black Sea Fleet and perhaps even Crimea might have been even stronger, further weakening Ukraine’s democratic performance. But again, this positive counterweight was mostly the product of US actions, the EU assisting only slightly through its reinforcement of pressure on Moscow. Thus, Western action towards Ukraine in the early 1990s influenced democratic performance in both a negative and positive way. This influence was primarily US-driven and mostly indirect, and materialized as a

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consequence of the facilitative gatekeeping pursued by Kravchuk and the US policy need for a stable regime and new ally in the post-Soviet region. Belarus 1991–1994 When Belarus gained independence in late 1991, the country seemed to be even more ill-prepared and more surprised than their Ukrainian counterparts had been. Through the last years of Soviet rule, an anti-communist opposition movement had slowly emerged, but it was non-coherent and non-homogenous (Eke & Kuzio 2000: 526). Two central figures headed this movement; the historian Zianon Pazniak, who disclosed the Stalin mass graves in the Kurapaty forests in 1988 and became the leader of the strongest opposition party, the Belarusian Popular Front (BPF), and the more independent nuclear physicist Stanislau Shushkevich, who exposed the Chernobyl disaster (Oldberg 1997: 110). The March 1990 elections for the Belarusian SSR Supreme Soviet established the parliament that would form the main platform for political power for the succeeding four to five years. The vote was heavily manipulated by the communists, and the BPF was illegalized. Nonetheless, after the elections, the Democratic Club, consisting of about 100 deputies (out of a total of 360) was set up, ready to challenge the conservative majority (Zaprudnik 1993: 149-151). However, liberalization pressure only started to build up in mid-September 1991, after the conservative majority was pressured into accepting the pro-reform deputy Shushkevich as the new chairman of the parliament and, thus, acting head of state (Zaprudnik 1993: 162-164; Beichelt 2004: 118).19 But a strong independence drive was still lacking, as was made evident, for example, in late 1991, when the Belarusian leadership chose not to reject a new union treaty put forward by Gorbachev, thus de facto supporting the preservation of the Soviet Union (Burant 1995: 1135). Hence, from the outset, the far majority of political elites in Belarus had a conservative, anti-reformist outlook. The Belarusian Prime Minister Vyacheslau Kebich and his government followed this policy line, emphasizing state control over the economy and reinvigoration of economic and intergovernmental ties to Russia (Beichelt 2004: 119). Chairman Shushkevich tried to pull the country in the other direction, focusing on securing Belarusian independence, implementing political and economic reforms, and establishing closer ties to the West (Sanford 1996: 141). But as the next section will show, Shushkevich lacked both the formal institutional power and the crucial parliamentary support to realize his goals. The consequences were incursions on democracy and a creeping buildup of authoritarianism (cf. Table 4.4).

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Table 4.4 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 1991–1994 Positive changes A. Electoral Regime

Negative changes Biased and fraudulent presidential elections 1994 (A1, A4) Biased election law 1994 (A3)

B. Political Rights

Increased state control of media (B5)

C. Civil Rights D. Horizontal Accountability

Overriding the Constitution and banning referendum 1992 (D9) President is allowed to appoint and dismiss local leaders 1994 (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

The Domestic Power Struggle and Changes in Democratic Performance Throughout the former Soviet Union, the surprising coming of independence led to a power struggle among republican political elites. In Belarus, this was no different. As indicated above, executive power was split between Chairman Shushkevich and Prime Minister Kebich. But as chairman and head of state, Shushkevich only had power to influence the parliamentary agenda and to represent Belarus in negotiations with international partners. And with backing from only the Democratic Club (now mustering no more than 70 deputies), the tandem leadership was unevenly balanced from the beginning. Kebich and the conservative majority in parliament reacted quickly, trying to further concentrate power

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and sideline Shushkevich (Lukashuk 1995: 85; Sanford 1996: 142; Marples 1999: 62). In the first couple of years, almost no economic reforms were pursued – prices were still largely controlled, privatization was slow, and the budget was never trimmed of its substantial subsidies to industry and agriculture (Sanford 1996: 139). This “status-quo policy” helped Belarus avoid the early socioeconomic transition decline that characterized Russia and Ukraine. But in the end, this policy did not prevent the hyperinflation of 2000 percent nor the recessions of 1993 and 1994 (Åslund 2002: 174; Korosteleva & Lawson 2010: 35).20 While the economy was gradually faltering, the political power struggle intensified. In January 1992, the re-legalized BPF (legalized again in 1991) advocated early parliamentary elections since the 1990 parliament had been constituted on uneven terms. The organization immediately started collecting signatures calling for a referendum on the issue, and by May, more than the necessary 350,000 signatures had been validated by the Central Referendum Commission (Zaprudnik 1993: 160, 164). Nonetheless, in October that year, the conservative majority of the Supreme Soviet decided to take matters into its own hands and overwhelmingly voted to ban the referendum (Zaprudnik 1993: 165), thereby seriously overriding the constitution and thus negatively affecting the country’s horizontal accountability (D9). Surprisingly, Shushkevich did not support the opposition, but voted along with the conservatives (Silitski 2003: 40). Apparently, he was satisfied with the Supreme Soviet’s compromise to shorten its term by one year, scheduling the next elections for 1995, and promise to draft a new constitution (Zaprudnik 1993: 165). Perhaps he was already feeling a threat and was, therefore, treading carefully to remain in power. No matter what his reasons, it was clear that the conservative majority held the real power in the country (Lukashuk 1998: 2). In the following six months, Kebich and the Supreme Soviet took advantage of the momentum. First, an independent TV station was closed (negatively affecting press freedom and thereby the political rights regime (B5)), then privatization was suspended and the Communist Party was relegalized, and finally, in late March 1993, a draft constitution stipulating a presidency with strong powers was presented (Silitski 2003: 40-41). Shushkevich objected to the lack of checks and balances in the draft, and when the Supreme Soviet approved membership of the 1992 CIS Collective Security Pact on April 9 1993, he took a firm stand threatening to call a referendum on the issue, hoping the Belarusian voters would vote against re-integration with Russia.

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Kebich and his supporters understood that they needed to get rid of Shushkevich to fully control events. On July 1, 1993, the Supreme Soviet overwhelmingly passed a vote of no-confidence in the chairman, but large abstentions from the BPF deputies meant that the vote lacked the necessary quorum to be legally binding (Tsygankov 2000: 117). For the rest of the year, Shushkevich was effectively sidelined, but the final standoff did not take place until late 1993. On December 14, Alyaksandr Lukashenka, the head of an anti-corruption committee, accused the chairman of embezzlement on charges later proven to be weak (Marples 2007: 14). In January 1994, Lukashenka renewed his attacks, this time also trying to discredit Prime Minister Kebich. As a consequence, both faced a vote of noconfidence, though only Shushkevich failed to survive it, as he lacked the support of the conservative majority (Marples 2007: 14-15). On March 15, 1994, Kebich’s version of the new constitution, which established a strong presidency, was approved by the Supreme Soviet. Presidential elections were called for, and an election law was introduced that was de facto biased in favor of Kebich: according to the law, candidates for the presidency had to obtain signatures either from 70 parliamentary deputies or from 100,000 voters. Since Kebich enjoyed the backing of the majority of the Supreme Soviet, he clearly benefited from the law (Marples 1999: 69), as it negatively affected the equal right to candidacy (A3). During the presidential elections, set for June 23 that same year, the electoral regime was further affected by small scale vote stealing (A1 and A4), and press freedom was circumscribed (B5) when Kebich shut down critical media and cowed journalists into running only positive stories about the government (Marples 1999: 69, 2007: 20), constituting further steps away from liberal democracy. Kebich did make it to the run-off on July 10, but surprisingly he then lost to Lukashenka, who secured a staggering 81 percent of the votes. Running on a populist, pro-Russian, clean-hands platform, he had capitalized on public outrage over collapsing living standards and corrupt politicians (McMahon 1997: 129; Silitski 2010: 280). The outcome of the presidential elections was much unexpected. All along, Kebich and his supporters had been so confident about winning and had therefore not made any greater attempts ensuring that local officials follow their orders to manipulate the result. This so, even though they seemed to have enjoyed the power to actually do so (Silitski 2005: 86; Levitsky & Way 2010: 203). Once in power, Lukashenka abandoned his promises, and in October, an anti-crisis reform program was carefully worked out that struck the delicate balance between doing just enough to resurrect the economy and not encroaching too much on the vested interests of the Supreme Soviet deputies (Zlotnikov 2002: 139; Hancock 2006: 124). In the political sphere,

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though, Lukashenka stopped short of any reforms, and contrary to what was originally expected, he followed in the footsteps of his predecessor. Before the end of the year, editors of most of the large newspapers had been replaced, censorship in the mass media had been introduced (Marples 1999: 72), and the most profitable assets in the country had been put under presidential control (Silitski 2005: 86). In addition, the constitution was clearly violated when the president introduced a decree ruling that he could now appoint and dismiss local leaders (Beichelt 2004: 119). Thus, Lukashenka moved quickly to monopolize political and economic power in the country, seriously weakening Belarus’ democratic performance by infringing upon both the media freedom of the political rights regime (B5) and the constitutional inviolability of the horizontal accountability regime (D9). The autocratization of Belarus seemed to have moved into the fast lane. “Return to Russia”: Reestablishing Links to Moscow Chairman Shushkevich, the champion of cutting ties to the CIS, tried for a long time to hold Belarus back from full participation in all new political and military CIS initiatives. In mid-February 1992, he refused to sign the agreement establishing a Council of Defense Ministers (Zaprudnik 1993: 206), in May he withheld his signature from the Treaty on Collective Security (Martinsen 2002: 402-404), and when a new CIS Charter was worked out in January 1993, he also refrained. But, from the beginning of Belarusian independence, the majority of the political elites favored reintegration with Russia and the CIS. Economic decline was not, as in Ukraine, seen as a product of Russian exploitation, but rather as a result of the disruption of the inter-republican economic space (Rontoyanni 2005: 124). However, the tandem leadership with Shushkevich made it impossible for Kebich and the conservative bloc in the Supreme Soviet to pursue re-integration with Russia. Only when Shushkevich was sufficiently weakened in late 1993 did they succeed in facilitating gatekeeping and reinvigorating many economic and intergovernmental ties to Russia and the CIS (Beichelt 2004: 119; Eke & Kuzio 2000: 526). In return, they got crucial financial and political assistance for the project of authoritarian state-building. While the expansion of political ties to Russia was held back during the first one-and-a-half years of independence, military cooperation flourished all along. The Belarusian Ministry of Defense was headed by ethnic Russians with close ties to the Soviet military leaders in Russia, and they succeeded in circumscribing Shushkevich by concluding a package on military agreements with Moscow in July 1992. The agreement laid the

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groundwork for far-fetching military integration by stipulating coordination of defense activities and providing for the stationing of Russian strategic forces on Belarusian territory (Deyermond 2004: 1193, 1195). Thus, while Russia fought hard to maintain military presence in Ukraine with the Black Sea Fleet, the political elites in Minsk willingly allowed Russian troops on Belarusian soil. During these one-and-a-half years, economic links were also strengthened. As the head of government, Kebich was much freer to engage in trade agreements than in international political cooperation. Consequently, several preferential deals with Russia and the CIS were adopted as a way to preserve and expand upon older ties. Tariff policies favorable to the FSU area were introduced, and despite Shushkevich’s strong critique of the ruble zone, Belarus did not leave the zone until Russia unilaterally dissolved it in August 1993 (Tsygankov 2000: 121). In the following month, Kebich signed the CIS agreement for an economic union, and Russia and Belarus started discussions for a monetary union (Burant 1995: 1135). Altogether, these decisions made diversification of foreign trade almost impossible. In 1993, non-FSU countries accounted for only 1.8 percent of imports and 2.7 percent of exports (Savchenko 2002: 248). Further exacerbating economic interdependence, cheap Russian oil and gas de facto kept flowing to Belarus. On December 12-13, 1993, Kebich and Russian Prime Minister Chernomyrdin reached a “zero option” agreement, cancelling Belarus’ accumulated debt of $450m on past purchases of oil and gas in return for former Soviet assets in Belarus (Lukashuk 1998: 2; Bruce 2005: 4). Thus, the energy issue, so dominant in Russo-Ukrainian relations, played only a minor role in Belarus, despite similar commercial circumstances with steadfastly accumulating payment arrears. On April 12, 1994, the Russian-Belarusian cooperation climaxed with the conclusion of the comprehensive Treaty on Unification of Monetary Systems. The treaty envisaged a significant strengthening of intergovernmental (both in the political and the military spheres) and economic linkages. Kebich gave Russia the right to station troops on Belarusian bases free of charge, stripped the country of its ability to independently conduct fiscal and monetary policy, and prepared for incorporating the national gas-distribution company, Beltransgaz, into Gazprom for a meager 1.2 million rubles,21 disregarding its estimated value of $5 billion. In return, Russia cancelled a $115 million credit, promised oil and gas supplies at Russian domestic prices, agreed to remove tariff barriers and customs restrictions, and pledged introducing a 1:1 exchange rate between the two currencies – a move that would, with one strike, produce a 400 percent monetary gain for all Belarusians (Izvestia, 14 April 1994;

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Burant 1995: 1135; Markus 1996: 337; Marples 1999: 110; Danilovich 2006: 33-37). Though many of these far-reaching agreements were never implemented, the deal had great symbolic and political value, and it illustrates how far each side was ready to go to strengthen their relationship. All along, Prime Minister Kebich acted as the main gatekeeper and eagerly sought to expand political, military and economic linkages, readily giving in to Russian demands of geopolitical abidance (welcoming Russian troops and promulgating CIS integration) in return for economic subsidies and political support. Then-Chairman Shushkevich had tried to put a stop to the “return to Russia” policy, but as he neither had the formal power nor strong backing from the parliament or the electorate, his obstructive gatekeeping was only successful for a short period. Once his domestic opponents regained control, the gatekeeping scene was monopolized in the hands of Kebich and the conservatives. Russian Impact on Democratic Performance Prime Minister Kebich did everything in his power to cooperate with Russia in order to secure vital economic and political backing, even though this meant sacrificing parts of the newly won sovereignty. At the same time, Yeltsin needed a foreign policy success in order to wave off the criticism of his lack of concern for Russian interests in the former Soviet Union coming from his red-brown opponents in the Congress of People’s Deputies. The Belarusian leadership’s cooperative stance was therefore well rewarded in the form of substantial political, economic and military support, all of which helped Kebich take steps towards increasing autocratization. The strengthened economic links allowed him to postpone the economic reforms that would have forced the conservative majority in parliament to cede control of the economy and bring hardship upon the population, and the increased political and military cooperation allowed him to maintain an efficient repressive apparatus (Levitsky & Way 2010: 203), and to present himself as a state leader capable of bringing goods to his citizens through international cooperation. Thus, Kebich was provided with an economic safety net and improved legitimacy, both of which improved his ability to defeat his main opponent, Shushkevich. This was in stark contrast with his Ukrainian counterpart, President Kravchuk, whose effective power to rule was severely circumscribed by Russian actions. Though Russia repeatedly threatened gas and oil supply cuts in Ukraine to extract political concessions and to weaken Kravchuk, Russia cut supplies to Belarus only once – in August 1993, after Shushkevich had survived the non-confidence vote and the country continued its refusal to participate in the CIS charter and the Treaty on Collective Security (Bruce

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2005: 4). But as Belarus subsequently showed a willingness to cooperate, gas supply was soon resumed. And, despite ever-increasing debts for lack of payments, Russia did not try to destabilize the Belarusian regime, as it had done in Ukraine. Not unexpectedly, Russian support for Kebich was high in the first part of 1994 when pro-western Shushkevich was finally ousted and incursions on democracy were on the rise. For one, the Treaty on the Unification of Monetary Systems provided Kebich an economic trump card for the elections, and the implementation of the various stages of the agreement during the summer was designed so that Kebich would appear to the voters as a “savior in Belarus’ hour of economic crisis” (Danilovich 2006: 37-38). In return, Minsk, as Moscow had done, postponed the signing of NATO’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) agreement, scheduled for April 19-20 in Brussels (Izvestia, 21 April 1994). So, Russia not only contributed to propping up the regime and refrained from curbing the general authoritarian tendencies, but in addition, by granting the incumbent full economic and political support in the run-up to the 1994 presidential elections, Moscow also directly contributed to violating the electoral regime by helping create an unlevel playing field during the elections (A4). Because Russia had put all its bets on Kebich, the Kremlin was, therefore, truly bewildered and frustrated by Lukashenka’s victory in 1994. With Kebich, the Kremlin knew what it had. With Lukashenka, the future was more uncertain, as he had criticized Kebich for being too acquiescent in negotiations with Russia and for not taking Belarusian national interests into account (Silitski 2003: 43). During the first summit with Yeltsin in August 1994, then, the air between the two leaders was cold (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 9 Aug. 1994). In the following months, Lukashenka was intensely criticized by Russia, support came to a temporary halt, and Gazprom started threatening to reduce deliveries unless one third of remaining arrears were paid by the end of the year, the rest by March 1995 (Danilovich 2006: 38, 45). Clearly, Moscow had decided to punish Lukashenka for winning the elections, making sure that he, as Kebich had, submitted to Russian interests. However, these destabilizing measures proved only temporary, and in the next period, as the next chapter shows, a more cooperative stance triumphed again. We can see, then, that Russia played a significant role during the 1991– 1994 period in protecting and supporting the rising authoritarian regime in Belarus, at least until Lukashenka became president. But this negative influence might have looked very different had Kebich and his conservative supporters not pursued a strategy of facilitative gatekeeping towards Moscow. Had the prime minister followed a linkage-cutting policy similar to Ukraine’s, the Kremlin would most likely have sought to destabilize, not

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stabilize, the Belarusian regime, and the concentration of power would, therefore, have been much more difficult. Thus, Russia may not, necessarily, have held a clear preference for authoritarianism, but as long as Kebich showed a cooperative stance on foreign policy issues important to Russia, the Kremlin was ready to, and capable of, undergirding the decline in democratic performance that the prime minister and his supporters pursued. How Belarus Appeased A Passive West While linkages to Russia were eagerly extended during the first part of the 1990s, virtually no integration attempts were pursued with Europe or the US by Belarusian authorities (Burant 1995: 1133). And the West did not try to speed up Belarusian integration with Europe, but rather followed a reluctant wait-and-see policy, given that the main Western focus was securing economic stabilization and nuclear disarmament (Davidonis 2001: 22). So with minimal linkage-building with the West in the first years of independence, Brussels and Washington were left with very few buttons to press when trying to influence political developments in Minsk. The lack of linkages and the overall focus on stabilization resulted in a Western policy characterized by unconditional financial and political support, albeit not large-scale, that indirectly undergirded the evolving autocratization process. While still head of state, Shushkevich both called for a “return to Europe” (Zaprudnik 1993: 212) and pushed de-nuclearization forward as a means of approaching the West. By July 1992, all tactical nuclear warheads had been removed from Belarusian territory and sent to Russia, and by February 4, 1993, the Supreme Soviet had ratified adherence to START and the Non-Proliferation Treaty (Sanford 1996: 142). The cooperative stance on the nuclear issue and Shushkevich’s good relations with Western leaders triggered a willingness by the West to strengthen political relations with Belarus and provide substantial financial assistance to the Belarusian government, which included the €25.5m transferred throughout 1992 and 1993 by the EU TACIS program (Davidonis 2001: 25) and several two- and three-digit million dollar loan tranches released by the IMF and the World Bank (Mildner 2000: 8-10). And, in spite of the Supreme Soviet illegitimately banning the referendum on early elections in October 1992, the EU started negotiations on a PCA agreement shortly, while the US decided to support de-nuclearization more strongly through its generous Nunn-Lugar program (Potter 1995: 14-15; Sanford 1996: 143). That is, Western support continued even though Shushkevich was marginalized and then ousted from power. None of the financial or political backing was made conditional on democratic or economic reforms.

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When Lukashenka became president in July 1994, the policy line of the West did not change. Lukashenka vowed to initiate economic reforms, appointing a pro-Western ministerial team. And after being criticized by Yeltsin in August, he instructed his new prime minister, Mikhail Chygir, to strengthen cooperation with the IMF in order to secure financing for his economic reforms (Hancock 2006: 124; Danilovich 2006: 38). Lukashenka appeared willing enough to conduct reforms, but as described above, he quickly started to concentrate power, strongly diminishing the strength of the political rights regime (B5) and the horizontal accountability (D9). Moreover, in a TV appearance on November 11, 1994, he showed his undemocratic nature by threatening to remove and arrest those opposing his policies, ordering media outlets to produce more positive stories, and vowing to take full control of the national intelligence agency, the KGB (Marples 1999: 72). Nonetheless, the IMF continued its cooperation with Belarus, and in December 1994, the EU agreed to initial the PCA. So, Western financial assistance in this period merely served to prop up the authoritarian regime evolving in Belarus, and the political agreements that the EU offered provided Belarus with a glow of Western legitimacy. The autocratizing steps of, first, Kebich and, then, Lukashenka may have raised eyebrows in the West, but neither the EU nor others denounced any of these developments. Though Brussels’ actions were few, they cannot be categorized as positive external influences. Certainly, Europe did not directly cause the autocratization tendencies in Belarus in the early 1990s, but by financially supporting Kebich and Lukashenka and by silently accepting their violations of the electoral regime (A1, A4), the political rights regime (B5), and the horizontal accountability (D9), it indirectly legitimized and underpinned developments. Moldova 1991–1994 For Moldova, independence got off to the worst possible start. In late 1991 and the first part of 1992, regular fighting broke out between central Moldova and the Transnistria area, which had earlier declared independence from Moldova as the Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic (PMR). The PMR had historically been closer to Russia than to the rest of Moldova, and indeed, a larger proportion of the population there were ethnic Russians and Ukrainians speaking Russian. So, when Moldova proper, in efforts to build a nation, emphasized that Moldovan should be the sole state language, the leaders of the PMR used this as a pretext for breaking away, arguing that the new language law was only the first step toward burying their culture and reintegrating with Romania. Several scholars, though, have argued that a much more important motive for the Transnistrian elites was that they

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feared power, and thus their social and economic privileges, was moving from Tiraspol to Chisinau (e.g., Kaufman 1996; King 2000). Understandably, the Transnistrian issue came to completely dominate Moldovan development in the first years of the 1990s, and as the subsequent chapters will show, it has continued to influence events throughout Moldovan independence. Apart from the secessionist conflict, which weakened Chisinau leaders’ effective power to rule over the whole territory of Moldova (E10), democratic performance was generally strengthened by Moldovan independence (as visible in Table 4.5. below); in fact, the political situation stabilized during 1992 and 1993 without any major incursions on democracy. Table 4.5 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 1991–1994 Positive changes A. Electoral Regime

Free and fair parliamentary elections and referendum 1994 (A4)

B. Political Rights C. Civil Rights

Negative changes

Some state control of media (B5) Liberal citizenship law 1991(C7) Liberal language laws 1993 (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

E. Effective Power to Rule

Constitution granting strong powers to parliament and the constitutional court (D9) Losing control of Transnistria (E10)

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The Conflict in Transnistria In 1988, the rising national awareness witnessed in other Soviet Union republics also characterized Moldova. Identity and language questions topped the agenda, uniting various opposition movements against the communist leadership. In May 1989, the Moldovan Popular Front (MPF) was formed, becoming the main driving force for independence. It started pushing more intensively for both establishing Moldovan as the state language, replacing Russian, and transitioning the alphabet from the Cyrillic to the Latin (King 2000: 120, 123, 128-9). In late August, when the new language laws were adopted by the Moldavian SSR Supreme Soviet, residents of Transnistria,22 who had used the Cyrillic alphabet since the 14th century, protested strongly (Kolstå et al. 1993: 981). The Transnistrian enterprise managers, who felt power was drifting from their capital, Tiraspol, across the Dnestr River to the new political elites in Chisinau, decided to exploit the stormy emotions, encouraging their own workers to go on strike, putting a halt to crucial industrial deliveries to the main part of the country (Crowther 1991: 195). The scene for the territorial conflict between the old and the new power center was set. In the first part of 1990, both the PMR and MPF increased their political capital in popular votes. In the PMR, 96 percent of the Transnistrians supported creating a self-governing status within the Moldavian SSR (Fane 1993: 139), while in Moldova proper, the all-Union March elections for the Republican Supreme Soviets experienced a win for the MPF, which created a reformist majority together with moderate Agrarians (King 2000: 146). The MPF leader, Mircea Druc, was appointed prime minister, a MPF-dominated government was formed, and a state Department of Languages was established. Soon purges started against nonMoldovans employed in the cultural and state institutions (King 2000: 151, 168). Animosity between the two sides continued to grow, and when Mircea Snegur, former Secretary to the Central Committee of the Communist Party in Moldova, was promoted from chairman to president by the Moldovan parliament, signaling a move away from Russia, Tiraspol simply stopped taking orders from Chisinau (Kolstå et al. 1993: 984). In the first half of 1991, President Snegur and the rest of the more moderate Moldovan political elites tried to ease tensions by distancing themselves from the increasingly radical MPF; Druc was dismissed as prime minister, the more pragmatic Valeriu Muravschi took over in May and in early June, a zero

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option for citizenship was adopted (Melvin 1995: 62; Crowther 1997: 300301). But the attempts to ease tensions failed when the putsch in Moscow in August sped up the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The PMR leadership seized the moment and declared full independence. Moldova reacted promptly and arrested the Transnistrian region’s political leaders, sparking a new wave of strikes in Transnistria as well as blocks on vital railway lines leading from the Soviet republics to Moldova (King 2000: 191). Chisinau backed down and released the leaders, but the fallout from these events meant an inerasable mutual mistrust. From then on, the propensity and magnitude of confrontations increased. In December, 1991, in the midst of the formal dissolution of the Soviet Union, an overwhelming majority of the PMR electorate voted the pro-secessionist Igor Smirnov into office as president (Kolstå et al. 1993: 985; Kaufman 1996: 128). In Moldova proper, Snegur, unopposed (mostly due to an unfair election law), won the presidential election (Fane 1993: 126). In the latter part of December 1991, clashes again erupted, and from February to June 1992, regular fighting took place between Moldovan and PMR forces. The civil war ended at the climactic battle of Bender on June 20-21, 1992 when the Russian 14th army, stationed in the PMR and supporting the separatists all along (see the section below), intervened and ended four months of fighting, which had cost 1,000 dead or wounded and internally displaced 130,000 (King 2000: 178). Russian President Yeltsin engaged in negotiations with Snegur and secured a ceasefire agreement on July 21, 1992. The Political Development of the Post-Conflict Years Moldova’s catastrophic start as an independent nation influenced the postconflict developments from the latter part of 1992 to the end of 1994. During these years, all sides of the political spectrum in Chisinau argued for reconciliation and moderation, which led to less fierce struggles among the elite and only minor volatility in democratic performance, compared to the cases of Ukraine and Belarus. After fighting ended in summer 1992, a national consensus government was formed under the new Prime Minister Andrei Sangheli with special portfolios reserved for ministers from Transnistria23 and another separatistminded region, the Gagauz (King 1994b: 359; Kolstå et al. 1993: 995). In the period that followed, the Snegur-Sangheli leadership tried to deal with the ethnic mistrust created during the Transnistrian conflict. In addition to the inclusive government offered, they authorized the use of Russian in official correspondence in February 1993, and suspended the restrictive

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language laws discriminating against Russian-speaking state employees in July (King 2000: 159-160, 173). All these measures effectively put an end to discussions of language discrimination and, thus, effectively strengthened Moldova’s civil rights regime (C7). In a speech in December 1992, as a natural part of this moderation process, President Snegur cut all ties to what he termed “the extremists” from the MPF. The pan-Romanian chairman of the parliament, Alexandru Moşanu, resigned after an unsuccessful attempt to reignite public protests against this. Moşanu was subsequently replaced by Petru Lucinschi, ambassador to Moscow and former Moldovan Politbureau member. With the strongest opposition, the MPF, being gradually sidelined, the leadership of the parliament was becoming more in sync with the policy line of Snegur and Sangheli (Crowther 1997: 302-3). During 1993 and 1994, the political landscape further stabilized and the moderate ruling elites showed a willingness to pursue sound macroeconomic and democratic reforms. On October 14, 1993, a new and more fair election law was passed (strengthening the electoral regime (A4)), and the parliamentary elections on February 27 1994 were, fairly uncritical of the government, and generally free and fair, apart from some administrative pressure in the countryside and from smaller biased in state media (IFES 1994: 38). The Agrarians – moderate, reformed communists like Snegur, Sangheli and Lucinschi – won a majority with 56 of 101 seats (Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 53). Completing the political transformation from a war-torn, failed state to a relatively well-functioning and pluralistic country, a new constitution was introduced in July 1994. Unseen before in the CIS, this constitution guaranteed special autonomous status for the PMR and the Gagauz region and established a premier-presidential model that granted strong powers to the constitutional court and parliament, thus effectively strengthening Moldova’s horizontal accountability (D9). Though Snegur had argued for stronger presidential powers, his case was ignored by the parliament’s constitutional commission. He simply lacked the parliamentary support that his Belarusian counterpart, Prime Minister Kebich, enjoyed, and therefore he had no other choice than to accept the new constitution peacefully (Matsuzato 2006: 329-330). Thus, although Snegur had earlier on encroached upon the political rights regime (B5) by adopting and frequently using a restrictive press law to silence critical media (Nedelciuc et al. 1997: 154-155), his time in office was marked by a national conciliation in Moldova proper and general progress in democratic performance, both with regard to the electoral rights regime (free and fair elections (A4)), the civil rights regime (liberalizing ethnic restrictions (C7)), and the regime of horizontal accountability

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(introducing checks and balances in the new constitution (D9)). The civil war with Transnistria had discredited the radicalism propagated by the MPF and the moderate forces of Moldova proper easily outperformed the opposition. Hence, at the end of the 1991–1994 period, the main conflict line in Moldovan politics was not, as in Ukraine and Belarus, that between ruling and oppositional elites, but rather one between two sets of ruling elites, one governing Moldova proper and the other controlling the unrecognized Transnistrian Republic. Acquiescing A Great Power: Russian Influence on Moldova’s Political Development Right from the beginning of the Transnistrian conflict, Russian involvement was quite significant. As in the case with Crimea, Russia’s ability to shape events was made possible primarily through a combination of strong, preexisting economic and social linkages to the secessionist region and local political elites in Tiraspol pursuing facilitative gatekeeping towards Moscow in the hope that this would help them settle the conflict in their favor. Even though the actions of the Russian 14th army, the conservative majority in the Russian parliament, Vice President Rutskoi, and Chairman Khasbulatov, on the one hand, and President Yeltsin and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, on the other, were far from synchronized, and sometimes even contradictory, Russian impact on events in Moldova was substantial and pivotal for the consolidation of the PMR regime, thus negatively affecting the effective power to rule regime (E10) of Moldova proper. As with the Black Sea Fleet in Crimea, the command of the 14th Russian army, stationed in Transnistria, repeatedly condemned central Moldovan authorities and overtly supported the secessionist actions taken by the political elites in the PMR. The PMR leadership naturally felt that they had a powerful force, a “protection racket”, backing their every step towards confrontation (King 1994a: 106-107, 110; Akaev 1996; King 2000: 191). In December 1991, just before the outburst of civil war-like violence, a Transnistrian Directorate for Defense and Security was created under the Russian army commander, Lieutenant-General Yakovlev (Lynch 2000: 113), and in March 1992, Yakovlev made it crystal clear that the army was ready to support Transnistrians if the fighting continued (Izvestia, 18 March 1992). All along, the 14th army provided personnel and material (Lynch 2000: 116; King 2000: 194), and in the pivotal battle of Bender on June 2021 1992, it engaged directly on the side of the PMR and forced the Moldovan troops out of the city, thus effectively ending the military conflict with the Transnistrians as the winners (King 2000: 190-197).

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The 14th army was repeatedly supported by the actions of the Russian conservative, anti-Yeltsin opposition (Lynch 2000: 115). In early April 1992, Vice President Rutskoi came to Tiraspol on his CIS hotspot tour.24 He encouraged the 14th army to play a role so that “people of the Dnestr region can gain their independence and defend it” (Izvestia, 6 April 1992) and condemned Moldovans for trying to “wipe their feet on Russia and its citizens” (King 1994a: 112). Simultaneously, the Congress of People’s Deputies strongly criticized the Russian government for not protecting Russians abroad (Lynch 2000: 115), and when the fighting in Bender unfolded, Rutskoi called it a “bloody slaughter” (King 2000: 194). Hence, as with the Ukrainian case, the conservative forces in Russia provided separatists with external political support and helped bring legitimacy to the image of ethnic purging, propagated by their leadership. Yeltsin and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs under Kozyrev seemed to be pursuing something resembling a dual-track policy. First, the Russian government was silent in the early stages of the conflict in early 1992, quietly renewing financial aid to Tiraspol and allowing the violence to escalate (Kaufman 1996: 131; Lynch 2000: 114). Then, in April, Yeltsin and Andrey Kozyrev acted by strongly condemning the actions of the 14th army and attempting to initiate peace negotiations (Lynch 2000: 114; Küchler 2008: 60). These actions proved futile, however, and Yeltsin gave up trying to control the situation, maybe realizing that a PMR victory was quite desirable from the viewpoint of maintaining a strong Russian influence in Moldova. The Russian president, therefore, silently ignored President Snegur’s repeated attempts to make him stop the overt interference of the 14th army (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 3 June 1992). Several scholars point out that Yeltsin secretly approved the pivotal intervention in Bender (Kolstå et al. 1993: 994; King 1994a: 111; King 2000: 195). In addition, the Russian media, widely watched on both sides of the Dnestr, undertook a massive anti-Moldovan, pro-PMR campaign during the whole conflict (Izvestia, 15 July 1992; Neukirch 2001: 4), and by June, Russia imposed an economic blockade on Moldova, ceasing to deliver food and fuel (Lynch 2000: 117). Thus, Russia played a pivotal role both in the first secessionist steps of the PMR and the actual break with Moldova. This influence was primarily made possible through the use of existing links to the region and to Moldova proper; intergovernmental links (in the form of the 14th army, stationed there), economic links (in the form of dependence on import of Russian energy and food products), information links (Russian TV support of the Transnistrians), and social links (in the form of a large proportion of ethnic Russians living in the PMR). But also the active gatekeeping measures taken by the Transnistrian elites proved crucial for Russia’s ability

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to shape events. Had the political elites in the PMR, fearing to lose out on economic and social privileges, not chosen to escalate tensions and repeatedly call upon Mother Russia for help against, what was propagated as, “ethnic cleansing”, Russian interference would have been much more controversial and possibly less successful. Following the open conflict, the Kremlin and the PMR moved quickly to strengthen intergovernmental and economic links. For one, Yeltsin never refrained from insisting on maintaining Russian troops in the PMR as peacekeepers until a viable political compromise between the two sides could be found. Furthermore, in the latter part of 1992 and the first part of 1993, Russia gave financial support to industry in the PMR, supplied the separatist regime with food and other consumer goods, and extended substantial credits for buying grain and flour, “reinforcing de facto dismemberment of Moldova” (Lynch 2000: 119) and thereby severely restricting the democratically elected government in Chisinau in effectively ruling over the whole territory of the country (E10). Reconciliation and Forced Linkage-Building The post-conflict relationship between Moldova and Russia was characterized by Chisinau ruling elites’ careful attempt to avoid raising the conflict level by seeking a restrained resumption of intergovernmental and economic ties, and by Moscow constantly pushing for widening Moldovan participation in CIS-initiatives, primarily through its economic links. As a first conciliatory step, President Snegur applied for full membership in the CIS in October 1992 by signing the 1991 Alma Ata declaration (Lynch 2000: 119). But when the CIS Charter was agreed upon in January 1993, Snegur refused to sign it (Crowther 1997: 298). The Kremlin did not react at first since the Moldovan leadership was preparing to ease restrictions on the Russian language and was close to accepting an economic agreement that reestablished trade links (Lynch 2000: 118). But from August 1993 (when Yeltsin and the Russian parliament were in deep conflict, and the President needed to show his strength vis-à-vis the FSU republics), Moscow intensified its efforts to force the Moldovan parliament to join the CIS Economic Union and sign the 1991 Alma Ata Declaration by imposing customs duties and excise taxes on Moldova’s primary export, agricultural products, pricing them out of the Russian markets. Only a month later, the Moldovan parliament accepted joining the CIS economically, but postponed ratification until after the February 1994 parliamentary elections (Garnett & Lebenson 1998: 27). On November 29, Yeltsin lifted the excise taxes (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 4 Dec. 1993), and in December, Moldovan Prime Minister Sangheli traveled to Moscow and

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secured a favorable energy deal, strengthening the pro-government Agrarians a few months before elections (IFES Report 1994: 33). Thus, apart from the weakening of the Moldovan authorities’ effective power to rule (E10) connected to the secession of the PMR, the 1991–1994 period did not see Russia affecting Moldova’s democratic performance in any other way. The democratizing steps taken in the first years of independence were neither supported nor severely obstructed by Russia. Rather, the Kremlin seemed most concerned with getting Moldova to participate in the Russian-sponsored efforts to create integration via the CIS. The ruling elites in Chisinau reluctantly went along, fearing that any resistance to the expansion of intergovernmental and economic linkages would only result in again fanning the flames of the Transnistrian conflict. Calling the West in Vain In stark contrast with Russia’s strong influence, Europe’s impact on political development in Moldova in the early 1990s was only minimal. As the West had enough to do with wars in the Balkans and the Gulf, pursuing intensive conflict-resolution measures in the tiny, strategically unimportant Moldova was simply never on the radar. Only after the actual fighting in Moldova was over and only after the Moldovan leadership specifically approached various Western international organizations to raise their interest and to balance Russia, did Europe slowly start to react. As the violence in Moldova escalated in early 1992, Chisinau was left to deal with Russia on its own. The OSCE did nothing more than decide to “keep the situation under review” (Neukirch 2001: 6), thus implicitly legitimizing the view that Moldovan territory was part of Moscow’s legitimate sphere of influence (Wrobel 2004: 61). Once the fighting was over and Snegur had realized that Russia was imposing a permanent split of the country and a permanent military presence in Transnistria, he called the West in desperation, hoping to get them to help improve the unfavorable settlement. First in July 1992, and then again in November, he asked the OSCE to establish a peacekeeping operation, and in November 1992, he appealed to the UN to participate as observers in negotiations with the 14th army. But only in mid-December 1992, did he succeed. At the OSCE Council in Stockholm, the Western powers agreed on a resolution, for the first time, calling for a rapid withdrawal of the 14th army (Lynch 2000: 117-118). In February 1993, a small permanent mission was set up in Chisinau. For a long time, this was Chisinau’s only intergovernmental link to Europe – no European embassies or EU offices were established until early 1996 (Büscher 2000: 198-199). Even though the OSCE did not succeed in

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securing withdrawal of the Russian troops nor find a viable solution to the political conflict, the organization worked to counterweight Russian dominance. Without this involvement, Moldova would have been much more vulnerable to Russian pressure, and it is, therefore, reasonable to argue that the Moldovan decision makers’ effective power to rule (E10) would have been even further circumscribed. The EU, in contrast, still did not show much interest in Moldova. So again, Snegur had to take the first step. On November 1, 1993, at a time when negotiations on PCAs were well underway in both Ukraine and Belarus, he sent a letter to EU Commission President Jacques Delores pointing out the lack of defined relations between Europe and Moldova. On January 28, 1994, Snegur sent a letter again, this time to both Delores and Greek Council President Teodores Panglos, calling for the start of negotiations on a PCA as soon as possible (Phinnemore 2006: 5). Again, he succeeded in breaking the silence, and in the following month, negotiations were opened, financial support for the 1994 reforms was released from TACIS along with credits from the IMF and the World Bank (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 18 Nov. 1993), and by November 28 that same year, the PCA was signed, establishing the first stable intergovernmental link to the EU (Wrobel 2004: 62). In sum, then, in the early 1990s, EU policy with regard to Moldova’s political development was one of neglect and thus, the impact of EU influence was marginal, facilitated primarily by the Moldovan ruling elites acting as eager gatekeepers. The positive developments in the country’s democratic performance were not specifically encouraged or rewarded, and not until summer 1994, when the improvements were already in place, did the EU become fully active. Only through the OSCE did the European powers make a difference, as the establishment of the OSCE office counterbalanced Russian hegemony on the Transnistrian issue, thereby cushioning further weakening of Moldovan leaders’ effective power to rule (E10). Comparing Gatekeepers and External Impact During the first years of the 1990s, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova were all hit hard by economic crises and inter-elite struggles for power. The central governments of Ukraine and Moldova were, in addition, challenged by serious territorial disputes with secessionist regions. Stuck in such muddy waters, the newly independent nations were easy prey for external actors seeking to exert influence, and gatekeeper elites inside each of the countries were eager to enlist external backing in an attempt to secure political and economic dividends. Russia and the EU, however, did not show the same

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willingness to intervene, and gatekeepers in the three countries did not react in the same way. Consequently, the impact on democratic performance of the external actors differed markedly. Recalling the analytical framework and the theoretical argument introduced in Chapters 2 and 3, let me summarize the findings from this first time-period, extracting some more general tendencies.   In Ukraine, the oppositional elites of both Eastern Ukraine and the Crimean peninsula as well as the ruling elites in Kiev were the important gatekeepers of the period. President Kravchuk was never strong enough to monopolize his country’s gatekeeping scene, and as a consequence, oppositional elites enjoyed the freedom to independently facilitate support from external actors. From the outset, Kravchuk made a clear foreign policy choice by cutting several intergovernmental and economic ties to Russia (obstructing CIS integration, redirecting trade flows, and quitting the ruble zone), while simultaneously building strong linkages to the West from scratch. In doing so, the president mustered substantial financial support and gained important geopolitical partners in Brussels and Washington. But with his defiant attitude, he also angered Moscow. And as powerful linkages with Russia still existed and oppositional elites showed readiness to further expand ties, Russia remained strong enough to weaken Kravchuk’s position, which it did by destabilizing the economy and strengthening his opponents. Nonetheless, the president continued his Western-oriented gatekeeping strategy. Thus, it seems that Kravchuk was mainly driven by value-related motivations for securing Ukrainian independence from a Russia perceived to pursue a neo-imperialist foreign policy. Had he first and foremost desired to stay in power, it would have been rational for him to give up on some of the conflicts with Russia, as his Belarusian counterparts did, thereby possibly secure cheaper energy and a healthier, stable economy, both exchangeable for popular support. Of course his voter base in the Western parts of the country supported his defiance, but as the majority of the public increasingly favored stronger ties to Russia (Kubicek 2000: 279) it was indeed irrational from a vote-maximization perspective. In fact, following a more acquiescent line towards Moscow might have enabled Kravchuk to more strongly oppose the challenge coming from the clans of Eastern Ukraine, if not overcome them, and to have more resolutely ended the separatism on Crimea before it became the serious threat to territorial integrity it did. Instead oppositional elites from both the east and the south arose to (successfully) secure Russian backing. Without their willingness to enlist Moscow, Russia would not have been able to influence the electoral regime (A4) and the effective power to rule regime (E10) the way it did.

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These partners inside Ukraine simply made Russia’s destabilizing, negative influence more powerful and more effective. In Belarus, the situation was quite different. In the first years of independence, President Shushkevich and Prime Minister Kebich were the main gatekeepers, the former trying to build links to the West, the latter to Russia. But differences in their formal powers and the varying strength of their support base resulted in Kebich slowly depriving Shushkevich of his gatekeeping powers, thus halting linkage-building to the West and speeding up the formation of intergovernmental and economic ties to Russia. Clearly, both rational and value-driven motives came together for Kebich – he obviously felt more attracted to integrating with Russia than with the West, and at the same time, he seemed to be fully aware that he could extract significant advantages from such a relationship, making efforts to defeat possible opponents and strengthen authoritarian state-building much easier. In Moldova, the gatekeeping scene became heavily polarized already in the years leading up to independence. The political elites of the Transnistrian region, holding vast economic resources and traditionally enjoying political privileges, challenged the rising ruling elites of Moldova proper by playing the separatist card. As a part of this strategy, they successfully expanded links to Russian opposition politicians, the military, and later the Kremlin as well. Through these links, diplomatic support, ample resources and military protection were provided, enabling the Transnistrian elites to achieve de facto independence and secure their political survival. Moldova’s President Snegur, in contrast, desperately tried to establish ties to the West. Though the West’s response was slow, the intensive efforts paid off, and important intergovernmental and economic linkages were established, allowing Europe to more effectively balance Russian influence, thus minimizing negative impact on democratic performance. Summing up, gatekeeping was definitely a part of the game in the early 1990s. In all three cases, linkages were deliberately developed, cut or ignored, and as such, gatekeepers played a crucial role in facilitating or restraining the degree and character of the external actors’ influences. Despite the many voices in its foreign policy, Russia had a negative impact on democratic performance in all three countries. The goal, however, was not promotion of authoritarianism per se. Rather, by using the strategies of reinforcement-by-punishment (ex-ante imposing costs on the countries, trying to force them into doing something) and reinforcement-by-reward (ex-post rewarding the countries for doing something) towards ruling elites and reinforcement by support (ex-ante giving benefits, expecting acquiescent behavior ex-post) towards oppositional elites in secessionist

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regions, Moscow sought to gain concessions on geopolitical issues like military bases and CIS integration. EU influence, on the other hand, was much smaller, and it varied more from case to case. In Ukraine and Belarus, the impact of Brussels, and the West in general, on the countries’ democratic performances was mainly indirect and negative. The increasingly undemocratic performance of Kravchuk/Kuchma and the clear authoritarian steps taken by Kebich/Lukashenka were, through the use of reinforcement-by-support, not only indirectly politically legitimized, but also indirectly financially reinforced. Only in Moldova, and only through the OSCE, did Europe have a positive impact on the effective power to rule regime (E10) – when the OSCE finally engaged in the Transnistrian conflict and opened an office in Chisinau, thus establishing the intergovernmental link necessary to effectively mediate and balance Russia’s hegemonic status. The actions of the external actors under study were not sufficient factors for explaining the changes in democratic performance taking place in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. But Russia and, to a much smaller degree, the EU contributed to strengthening and constraining domestic actors in all three cases. And as such, they shaped the unfolding struggles of these elites, which were to prove so critical for determining political developments in all three cases in the years to come.

Notes 1

Representatives of the Western regions were surprisingly marginalized. From March 1990 to December 1993, the Russian parliament consisted of the Congress of People’s Deputies, which was only required to convene every year (but did so ten times between 1990 and 1993), and the Supreme Soviet, legislating in between these congresses. In October 1993, a bicameral structure with a lower house (the Duma) and an upper house (the Federation Council) was established after Yeltsin defeated his opponents by bombing the White House. 3 The “Near Abroad” is a term conservative Russians used when referring to territory comprised by the post-Soviet republics. 4 At this point, the European Union was known as the European Community. It did not become a union until November 1993, when the Maastrict Treaty took effect. To avoid confusion, I will use the term the EU throughout this book. 5 Kravchuk was a long-time Communist serving in the agitation and propaganda department of the Central Committee, and from 1988 heading the ideology department as chairman. 6 Fokin was a State Planning stalwart, issuing massive credits to run-down industries and agriculture and doing everything possible to hold off privatization. 2

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7 The rents extracted in these early years were, according to one estimate, so large that they approximately equaled the country’s GDP (Åslund 2009: 5556). 8 In 1992, he tried to avert privatization of state-owned media by decreeing it a strategic item that should be exempt from privatization (Prizel 1997: 351), and later he issued a secret directive encouraging (or mandating) radio and TV to ban criticism of the government and its policies (Motyl 1993: 15). 9 Until December 1994, the OSCE was called the CSCE. To avoid confusion, it is referred to as the OSCE throughout this book. 10 In 1990, the make-up was 68.4 percent Russian/25.6 percent Ukrainian (Melvin 1995: 90) 11 Crimea was already one of the poorest regions in Ukraine. 12 Recall the various types of linkages listed in Table 3.1. 13 The withdrawal, however, kept protracting until late 1992. Remaining within the zone simply allowed the National Bank of Ukraine to generously issue ruble credits to domestic banks, which could then loan to ailing and cashstrapped domestic enterprises. This seemingly “costless” scheme ensured that the rent-seeking deputies in the Rada could satisfy their support base, but it also led to a “monetary mess” and hyperinflation of 1,210 percent (Prizel 1997: 348; Åslund 2009: 37). 14 Indeed, according to polls conducted from 1992 to 1995, a majority of Russians thought that Russians and Ukrainians belonged to the same nation (Tolz 2002: 237, 240-241). 15 For instance, the Russian National Salvation Front and the ultranationalistic LDPR set up branches in Sevastopol in 1993 and openly joined forces with political actors (Smith & Wilson 1997: 860; Simonsen 2000: 293, 295), and the Russian command of the Black Sea Fleet eagerly supported the separatists (Kuzio 2007: 113) 16 For more on this issue, see Chapter 5. 17 Also during the 1994 presidential elections, Russia openly interfered, even more intensely, affecting the fairness and impartialness of the electoral regime (A4) by casting weight behind not a fair process, but a particular candidate: Kravchuk’s main rival, Kuchma (advocating a more friendly stance towards Russia), was given financial support for his campaign, and Russian state-controlled TV support throughout his campaign, as it was widely watched in Ukraine at this time, and Yeltsin went so far as to directly address the Ukrainian voters on TV, advising them to vote for Kuchma (Bukkvoll 2001: 1143). 18 For detailed introductions on this issue, see Potter (1995) and Deyermond (2008: 68-85). 19 During the August 1991 coup against Gorbachev, the Belarusian chairman of the parliament was discredited for supporting the Putschists. In comparison, Ukrainian Chairman, and later President, Kravchuk, acted more ambiguously – clearly waiting for events to produce a clear winner. 20 By 1995, economic output had fallen by less than that in the Baltic States and Poland, but the level of income and social protection, however, was lower (Zlotnikov 2002: 134). 21 This amount equaled the cost of an average residential blockhouse (Danilovich 2006).

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22 39.9 percent were Moldovans, 28.3 Ukrainians, and 25.5 percent were Russians. 23 The PMR, however, refused to take part in it. 24 This was only the first among a steady stream of visits from high-level Russian officials.

5 Ruling Elites Regain Control: 1995–1999

While the first period after the dissolution of the USSR was characterized by a high degree of unpredictability and uncertainty connected to the earthshattering changes that took place across the post-Soviet space, the development in the next phase, 1995–1999, was much more linear. Not that these years were void of political and economic volatility – fierce struggles between the political elites continued, and economic crises returned. But at this point, the battles were more secluded, and periods of flux were interwoven with periods of calm. True, this was an unstable period but also one in which the ruling elites of the three countries strengthened their powers and consolidated their states. In Russia, President Yeltsin had to deal with similar challenges: regime consolidation in times still characterized by both political and economic turbulence. In the December 1995 Duma elections, the Communist Party (CPRF) made a powerful comeback and won almost a quarter of the votes. The parliamentary support that Yeltsin had hoped for gravely failed to materialize, and with single-digit support ratings in January 1996, his chances of winning the June presidential elections seemed close to nil. Yeltsin, however, made it through the first round and beat Communist leader Gennadii Zyuganov in the run-off in July (McFaul 2001: 285-287, 298-301). During the campaign, the president received ample support from a group of extremely rich bank oligarchs interested in securing their resources from a communist clampdown. From mid-1996 to autumn 1998, these oligarchs converted their campaign support into substantial political and economic influence, establishing what has been described as semibankirshchina, the rule of the seven bankers (Freeland 2000). This extreme oligarchic influence ended when the Asian financial crisis hit in late 1997 and the ruble crashed in autumn 1998. Only then were economic reforms and state consolidation

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unavoidable (Åslund 2007: 173-180). In September 1999, the second Chechen War erupted, and Yeltsin appointed the fairly unknown chief of the federal intelligence agency, the FSB, Vladimir Putin, as his new prime minister. Putin succeeded in actually making the government popular and, for the first time, even helped secure a parliamentary support base in the Duma elections in December 1999. On New Year’s Eve, Yeltsin resigned, and Putin took over. Throughout these years, Yeltsin had been a weak president despite his strong formal powers. His deteriorating health kept him away from politics for long periods of time, and a small group of oligarchs along with Yeltsin’s closest associates, known as the “family”, increasingly took advantage of his absence. At the same time, the Duma repeatedly tried to impeach the president and force him to make several political concessions. Yeltsin, however, impressively managed to steer through the politically turbulent years. Only with regard to foreign policy did a certain degree of agreement prevail. The assertive and dominance-focused stance towards the FSU republics strengthened in these years. And in January 1996, Yevgenii Primakov replaced the pro-Western Kozyrev as foreign minister, signaling the complete collapse of the more moderate external policy pursued during the early 1990s (Tsygankov 2006: 91-94). For the EU, the period from 1995 to 1999 was marked by a two-tier process. Internal developments were defined by deliberations on institutional reforms (resulting in the much watered-down Amsterdam Treaty in October 1997), and preparations for introducing the European Monetary Union (EMU) (Dinan 1999: 169-170, 178-181). External developments were dominated by the process of developing effective tools to manage the enlargement process with the Central and Eastern European countries and the challenges of instability in the Balkans. At the Essen summit in December 1994, the political decision was made to go ahead with Eastern enlargement, and the Commission was tasked with drawing up a white paper on how to proceed with the process. This resulted in Agenda 2000, finally presented in July 1997, in which the Commission, based on careful evaluations of all applicants, declared only six countries (Poland, Hungary, Czech Republic, Slovenia, Estonia and Cyprus) membership-ready (Michalski 2006: 288). During 1998 and 1999, the Commission developed an effective screening process, issuing Regular Reports on the progress of all candidates, drawing up Accession Partnerships, which pinpointed goals to be fulfilled. In effect, the EU’s “active leverage” was gradually developed and substantiated in this period, strengthening the Union’s ability to, through the principle of conditionality, effectively push political, economic, and administrative reforms forward in countries interested in strengthening their

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relationship with Europe (Vachudova 2005). In addition to concerns of enlargement, the EU faced growing concerns over the constantly erupting violence in the Balkans, which fueled the wish to strengthen the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) (Dinan 1999: 178-181). Hence, in the latter part of the 1990s, political elites in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova faced an increasingly assertive and democracy-promoting EU, and a Russia that was intent on regaining influence in its neighborhood but still coping with frequent political and economic crises of its own. The external actors surrounding the three countries became more and more antagonistic toward each other, and several of the gatekeepers in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova found it necessary to fine-tune their external relations. Ukraine 1995–1999 In the 1991–1994 period, Ukraine was characterized by a severe economic crisis as well as a continuing political struggle between both President Kravchuk and the Rada, and central Kiev and the secessionist forces in Crimea. While relations with the West were warm, because Ukraine had given up its nuclear weapons, relations with Russia vacillated, dominating the political agenda due to a range of disputes over energy, Ukrainian independence, the status of Crimea and the Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol. By the end of 1994, the secessionism in Crimea had lost its drive, and the new president, Leonid Kuchma, began reforming the economy to fight hyperinflation and economic decline. In the 1995–1999 period, Kuchma remained at the helm but struggled with many of the same issues that haunted his predecessor. In the first two years, the obstructive Rada was cowed in a fierce constitutional struggle, and economic reforms were halted. Ukraine started its descent into deep corruption and cronyism, with Kuchma as the main distributor, trying to balance various clans. In the latter part of the period, the president consolidated his rule by swiftly managing, first, the 1998 parliamentary elections and, then, his 1999 re-election. As Table 5.1 depicts, democratic performance was in steep decline. Kuchma’s Creeping Authoritarianism During the 1994-1996 years of Kuchma’s first term, a bitter struggle was fought between president and parliament over constitutional competencies. In April 1995, Kuchma proposed a draft constitution that significantly strengthened presidential powers; only two months later, he issued a decree calling for a referendum to solve the matter. The deputies in the Rada fiercely opposed the proposal, but eventually they were forced to give in.

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While Kuchma had won popularity with the electorate for bringing the economy under control, the parliamentarians were deeply mistrusted and therefore bound to also lose the referendum. Table 5.1 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 1995–1999 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Biased and fraudulent parliamentary and presidential elections 1998/1999 (A1, A3, A4)

B. Political Rights

Strong state control of media (B5)

C. Civil Rights

Killing of political opponents 1998/1999 (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Super-presidential Constitution with few checks and balances 1996 (D9) Hundreds of violations of the Constitution (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

Still problems with controlling Crimea 1995-1996 (E10) In periods losing control over the economy due to Russian energy and trade sanctions(E10)

At first, a compromise was struck. A mini-constitutional agreement strongly strengthening presidential powers, bringing Ukraine closer to Russia’s post-1993 super-presidential system, was adopted, but this was only intended to apply for one year, until a full constitutional reform could

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be agreed upon (Wolczuk 1997: 163-5). But a more viable solution still had to be worked out, and the president and the parliament remained staunchly opposed. On June 28, 1996, a new constitution was adopted, but this was only after Kuchma, in addition to renewing his call for a referendum, had implicitly threatened to introduce emergency rule (Prizel 1997: 359). The new constitution introduced much stronger executive powers at the expense of a weakened parliament (Wolczuk 1997: 166-7). Though it was not clear whether Kuchma was empowered by the old constitution to really call for such a referendum (D’Anieri 2003: 60), the president had, without resorting to violence, outmaneuvered the parliament, the second-most powerful institution in Ukraine. With that, he had dealt the first serious blow to horizontal accountability (D9), so crucial for checking executive power. Gaining Economic Control and Acquiescing Political and Economic Elites Emboldened by his political victories, Kuchma went even further in his efforts to concentrate power. But throughout, he was careful not to anger his most powerful rivals. Repression of political opponents was mixed with a strategy of acquiescing rapacious clan-members and parliamentarians through the distribution of political and economic rents. Kuchma’s economic policy in the latter part of the 1990s neatly illustrates this strategy of cooptation. As noted in the previous chapter, the president began his first term with radical economic reforms, marking Ukraine’s decisive shift to a market economy. As a result, the budget deficit shrank from 8.7 percent of GDP in 1994 to 3.2 percent in 1996, and inflation declined from 401 percent in 1994 to 182 percent in 1995 to 40 percent in 1996 to 10 percent in 1997 (Åslund 2009: 75). Ukraine’s economy was back on track, and for this, the president won considerable support among the electorate. But on April 4, 1995, Kuchma reversed his policy, making a “stateregulated transition to a social-market economy” (Åslund 2009: 86-87) – that is, a return to macroeconomic negligence and state-run rent distribution. During the latter part of the 1990s, economic reforms were effectively slowed down, and Kuchma set himself up as the center of a “personal rulership” (Puglisi 2003b: 99), attempting to balance economic and political rents, first and foremost, among the powerful clans in Eastern Ukraine, which enjoyed strong representation in parliament. The former president, Kravchuk, had declined to favor these factions, but Kuchma understood the necessity of keeping them appeased in order to retain power. The energy sector provides a good example of how the balanced rentdistribution worked in practice. Since dubious gas trade was one of the most profitable schemes in the country at this time, sharing the spoils with all powerful interests was important for keeping the peace. Consequently, in

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early 1996, the import of gas for industrial customers was transferred from state hands to eight independent companies, each getting a regional responsibility (Balmaceda 1998: 268-9). Soon after, Kuchma promoted Pavlo Lazarenko, a very rich and powerful man from his own hometown, Dnipropetrovsk, from the influential post of deputy prime minister responsible for energy to the even more powerful post of prime minister.1 Unexpectedly for Kuchma, Lazarenko had even greater political ambitions. Almost immediately, he tilted the careful balance between oligarchic groups by giving priority to the company UESU, owned by his business partner and future “orange princess”, Yulia Tymoshenko (Wilson 2005: 20-21, 39).2 Also in other sectors political power was used to drastically expand his personal wealth. Within a year, 50 percent of Ukraine’s GDP was accounted for by business either directly or indirectly under Lazarenko’s control (Wilson 2002: 187), and his total personal yield in this period has been estimated at somewhere between $500m and $1bn (Åslund 2009: 95). The criminalization of the Ukrainian state had reached a hitherto unseen level, and Lazarenko was becoming a threat not just to the balance between the political oligarchs, but also to the supremacy of the president. As could be expected, a violent conflict between the clans from Lazarenko’s Dnipropetrovsk and rivaling Donetsk arose. But Kuchma was quick to exploit the opportunity to eliminate Lazarenko, who now had become his most powerful opponent. On June 19, 1997, the prime minister was dismissed, and during 1998, balance was fully restored in the energy sector as all state oil and gas enterprises were brought together into Naftohaz Ukrainy. From then on, Kuchma personally controlled the distribution of spoils (Global Witness 2006: 25). In addition, he traveled to Donetsk to make a deal that gave its clan de facto regional control in return for electoral support in the two upcoming elections (Wilson 2005: 12). As monopolization of both political and economic resources was not a viable strategy in Ukraine, Kuchma chose cooptation and rent distribution as the means for maintaining power. As a consequence, the Rada turned into a forum where the old nomenklatura and the new business elites could defend their concentrated interests, lobbying for state subsidies, tax exemptions, and privileged access to profitable companies. Tellingly, onethird of the deputies elected for parliament in 1998 were businessmen (up from one-fifth in 1994). A seat was said to cost $1m. In return, each deputy was provided with a political krysha,3 ensuring that his business activities would not be obstructed by the state (Puglisi 2003b: 109; Åslund 2009: 118). Thus, by 1999, Ukraine was clearly caught in an under-reform trap (Åslund 2009: 94) in which “a rent-seeking iron triangle of government, oligarchs, and parliament” (Åslund 2009: 125) were bound together in an attempt to enrich themselves (Puglisi 2003b: 99, 109). Only after Kuchma’s

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re-election on November 14, 1999, when Ukraine was on the verge of default, did the political elite wake up and accept reform, fearing otherwise the same outcome that had begotten the oligarchs in Russia, who lost everything as a result of the financial crash. Silencing Political Dissent and Managing Elections Simultaneously enhancing control of the distribution of economic rents, Kuchma spent the final three years (1997-1999) of his first term in office silencing dissent, concentrating political power in his own hands, and preparing for the parliamentary elections in 1998 and presidential elections in 1999. This “creeping authoritarianism” (Wilson 2002: 195) picked up speed in June 1996 after the president emerged victorious from the constitutional struggle with the parliament. However, the concentration of political power was only accepted as long as Kuchma honored the de facto power-sharing deal with the strong political elites of Eastern Ukraine. In light of this, repression was not targeted at all political opponents but mainly those not willing to accept the state of affairs. The first sign of this creeping authoritarianism was the increasing concentration of political decision-making found in presidential hands. During the first year of the new constitution, Kuchma violated the constitution no less than 200 times (Beichelt 2004: 124), thus further impeding horizontal accountability (D9). From 1997 to 1998, a wave of media harassment swept the country (Solohubenko 2002: 74), effectively muzzling criticism of the president and weakening the political rights regime (B5). As elections drew closer, oppression of political opponents intensified. The prime target was the Hromoda party, controlled by Former Prime Minister Lazarenko and his ally, Yulia Tymoshenko. This capital-intensive party posed the primary challenge to Kuchma’s reelection, and the president therefore hit the two oligarchs’ main asset, their energy company UESU, demanding payment of a $750m tax debt (Wilson 2005: 21). Additionally, in the months before the parliamentary elections on March 29, 1998, proLazarenko papers and TV-programs were closed or suspended, while proKuchma parties and deputies were given full support in state-run media (Diuk 1998: 109; Kubicek 2001: 123). The elections were deemed relatively free, but they were far from fair, thus impeding the electoral regime (A4). In addition, two critical deputies, Natalia Vitrenko and Serhii Holovatyi, were stripped of their seats by a court ruling (Kubicek 2001: 123), furthering the incursion on the electoral regime by disregarding the right of elected candidates to serve their position (A1). But these democratic impediments paid off: Kuchma was left with a more manageable parliament as the ideological right and left parties lost

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ground to a range of more fluent and opportunistic center parties mainly interested in continuing the rent-seeking modus Vivendi of the time (Wilson 2002: 198, 205). After the parliamentary elections were over, Kuchma prepared for the October 1999 presidential elections while potential rivals dropped out of the race one by one. Lazarenko was investigated for corruption, and in November, was arrested in Switzerland, only to flee to the US, where he sought political asylum (Wilson 2002: 201, 265). Lazarenko’s allies, Tymoshenko and the socialist candidate, Oleksandr Moroz, were harassed and discredited in state media (Wilson 2002: 200-201). Rumors had it that Viktor Yushchenko, National Bank chairman and later prime minister, was considering a run for the presidency, where after his potential campaign manager and funder was found murdered. It appears that Yushchenko understood the event as a warning, for he never appeared as a candidate (Åslund 2009: 119). Additionally, in March 1999, Rukh candidate Viacheslav Chernovil died in a mysterious road accident, allegedly set up by Ukrainian Spetsnaz forces (Wilson 2005: 42).4 All these events indicated a severe decline in the civil rights regime of prominent opposition elites (C7) and an electoral dimension becoming more and more skewed both with regards to securing the freedom to candidate for president (A3) and to more generally campaign on equal terms (A4). The conduct of the presidential elections in October and November 1999 only further cemented the picture of Ukraine as a democratic farce. The pre-election process and the vote itself was marred by electoral violations, dirty tricks, tight media control, and administrative pressure (Kubicek 2001: 124; Wilson 2002: 202), infringing on the electoral regime (A1 and A4). Thus, by the end of Kuchma’s first term, most of the partial regimes of democracy had been repeatedly violated, and the tendency appeared on the rise. Ukraine was not just caught in an economic underreform trap but was also descending deeper and deeper into authoritarianism. Gradual Rapprochement with Russia During the 1995–1999 period, the relationship with Russia improved significantly, compared with the first years of Ukrainian independence. Nevertheless, many of the thorny issues from the first period continued to dampen relations. In the 1994 elections, Kuchma had heralded a proRussian turn in foreign policy, but once he won power, not much, except the tone, had changed from the earlier anti-stance (Wolczuk 1997: 160). Russia was still perceived as a threat, not as a partner. With pragmatism at the helm, however, the new president pursued a cautious, non-defiant policy

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towards Moscow but remained assertive in his attempt to reject a strengthening of economic and intergovernmental linkages, thus trying to avoid increasing political and economic dependence. The result was a Russia that continued a policy of territorial and economic destabilization, negatively affecting Ukraine’s effective power to rule regime (E10). However, around 1997, after Kuchma had secured political power and needed a calm external environment prior to the parliamentary and presidential elections, he reversed his position, increasingly showing a willingness to concede economically and politically to his northern neighbor. Russia’s negative influence on Ukraine’s effective power to rule regime (E10) gradually relaxed, and the Kremlin even gave mild support for Kuchma during the 1998 and 1999 elections. Moscow was moving from a policy of destabilization to one of stabilization. Continued Clashes Over the Black Sea Fleet and the Status of Crimea The Crimean separatism that had built up in the early 1990s, peaked in 1994, and quickly deflated when the Crimean parliament and the newly elected Crimean president, Meshkov, fell into disagreement. With the Rada declaring the Crimean Constitution null and void and scrapping the post of president on March 17, 1995, Crimea’s serious attempts to separate from the mainland was ended (Büscher 2000: 204). The disputes with Russia concerning the status of the Black Sea Fleet, Sevastopol and Crimea (and thereby of Ukrainian territorial integrity), however, had not been solved. Well into the second half of the 1990s, Russian politicians continued their pressure on central Ukraine by trying to reignite tensions on the peninsula. On January 12, 1995, Moscow’s prominent Mayor, Yurii Luzhkov, signed a cooperation agreement with Moscow and Sevastopol, promising financial assistance and new houses for Russian sailors, along with kindergartens and schools. Luzhkov provocatively declared that with the agreement, Sevastopol was on the road to receive the status of the 11th prefectoral district of Moscow (Bukkvoll 2001: 1153-4; Kuzio 2007: 73). In March, as Kiev was scrapping the Crimean Constitution, the Duma’s Committee on CIS matters was working hard to re-unite the fragmented, separatist Russia Bloc (Bukvoll 2001: 1149), and the Russian consulate in Sevastopol started issuing Russian passports to the citizens of the peninsula, even though double citizenship was not allowed under Ukrainian law. Simultaneously, Yeltsin made it clear that a Treaty of Friendship, recognizing Ukrainian independence, would not be signed until Russian minority rights were guaranteed. In April, Russia’s Foreign Minister Kozyrev seconded him, clarifying that Russia was ready to resort to diplomatic, political, economic and even military means to protect its citizens abroad (Wydra 2003: 119). All along, Russian media, widely used

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on the peninsula, consistently reproduced the harsh rhetoric of the Russian politicians. Thus, in the period when a solution to the conflict between Kiev and Simferopol seemed to be materializing, Russia was instead pushing to reignite tensions by threatening interference and trying to mobilize both the Crimean population and its elites against central authorities in Kiev. In an attempt to control the situation and minimize Russian influence, Kuchma tried to cut information linkages. In autumn 1995, direct broadcasts from Russian TV were banned on the pretense of boosting the use of the Ukrainian language (Åslund 2009: 116). In October and December, the newly elected Russian Duma and the upper house, the Federation Council, retaliated by raising the flag in various resolutions, declaring the city of Sevastopol Russian (Bukkvoll 2001: 1149; Kuzio 2007: 114). This was further pronounced by Luzhkov’s visit to Sevastopol again in January 1996 during which he declared that the city “was and remains a Russian city” (Wise & brown 1998: 131). It seemed impossible for Ukraine to effectively put an end to these Russian destabilization measures without giving concessions, which Kuchma finally did. On May 28, 1997, the prime ministers of the two countries5 signed an agreement on the Black Sea Fleet. The fleet was split in two, and Russia bought the lion share of Ukraine’s part and was allowed to lease the port facilities in Sevastopol until 2017 for $98m a year. In return, the Kremlin credited a $526m gas debt to Gazprom and paid a $200m debt for the 1992 transfer of nuclear weapons. Three days later, Kuchma and Yeltsin finally signed the Treaty on Friendship, Cooperation and Partnership, in which Russia recognized the country’s independence (Åslund 2009: 101-102; Balmaceda 2008: 28). Russia had achieved what it had aimed for all along – a permanent military presence in the most important Soviet successor state, a strong intergovernmental link. Not unexpected, once this goal was achieved, the talk of the violation of Russian minority rights and the annexation of Crimea simply faded away. Ukraine, on its part, had paid off some of its debts and, for the first time since independence, received recognition of its territorial integrity.6 As a result, the Ukrainian leadership at last fully acquired effective power to rule (E10) the whole of Ukraine, and President Kuchma had taken the first step to ensure Moscow’s support for his authoritarian state-building. Energy and Trade: Turning the Heat on the Ukrainian Economy Up and Down Russian destabilization in the first part of the 1995–1999 period took other forms as well. As in the early 1990s, Ukraine’s effective power to rule

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regime (E10) was further impeded through actions in energy- and traderelated issues. For most of the period, the fear of economic destabilization by Russia was ever present, and Moscow repeatedly used its economic linkages to discipline Ukraine, forcing through concessions in the form of intergovernmental and economic linkage-building important to the Kremlin and the Russian oligarchs supporting the Yeltsin regime. Throughout the period, Russia threatened to reduce energy supplies at least five times,7 and on two occasions, the threats were implemented.8 In addition, the use of economic levers was expanded to include devastating trade restrictions.9 None of these destabilizing measures were imposed to reverse the decline in democratic performance taking place under Kuchma. Rather, on most occasions, Moscow seems to have been trying to affect disputes on Crimea, the Black Sea Fleet, CIS-integration, and possibly dubious earnings from gas trade. Not surprisingly, most of the trade restrictions were scrapped after a deal on the Black Sea Fleet had been reached and after Kuchma had effectively dealt with then-Prime Minister Lazarenko’s attempt to monopolize profits in the Ukrainian gas business, thereby also securing the resumption of rent flows to the distributer Itera, closely connected to Gazprom.10 Most likely, both the broader geopolitical motive as well as the narrow interests of Russian economic elites led Yeltsin and Gazprom to sanction the Ukrainian economy, attempting to change the obstructive gatekeeping pursued by the ruling elites of Kiev. No matter what, the sanctions proved effective, taking its toll not only on the national budget but also on the profits made by the Ukrainian oligarchs. The Ukrainian economy was further destabilized, thus, effectively circumscribing Kuchma’s power to control financial policy (E10). To remain in good standing with both the population and with rival political elites, the situation had to be brought under control before the parliamentary and presidential elections of 1998 and 1999 took place. Kuchma Gradually Secures Russian Support Trade relations and gas relations remained distorted until November 1997, when frosty bilateral relations began to thaw. Substantial improvements were felt in February and March 1998, when first, the VAT from Ukrainian exports was removed, and then Kuchma and Yeltsin, under great mediaexposure, signed a treaty on economic cooperation for the period 19982007, envisioning great improvements in bilateral trade and allowing for greater Russian involvement in the privatization of a number of enterprises. Further improvements were felt in early March when a protocol was signed with Gazprom for gas deliveries and a repayment schedule for the $900m gas debt (Smolansky 1999: 50, 51, 54).

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The timing was interesting. The March 1998 parliamentary elections and 1999 presidential elections were drawing near, and Kuchma was standing before the Ukrainian electorate for the first time since his election in 1994. Most likely, the outlook of facing strong Russian pressure in this period made Kuchma soften his Russia policy. From 1997, the president changed his gatekeeping strategy and sought pragmatic solutions to many of the thorny issues that had hampered bilateral relations. In return, Russia toned down its destabilizing sanctions. A new era in Russo-Ukrainian relations was beginning to form. Moscow still used sanctions to extract concessions on, in particular, CIS-cooperation,11 but from then on these sanctions were timed so that they did not clash with important events in Ukraine’s political cycle. The Kremlin did not try to pro-actively influence either the parliamentary or the presidential election results. But by putting a halt to its punitive economic sanctions and by heralding in the beginning of a new era, Russia was in effect showing at least implicit support for Kuchma’s authoritarian state-building. The period of intense political and economic destabilization was over, at least for now. Strengthening Ties to the West, but Avoiding Criticism When Kuchma came to power in 1994, he significantly toned down his proclaimed Eurasian drive. Instead, Kravchuk’s European and transatlantic choice was continued and made a cornerstone of foreign policy (Kubicek 2003: 156). A range of intergovernmental linkages to the EU, the CoE, NATO and the US were forged, Ukraine joined the CoE, and cooperation with the US was expanded. In return for geopolitical abidance, economic links steadily increased, and the inflow of financial aid from the IMF, the World Bank, the US and, to a lesser degree, the EU grew, which in effect helped to keep the faltering Ukrainian economy afloat. President Kuchma made lofty promises about his intentions to reform the economy and strengthen democracy. But none of these promises were made good on, and Ukraine’s economic and democratic performance steadily declined, though the EU and the US continued to provide political and economic support for Kuchma and his authoritarian state-building Kuchma was very active in foreign policy in the latter 1990s, eager to establish closer and closer ties to the West and to position Ukraine as a strategic geopolitical partner. In May 1995, while Russia was trying to reignite tensions in Crimea, US President Bill Clinton visited Kiev, praising Kuchma, and a joint Ukrainian-US military drill within the framework of NATO’s PfP program was held, attended by US Secretary of State William Perry (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 12 May 1995; Kommersant-Daily, 26 May 1995). On June 1, Kuchma and EU Commission President Jacques Santer

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met and signed a Temporary Agreement on Trade, replacing the PCA until its ratification. By early July, Kuchma finished a hasty roundtrip to each of the G-7 leaders in search of financial support (Segodnya, 5 July 1995), and on November 9, Ukraine became a member of the CoE, several months before Russia did (Segodnya, 11 Nov. 1995). In February 1996, Kuchma traveled to Washington to receive Freedom House’s Freedom Award for “contributions to world peace, regional security and inter-ethnic cooperation” (previously granted to Eisenhower, Churchill, Dalai Lama, and Vaclav Havel). He met with President Clinton and Vice President Al Gore, as well as representatives from the IMF and the World Bank. This led to both new loans, intended for reforms, and to the establishment of the highprofiled Gore-Kuchma Commission, which institutionalized this positive bilateral relationship (Ukrainian Weekly, 3 March 1996; Åslund 2009: 89). Subsequently, in April 1996, Kuchma declared, for the first time, that Ukraine’s strategic aim was full membership of the EU (Segodnya, 24 April 1996), and in June, the EU granted Ukraine the status of country with economy in transition, thus paving the way for an increase in funding, the same month as Kuchma outmaneuvered the Rada and the super-presidential Constitution was adopted. During these busy first years of Kuchma’s presidency, Ukraine received close to $2bn from the IMF and became the third largest recipient of US foreign assistance (Åslund 2009: 88-89), while TACIS funds disbursed from the EU peaked at almost €150m (Charman 2002: 391). By April 1995, Kuchma’s reform drive had slowed down substantially, and from the latter part of 1996, the constitution was repeatedly violated. Nonetheless, Western support kept flowing, and the Rada received no help whatsoever in averting that Kuchma imposed the constitutional changes that substantially strengthened his powers (Matsuzato 2006: 326). Intergovernmental linkage building continued and economic ties were further cemented during 1997 and 1998, even though economic reforms had come to a complete halt, state-sponsored rent-seeking was flourishing, and the muzzling of the media and harassment of political opponents was intensified. On July 9, 1997, NATO and Ukraine established a Distinctive Partnership similar to the one Russia had received only two months earlier (Light et al. 2000: 78), and just six days later, the EU eased restrictions on one of Ukraine’s most important export items, steel. Brussels frequently heralded the Ukrainian leadership,12 and on March 1, 1998, that is, less than a month before the March 29 parliamentary elections, the PCA was put into force. Again, Brussels refrained from using democratic conditionality before implementing this important agreement. Only after these elections did Western reluctance to criticize Kuchma begin to change. The OSCE denounced the parliamentary elections for its

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heavy media bias (Wilson 2002: 198); in November, the IMF, the World Bank and the EU froze planned credits because of the lack of economic reform (Åslund 2009: 131); and on December 1, the PACE Commission on Ukraine heavily criticized the executive’s complete control, and warned that this control could tarnish the upcoming presidential elections and slow the progress of legislation (Novye Izvestiia, 2 Dec. 1998). Strongly worded critiques from the CoE continued throughout 1999, and at the end of June, PACE voted on whether Ukraine’s membership should be suspended due to its slow reforms and extremely repressive media environment. But the vote failed in fear of providing President Kuchma with a pretext for dissolving the Rada and imposing even stronger presidential power (Segodnya, 25 June 1999). Despite the critical reactions from other European organizations, the EU continued to strengthen ties to Kuchma’s regime. On July 23, 1999, during the third EU-Ukraine Summit, Brussels recognized Ukraine’s course of integration into the Union, and negotiations on a Free Trade Agreement were launched. Even though the presidential elections in October and November were flawed, a Common Strategy for Ukraine was adopted on December 10 at the Helsinki Summit. Again the EU had moved relations with Ukraine to a higher level even though neither the economic nor the political aspects of the PCA had been fully implemented (Kubicek 2003: 167). Only Russia enjoyed the same unconditional benefits. For Ukraine, then, the 1995-1999 period was characterized by continued EU and US financial and political support for Kuchma’s increasingly authoritarian and reform-averse regime. No criticism of muzzled media, political killings or harassment of opponents was raised. In fact, the EU gave Kuchma and pro-government forces running for parliament indirect support by concluding a qualitative upgrading of relations before both the parliamentary and the presidential elections. Furthermore, the Ukrainian incumbent was not censured even after the tarnished presidential elections. On the contrary, he was rewarded with the initialization of a Common Strategy. Thus, the EU indirectly supported violations of the electoral rights regime (A1, A3 and A4), the political (B5 and B6) and civil rights regime (C7), and the horizontal accountability regime (D9). And through its willingness to time important upgrades of relations to election campaigns, Brussels had a direct, negative influence on the impartialness of the electoral rights regimes (A4) as well. At this point, therefore, the Ukrainian incumbent had nothing to fear from the EU – political repression was not sanctioned and the rent-distribution system, upholding the regime, was allowed to continue. In addition, cooperation with the West provided Kuchma with political legitimacy and substantial financial support.

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Consequently, the president had no reason to backtrack from the facilitative gatekeeping of the early 1990s. Belarus 1995–1999 Lukashenka’s rise to power in 1994 surprised everyone both domestically and internationally. But Lukashenka proved a determined leader, monopolizing political and economic power even more aptly than Prime Minister Kebich, his predecessor. By the end of the 1995–1999 period, Belarus had turned into a full-blown autocracy, with all political dissent effectively muzzled through routine crackdowns on independent media, oppositional elites, and society at large (cf. Table 5.2). The Development of Full-Blown Autocracy Within six months after Lukashenka’s surprising victory in the July 1994 presidential elections, he had established personal control over the entire state administration, major parts of the economy, and most of the media – only the Supreme Soviet, the Constitutional Court, and the National Bank remained independent (Silitski 2005: 86). Now Lukashenka turned to them. In contrast to the Ukrainian case, where Kuchma carefully worked to maintain a balance between regional power centers, the Belarusian president strived for full, personal control. The former ruling elites, the conservative Communists and Agrarians, sensed the impending limitations of their powers and decided to join forces with their former opponents, the democratic opposition. During the next three years, an intense power struggle unfolded between the executive on the one side, and the parliament, the Constitutional Court, the National Bank, the extra-parliamentary opposition and society at large on the other. Lukashenka initiated a confrontation in March 1995, describing the legislature as “obstructive” and “dishonest”, and in early April, he announced his intentions to call a referendum to be held alongside the scheduled May parliamentary elections on four questions: whether to give the Russian and Belarusian languages equal status, whether to strengthen economic cooperation with Russia, whether to revive the Soviet state flag and coat of arms, and whether to give the president the right to dissolve the legislature (Marples 1999: 70, 73). Zianon Pazniak, the leader of the nationalist opposition party, the Belarusian Popular Front, and twenty other deputies protested against the initiative and went on a hunger strike in the Supreme Soviet. After only two days, 200 special force officers, masked and armed with batons, beat up and forcibly removed the deputies (Sanford 1996: 146; McMahon 1997: 131). The violent but resolute response

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effectively cowed dissent but also grossly violated both the institutional independence of the parliament, and thus the horizontal accountability regime (D9), as well as the civil liberties (C7) of the deputies. Table 5.2 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 1995–1999 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Biased 1995 parliamentary elections and fraudulent and violent 1996 presidential elections (A1, A4)

B. Political Rights

Complete state control of media (B5) Brutal dispersal of demonstrations and oppression of opposition parties and NGOs (B6)

C. Civil Rights

Unjustified arrests, beatings, and even killings of political opponents and protestors (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Complete elimination of checks and balances and all power was transferred to the president (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

The results of the elections and the referendum held on May 14, 1995 gave Lukashenka important backing in his struggle with the opposition.13 The referendum delivered to him a strong popular mandate for continuing integration with Russia, halting the nationalist independence drive

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propagated by the opposition party BPF (Silitski 2010: 281), and further challenging the Supreme Soviet. The parliamentary elections also gave Lukashenka what he had hoped for: a poor election for the nationalist democrats in the BPF and, due to strict election rules, an incomplete parliament, which lacked a quorum and was, therefore, unable to function (Sanford 1996: 146). Only few allegations of overt irregularities in the elections were raised (Silitski 2005: 87), but the fairness criterion was strongly affected (A4). Lukashenka controlled a heavily biased media (Mcmahon 1997: 129), and further discredited the parliamentary elections by personally encouraging voters to boycott them (Sanford 1996: 146).14 The situation was now in the president’s favor: the old parliament lacked legitimacy, and the new one lacked a quorum. Consequently, Lukashenka was left with fairly free hands to rule by decree and steadily increase powers (McMahon 1997: 132; Beichelt 2004: 11). Only in November and December did supplementary rounds of voting lead to the election of enough deputies that the parliament could start working again, though first in the beginning of 1996 (Marples 1999: 76). However, by this time, Lukashenka had further cemented political control. Throughout 1995 and 1996, tensions increased. On one side stood the power-usurping president; on the other side; the Supreme Soviet attempting to regain political influence, the Constitutional Court trying to restrain the president, a national bank fighting for independence and monetary prudency, and an increasingly active nationalist opposition fighting to defend Belarusian independence (Markus 1996: 338; Marples 1999: 79, 83; Mildner 2000: 22-23; Silitski 2005: 87). But Lukashenka was determined to eliminate all opposition, and with full control over the economy and with a repressive apparatus, he was capable of suppressing dissent. The political rights regime and the civil rights regime were increasingly undermined, as independent media was cowed (B5), demonstrations were brutally dispersed (B6) and arrest warrants were issued for oppositional elites, such as the leaders of the BPF (C7) (Markus 1996: 338; McMahon 1997; Marples 1999: 84). Horizontal accountability (D9) was soon completely eliminated, as well. First, regional autonomy was undercut by a decree allowing the president to appoint governors (Matsuzato 2004: 250), and then, during the latter part of 1996, the autonomy of the National Bank was undermined, and the independence of Parliament and the Constitutional Court was subverted in a critical standoff over whether or not a new constitution proposed by Lukashenka should be adopted (Marples 1999: 91). The draft constitution represented a severe increase of presidential powers over other institutions, and the president was, therefore, confronted from all sides in an attempt to force him to back off. Again, Lukashenka used a referendum scheduled for

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late November to break the political impasse. In the months leading up to it, tensions were severe, and in the weeks just before the vote, the president’s opponents fought bitterly for their political survival. The country came close to civil war (Marples 1999: 94). On November 24, 1996, Lukashenka’s controversial referendum won 70.5 percent of the votes: his constitution passed. The vote was far from free and fair (ILHR 2001: 2; Silitski 2005: 87), the media was heavily biased, and administrative pressure was widespread (McMahon 1997: 129), again severely affecting the electoral rights regime (A4). Subsequently, Lukashenka took full control of the process. Three days later, the Supreme Soviet was shut down, and a new rubber stamp bicameral parliament was established – stacked with deputies supportive of the president (Eke & Kuzio 2000: 544). With this move, horizontal accountability (D9) vanished. With parliamentary opposition in Belarus effectively quelled, Lukashenka fully controlled both the political and economic situation in the country, and during the last years of the 1990s, his personal dictatorship was effectively consolidated (Marples 1999: 103). In some periods, repression was more severe than in others, but as a rule, all political opposition (whether in the form of independent media, political parties, democracypromoting NGOs or street protests) was crushed with an iron fist (Hawkes 1999; Marples 1999; Eke & Kuzio 2000: 540; ILHR 2001: 4-11; Silitski 2005; Korosteleva 2005: 67-68; Fritz 2007: 222). Hence, the autocratization process continued, severely impinging on the country’s political rights regime (B5 and B6) and civil rights regime (C7), completely disregarding horizontal accountability (D9). A last attempt to challenge Lukashenka’s rule was made in 1999, when 50 former deputies announced their decision to hold shadow elections on May 16, 1999, the date when elections for the disbanded 1995 Supreme Soviet should have been held (Segodnya, 12 Jan. 1999). The timing was right. Only two months later, on July 20, Lukashenka’s first term was to end according to the pre-1996 constitution. By highlighting these dates, the political opposition put a question mark on the president’s democratic legitimacy (Davidonis 2001: 10). The shadow elections, however, ended as a farce, with political infighting among the opposition’s ranks and a low turnout (Silitski 2002: 354; Silitski 2003: 48; Silitski 2005: 88). Moreover, the attempts to weaken Lukashenka only resulted in increased repression as five of the most popular and prominent leaders of the political opposition went missing (and were most likely murdered by the regime), while others were arrested or fled the country (Segodnya, June 12, 1999; Moskovskii Komsomolets, 23 July, 1999; ILHR 2001: 7; Wieck 2002: 269; Marples 2007: 8, 20, 28). The incident sent a clear signal to future challengers: opposition is futile and would be severely punished. Belarus had turned into

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a full-blown, highly repressive dictatorship in which a small circle of political elites had full control over political decision making and economic resources. Russian Influence on Belarusian Autocratization As Chapter 4 showed, Russia had placed all its bets on Kebich winning the presidency in 1994, so the Kremlin was truly bewildered and, naturally, frustrated by Lukashenka’s surprise victory. The new president was therefore, at first, treated coldly and officially scolded. However, as Lukashenka showed a willingness to continue the facilitative gatekeeping during the first part of the 1990s, Moscow’s critical position soon relaxed. During the following years, Russia and Belarus signed one treaty after another, each envisioning deeper political, economic and military integration. Even though implementation of many of the political aspects never materialized, economic and military cooperation was very real, and, in effect, it undergirded Lukashenka’s power base. Furthermore, political support, on several occasions, proved crucial for Lukashenka’s ability to outmaneuver his political opponents, thus helping him take full power. However, as will be shown, the support was never unequivocal. Throughout the full period 1995–1999, Lukashenka eagerly sought ever tighter economic and intergovernmental linkages to Russia. In grandiose and spectacular signing ceremonies, one integrationist step after another was proclaimed. In January 1995, a Customs Union, originally an initiative meant for the CIS, was established (with Kazakhstan participating), and in February, a Friendship and Cooperation Treaty was signed. In April 1996, a Russian-Belarusian Community was created, only to be turned into the Russian-Belarusian Union in April 1997. In December 1997, military cooperation was further upgraded; in December 1998, the Equal Rights of Russian and Belarusian Citizens agreement and a Declaration on Further Unification were concluded; and finally, in December 1999, the Union Treaty was signed in Moscow (for an excellent overview see Danilovich 2006). However, as mentioned, many of the exact provisions of these various agreements remained unimplemented, and Russia and Belarus never came even close to de facto acting as a united political entity. Indeed, the author Danilovich is right in claiming that this high-politics masquerade was often only “games played behind the Kremlin walls” – a way for Yeltsin to satisfy the part of his electorate yearning for brotherhood between the former Soviet republics and to stave off nationalist and communist political opponents (Danilovich 2006). But Yeltsin was not the only one to use bilateral integration projects as a way to beat domestic challengers. Despite

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the puffed up, lofty character of these treaties, Russian-Belarusian linkages built in the 1995–1999 period were substantial, and from the very beginning, Lukashenka seemed to be fully aware of the merits of his facilitative gatekeeping strategy. The willingness to consistently deepen interdependence rested not just on an overwhelming sympathy for old Mother Russia but also on the fact that with integration followed substantial political, financial and military support, strengthening the Belarusian president’s grip on power and his ability to suppress oppositional elites. Economic, Military and Political Support for Authoritarian State-Building Most importantly, the integration with Russia brought substantial economic support, enabling the Belarusian president to avoid some of the devastating economic hardships that his neighboring countries experienced. Even though Lukashenka initiated some economic liberalization in late 1994, the reforms were half-hearted and superficial, and from the end of March 1995, privatization was effectively suspended (Davidonis 2001: 12) – only Turkmenistan, Tajikistan and Azerbaijan experienced less liberalization and privatization (Åslund 2002: 175). Belarus now faced a severe economic crisis, despite its attempts to soften the fall associated with the dissolution of the Soviet Union. In 1995, most industrial workers worked only two or three days a week because of supply shortages and problems selling their goods (Ioffe 2004: 90), and inflation was still at an extreme 661.5 percent. By 1996, though, the far majority of large industrial enterprises had resumed full capacity (Ioffe 2004: 90) and in 1997 and 1998, growth rates neared 10 percent: a change labeled the “Belarusian miracle” (Zlotnikov 2002: 146). But there was no miracle. Numbers had simply been inflated (Marples 1999: 40-43), and the magnitude of Russian subsidization had been poorly understood, or played down. For one, the customs union provided very generous conditions for the Belarusian economy. It repaired broken economic ties with Russia so that within a couple of years, Belarusian exports to Russia flourished – not because the demand for Belarusian goods was particularly high but because the Kremlin allowed for widespread barter trade.15 The customs agreement also allowed Belarus to collect duties on goods meant for Russia passing through Belarusian territory. In 1996 alone, this amounted to a staggering $400-500m (Mildner 2000: 14). Apart from these obvious benefits, Russia also showed a willingness to write off arrear payments and debts, and to offer very cheap energy, favorable credits, and loans (Marples 1999: 111; Balmaceda 1999; Mildner 2000: 14 Danilovich 2006; 50-52).16 This allowed Belarus to buy fuel at one-fourth of world market prices and at onehalf the average CIS price, and to buy gas at close to Russia’s domestic

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prices, equaling a subsidy of over $1bn a year (Markus 1996: 338; Oldberg 1997: 113; Zlotnikov 2002: 146; Silitski 2007. 4). Only once, in June 1998, were gas deliveries cut back, by 40 percent, because Belarus had not paid its debts (Izvestia, June 17 1998). But when the financial crisis hit both countries hard in the autumn of 1998, the Kremlin offered help: a “bread for gas” agreement was made, according to which the Belarusian gas debt of $550m would be paid mostly through the provision of food to the Russian army as well as the purchase of overpriced Belarusian state bonds (Izvestia, Oct. 17 1998). Similar aid was provided in 1999, when Russia, in one stroke, lowered gas prices from $50 to $30 per 1000cbm. Because inflation was picking up again and economic growth was coming to a halt, the Russian discount, saving the Belarusian state budget $320m, was well-timed (Zlotnikov 2002: 150). This direct subsidization received throughout the latter part of the 1990s has been estimated between $500 million and $1.5 billion per annum, somewhere between 4 and 11 percent of GDP (Fritz 2007: 217). Such financial assistance allowed Lukashenka to preserve generous social and industry subsidies, placating both voters and state enterprise economic elites, and to more freely introduce pervasive state control over the economy, enabling discretionary distribution of rents to cronies and political allies, and harassment of political opponents (Korosteleva & Lawson 2010: 35). Russia’s economic assistance did not come free of charge, though. For a large part, this assistance was payment for the right to retain a strong military presence in the country and for a compliant ally in foreign policy issues. In effect, Lukashenka sacrificed Belarusian military independence to achieve his goals. Throughout the 1990s, military integration consistently deepened, resulting in a strong Russian influence on the organization and strategies of the Belarusian military apparatus: the Kremlin was granted a powerful say on the appointment of personnel to the Belarusian Ministry of Defense, defense policies were tightly coordinated, Belarusian officers were offered education free of charge in Russia, and Belarus entered an agreement to buy all military hardware from Moscow. In addition, agreements were established for a common air defense system and joint border control, and the decision was made to share two important strategic military facilities on Belarusian territory. De facto, all of these joint projects were financed and commanded by Russia (Oldberg 1997: 114; Martinsen 2002; Bugajski 2004: 66; Deyermond 2004). While the military cooperation and the political integration projects were pay-offs to Russia for economic support, they also directly benefited Lukashenka’s attempts to build autocracy in Belarus. Relatedly, Russia’s strong support for both the Belarusian military and its economy enabled the

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Belarusian regime to build up a strong and coherent repressive apparatus (Levitsky & Way 2010), effectively capable of quelling dissent in the streets and maintaining order. Furthermore, the many political and military treaties concluded supplied the Lukashenka regime with increased legitimacy. The regime’s external recognition and Lukashenka’s willingness to integrate and cooperate with Russia were used excessively by the president, who had made an extensive effort to present himself as a pan-Slavic unifier of the two neighboring countries. Thus, by its substantial and multifaceted support, Russia indirectly contributed to the negative developments in democratic performance taking place in Belarus during the latter part of the 1990s. Qualifying the Negative Image of Russia Along with cooperation in the economic and military sphere, Russia also frequently provided crucial political backing to Lukashenka, though support was never unequivocal. For long periods, Russian media and high-level politicians strongly criticized the Belarusian president, somewhat qualifying the image of Russia as a negative external actor vis-à-vis Belarus. During most of 1995, 1996 and 1997, official Russia posed not as defender of the Belarusian president but rather as critic, openly decrying Lukashenka’s autocratizing steps. On Russian state TV, campaigns discrediting Lukashenka and reports about his corruption ran alongside broadcasts depicting the violent crackdowns on public protest in Belarus, none of which were shown on Lukashenka-controlled TV. The first sign of this coldness appeared in response to the contested May 1995 referendum, that Lukashenka forced the parliament to accept. Five days before the vote, Lukashenka had been in Moscow celebrating the commemoration of the Soviet victory over Germany in World War II, but both Yeltsin and his prime minister, Chernomyrdin, refused to meet with Lukashenka, though this would have been a splendid PR boost for the Belarusian leader (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 16 May 1995). Moreover, on the eve of the referendum, the Russian mass media deployed a massive campaign, depicting Lukashenka as dictator. Throughout the rest of the year, the discrediting campaign continued (Danilovich 2006: 53). However, in the first part of 1996, when Yeltsin was trying to build political capital for the upcoming Russian presidential elections that summer, the media campaign turned positive to profile the announcement of the RussianBelarusian Community agreement. Once Yeltsin’s re-election was secured, government officials and state media reverted to discrediting Lukashenka again (Markus 1996: 339; Danilovich 2006: 62, 64). Leading up to the Belarusian constitutional crisis in autumn 1996, Yeltsin joined the choir of Western critics and sharply warned Lukashenka, prior to the large demonstration that took place on October 19, against using

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force on protesters. The Belarusian incumbent eventually backed down and agreed to postpone the original date for the referendum from early November to allow the Supreme Soviet time to present its proposal for a new constitution (Moskovskie Novosti, 20-27 Oct. 1996). When confrontation peaked in November, Russia again interfered. Prime Minister Chernomyrdin was sent to Minsk to try to deter violence and broker a compromise between Lukashenka and the parliament, albeit pro-incumbent. However, when the deal was rejected by both parts, and Lukashenka took power by force, Russia silently accepted the situation and acknowledged the new bicameral parliament as the legitimate one (Marples 1999: 95-96; Way 2005: 255). Thus, through its actions in the autumn, Russia had, for a while, halted brutal incursions on the country’s political (B6) and civil rights regime (C7) and strengthened the availability of impartial information to voters (B5) by forcing Lukashenka to refrain from dispersing protestors and by breaking Lukashenka’s media monopoly, allowing a more accurate picture of the confrontation taking place. Furthermore, by pursuing a political settlement, Russia had attempted to avert the complete meltdown of Belarusian horizontal accountability (D9), although the defense of this partial regime was cancelled once Lukashenka had triumphed and the new assembly was recognized (Marples 1999: 98). Thus, Russia indirectly bolstered Lukashenka financially and militarily, while, at the same time, somewhat restraining him politically. In the following years, on several occasions, the Belarusian president tried to cut information linkages to Russia to stop the flow of critical information so harmful to his image presented on Russian state media. In November 1996, at the height of domestic tension, he threatened to throw out Russian ORT and NTV correspondents (Marples 1999: 93-94). When critical broadcasts continued, Lukashenka took action in July and August 1997, depriving ORT journalists of their press accreditations, arresting and expelling others, and raiding their offices (Davidonis 2001: 19; Eke 2002: 98). Yeltsin reacted strongly. He refused to meet with Lukashenka, and furthermore, denied the Belarusian president landing rights in Russia (Balmaceda 1999: 6). Lukashenka was forced to succumb, and Russian journalists were again allowed to work freely on Belarusian territory. In effect, Russia, thus again, contributed positively to the country’s democratic performance by managing to keep small pockets of media freedom (B5) open. Lukashenka’s attempts to cut the linkages harmful to him failed, underscoring the fact that the Belarusian regime was becoming increasingly dependent on support from Moscow. Clearly a certain degree of schizophrenia characterized the RussianBelarusian relations in the latter part of the 1990s. On one hand, without

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Russia’s political, economic, and military backing, Lukashenka’s repression (B5, B6 and C7) and election tampering (A1, A3 and A4) would have required much more effort, the complete destruction of the horizontal accountability (D9) of the country could have been avoided, and state economic control would have been much more difficult to attain, severely constraining Lukashenka’s overall maneuverability. Thus, these facts make clear Russia’s negative influence on the democratic performance of Belarus. The complete autocratization of Belarus would have been more difficult without Russia’s help! On the other hand, the picture of Russia as the perpetual black knight in Belarusian affairs is not quite fair. Moscow frequently delegitimized Lukashenka’s rule, and also occasionally broke the information blockade of the country through critical media coverage and the support of Russian journalists inside Belarus, thus strengthening the political rights regime (B5). Nevertheless, the criticism of Lukashenka’s incursions on democracy has only been patchy and inconsistent, and never has it fully threatened the position of the Belarusian president or the financial support undergirding his regime. The two-sided Russian influence was made possible by the dense network of ties established during the 1990s. Lukashenka went willingly along with increasing political, military and economic cooperation, as it provided him with support from the pro-Russian majority of the electorate and with financial and security-related resources enabling him to strengthen his grip on power, squelching all political opponents. However, the Belarusian president was not all acquiescent towards the Kremlin. In an attempt to uphold the media monopoly so important for keeping domestic criticism at a minimum, Lukashenka attempted to cut the harmful information linkages that Moscow used to discipline the Belarusian regime. But when Yeltsin staunchly protested, threatening to withdraw support, Lukashenka was forced to backtrack. Lukashenka must have weighed Russian media criticism as less of a danger than the loss of financial and military assistance; the information linkages therefore remained in place, and Russian support continued. European Influence on Lukashenka’s Democratic Infringements While the Russo-Belarusian relationship remained predominantly warm, the relations between Belarus and the West turned nasty during the 1995–1999 period. The Belarusian president showed open disregard for integration with the West, keeping intergovernmental linkages to a minimum, only accepting economic support as one-time injections, and refusing to work towards a more permanent strengthening of trade ties. When Lukashenka’s democratic

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infringements turned intolerable in late 1996, Europe and the US tried to reverse autocratization by strongly denouncing repression and unilaterally cutting their weak linkages to the regime while attempting to foster domestic dialogue and strengthen oppositional elites and civil society. This, however, had unintended consequences – Lukashenka turned only more obstructive and actively tried to cut all links to the West that threatened his political power and strengthened that of his domestic opponents. From Silence to Sanctions: Developing Democratic Conditionality towards Belarus From 1995 to mid-1996, the West continued the policy line pursued in the early 1990s, trying to draw the Belarusian leadership closer through intergovernmental and economic offers, while keeping criticism to a minimum. During 1995, though Lukashenka was already actively monopolizing power and muzzling political opponents and independent media outlets, the EU drew up a PCA with Belarus while NATO established a PfP framework. Lukashenka made it defiantly clear that he was only interested in economic cooperation (Burant 1995: 1134). In a last attempt to encourage economic reforms, the EU authorized TACIS to release a €30m tranche for macroeconomic stabilization (Charman 2002: 392); the US supplemented this with surplus agricultural commodities worth nearly $200m, propping up the collective farm system, “the very heart of President Lukashenka’s political support” (Shepheard 2006: 75); and the IMF allocated, first, $102m (Kommersant, 29 March 1995) and then, after some time, $66m (Mildner 2000:9). As late as July 1996, Lukashenka, on his first official visit to Europe, was greeted with open arms by French President Chirac (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 17 July 1996). Only through the CoE did the European powers really influence events positively in this period. Recall that the Supreme Soviet was without quorum after the May 1995 parliamentary elections, allowing, Lukashenka to take advantage of the situation and rule by decree. The CoE, then, along with the still independent Constitutional Court, fought hard against this undemocratic situation and ultimately succeeded in forcing through two supplementary rounds of voting in November and December (Sanford 1996), thus establishing a quorum in the parliament and saving the country’s horizontal accountability (D9), at least for some time. But apart from these efforts, Europe did not interfere until the political crisis turned severe in late 1996. In October, ambassadors from several West European countries warned Lukashenka against using violence, threatening to deny Belarus admittance to the CoE (Moskovskie Novosti, 2027 Oct. 1996). In addition, Brussels openly supported inquiries into the president’s infringements of the constitution, and Lukashenka was urged not

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to go through with the illegitimate referendum, (Segodnya, 21 Nov. 1996; Marples 1999: 95, 98). When the president disregarded these warnings and forced the new constitution through, the European Parliament and the European Council made it clear that open disregard for democratic principles would have consequences – the PCA ratification process would be suspended, all economic aid would be halted, and Belarus would be barred from the CoE (Wieck 2002: 264). In the first part of 1997, these threats were made effective. In January, the “special guest status” in the CoE was suspended (Wieck 2002: 264-265); in March, the PfP with NATO was frozen (Davidonis 2001: 27); and in September, the EU decided that neither the PCA nor the interim agreement would be concluded, that technical assistance would be withheld, that bilateral relations at the ministerial level would be suspended, and that all members were forbidden to conclude any agreements with the Belarusian regime without first consulting the EU (Kommersant, 18 Sept. 1997; Charman 2002: 390). Because European powers did not call the legitimacy of Lukashenka’s rule into question until very late in the autocratization process, they, through earlier cooperation and silence, indirectly legitimized Lukashenka’s early infringements on the electoral rights regime (A4), the political (B5 and B6) and civil rights regime (C7), and the horizontal accountability regime (D9). Only when the situation spun out of control in autumn 1996 did Brussels openly denounce the actions of the Belarusian president and tried to change his mind by introducing political sanctions. The emphasis on democratic conditionality came too late, however, and attempts to block the monopolization of Belarusian politics proved futile. Consolidating Democratic Conditionality vis-a-vis Belarus During the last three years of the 1990s, the EU, in close collaboration with the CoE and the OSCE, consolidated its policy of sharply criticizing infringements on democracy. Through sanctions and dialogue, the three organizations consistently fought to improve the electoral regime, the political rights regime, the civil rights regime and the horizontal accountability regime of the country. Lukashenka, on his part, did everything possible to cut the remaining links to the West, trying to seal off the country from external criticism and his political opponents from political and financial support. In 1997, as a part of his crackdown on democracy-supporting NGOs, Lukashenka also targeted foreign organizations, terminating external civil society linkages such as the Belarusian branch of the Soros Foundation, which directly financed democratization initiatives (Eke & Kuzio 2000: 547). Taking linkage-cutting to its extreme, Lukashenka, in May 1998, forcibly evicted all foreign ambassadors from their residents in the Drozdy

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compound, ostensibly for plumbing repairs. The move angered the West, and the EU recalled its ambassadors and introduced a visa travel ban on 130 top officials – including the president. The US followed in turn, although targeting fewer persons (Lukashuk 1998: 5; Potocki 2002: 143; Kommersant, 17 July 1998).17 Only in late 1998 did Lukashenka bend and allow the ambassadors to return, albeit to new residencies, as the president had moved into the compound himself (Segodnya, 11 Dec. 1998). Sidelining these open diplomatic clashes, the European organizations tried to improve the democratic performance of the Lukashenka regime, or at least avoid increased repression. All along, the EU, the OSCE and the CoE refused to recognize Lukashenka’s 1996 Parliament and continued to consider the 1995 Parliament the true legislative assembly, attempting to bring the two sides together and foster a compromise. In May 1997, Brussels established a tripartite consultative working group composed of EU representatives, deputies from the Supreme Soviet and Belarusian officials, but by July, Lukashenka had made any continuation of the group’s activities meaningless (Belarus v Mire, 1 July 1999). In February 1998, Russia helped persuade the Belarusian authorities to establish an OSCE Advisory and Monitoring Group (AMG) in Minsk, meant to monitor and report on developments and promote democratic institutions and to be the only international body represented in the country (Wieck 2002: 266). For the rest of the 1990s, the AMG was involved in promoting dialogue and in monitoring over 600 human rights cases – in effect, protecting many of these victims from further repression. In the first part of 1999, when tensions between Lukashenka and the opposition again started growing due to the opposition’s shadow elections and its claim that the president’s term was coming to an end, Brussels and the OSCE AMG brought Lukashenka and the opposition to the negotiating table, trying to encourage dialogue on the democratic reforms most necessary for proper elections. The negotiations were protracted over the autumn of 1999, and in November 1999, at the OSCE Summit in Istanbul, an agreement securing regular opposition access to the media was reached. However, only weeks later, Lukashenka withdrew his consent (Gnedina 2005: 32), and the improvements hoped for the electoral regime (A1 and A4) and the political rights regime (B5 and B6) never took effect. All these efforts aimed at improving the Lukashenka regime’s democratic performance proved futile, and real positive impact on Belarus’ democratic performance failed to materialize: the strategy pursued by the EU, the CoE and the OSCE proved ineffective. However, a counterfactual argument calls this conclusion into question. If Europe had remained silent, repression would have been costless for Lukashenka, and repression is, therefore, likely to have been even more severe. That is, even though the

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European powers did not prevent Lukashenka’s incursions on the political (B5 and B6) and civil rights regimes (C7), the consistent monitoring and criticism by the three organizations may, nonetheless, have had a positive impact by deterring the use of the most punitive measures. Things might indeed have looked much worse in Belarus in the 1990s. And Western impact could have been even larger had it not been for President Lukashenka’s effective monopolization of the country’s gatekeeping scene. By depriving oppositional and civil society elites of their resources and their freedom to maneuver and by fully relying on Russia for external assistance, Lukashenka severely weakened the ability of the European organizations to substantially influence developments in Belarus. Moldova 1995–1999 In the first part of the 1990s, Moldova was severely marked by the unfortunate developments in the Transnistrian region. But the conflict also seemed to have sowed restraint among the country’s political elites, as radical positions and actions were discarded, fierce elite infighting was absent, and developments in democratic performance were, in general, positive. During the latter 1990s, the conflict with Transnistria continued to dominate the political agenda. But as the regime in the PMR consolidated, the political elites of Moldova proper looked inward and instead started fighting each other, trying to gain the upper hand and usurp power.18 However, in contrast to Ukraine and Belarus, the political struggle generally played out in compliance with rules laid down by the 1994 Constitution, and the ever stronger Constitutional Court was repeatedly asked to arbiter. Therefore, as Table 5.3 depicts, Moldova went through the 1995–1999 period with only few non-democratic digressions. The elite infighting, though, removed focus from the country’s mounting economic problems, and in the late 1990s, Moldova descended into economic destitution (Ronnås & Orlova 2000). Moldova’s Political Development in the Latter 1990s Moldova’s political development in the latter part of the 1990s can be divided into three phases: from 1995 to the end of 1996, during which rival candidates positioned themselves; from the end of 1996 to March 1998, during which the new president, Petru Lucinschi, was politically paralyzed while the economic problems worsened; and from April 1998 to the end of 1999, during which a full-scale economic crisis, economic reforms and a power conflict between the executive and the legislature were in full eruption.

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Table 5.3 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 1995–1999 Positive changes A. Electoral Regime

Negative changes

Free and fair presidential and parliamentary elections 1996/1998 (A4)

B. Political Rights C. Civil Rights D. Horizontal Accountability

E. Effective Power to Rule

Strengthening the independence of the Constitutional Court and upholding respect for the Constitution (D9) Still no control of Transnistria (E10)

In the first phase, cooperation became more and more strained between President Snegur, Prime Minister Sangheli and Parliamentary Chairman Lucinschi, all members of the Agrarian majority in the parliament. Each was a candidate for the presidential election to be held in November 1996 and Moldova seemed to be in campaign mode for the more than one-and-ahalf years up to those elections. In June 1995, Snegur announced that he was leaving the Agrarian party, and on August 26, he presented his own party, the Party for Revival and Reconciliation of Moldova. The Agrarians had, by now, lost their majority in the parliament, and legislation became slow and patchy (RFE/RL Newsline, 24 July 1995; Büscher 1998: 71). Snegur openly stated that he and his party were working to introduce a presidential rule that could solve problems “much faster and efficiently” (RFE/RL Newsline, 1 Sep. 1995). The president’s bid for re-election led him into open conflict with the Agrarians in the parliament, and during 1996, the two sides came close to an open and violent clash when Snegur dismissed Defense Minister Pavel Creanga on March 15, accusing him of corruption.19 When Creanga refused

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to leave office, he dispatched special troops around the ministry. Nonetheless, the conflict was peacefully solved as the parliament sat down together with Snegur and agreed to let the Constitutional Court rule whether or not the president had the right to dismiss cabinet members. On April 4, the Court ruled against Snegur (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 March 1996), and the attempt to tamper with horizontal accountability (D9) was defused. On November 17 and December 1, 1996, two rounds of presidential elections were held. All three members of the former Agrarian troika, Snegur, Sangheli and Lucinschi, ran. In the run-off, Lucinschi defeated Snegur with 54 percent of the votes (King 2000: 161-2).20 The vote was clean and fair, with respect to all aspects of the electoral regime, and thus reflecting the democratic trend of the 1990s. Lucan A. Way (2005) has pointed out that the conflict between the president, prime minister and chairman, and the resulting elite fragmentation in the Agrarian “party of power”, led to “pluralism by default”, as no candidate could solicit backing from the administrative apparatus or the media. Whether events were steered by pluralism by default or moderation by intent, the result was positive for democracy. In the second phase, presidential campaigning was replaced by parliamentary campaigning, and as the new government under Prime Minister Ion Ciubuc possessed no stable majority in the increasingly reform-averse parliament, maneuverability was quite restricted (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 and 28 July 1996; Büscher 1998: 71; Quinlan 2002: 83). Lucinschi and Snegur increasingly attacked each other in light of the upcoming elections, each forming electoral blocs, which, in the run-up, led to a massive defection from the former ruling party, the Agrarians (Quinlan 2002: 83-4). In the March 22, 1998 vote, which again illustrated full respect for the electoral regime, the meltdown of the principle center-left force gave ample room for the Communist Party (PCRM). The PCRM won a landslide victory, garnering 30 percent of the vote (March 2005). But Lucinschi and Snegur circumscribed the Communists and, along with the pro-Romanian right, formed the Alliance for Democracy and Reform, securing a new cabinet under Ciubuc (Büscher 1998: 76-77). During the third phase, Moldova fell into a period of deep economic crisis (King 2000). While monetary policy had been strict and effective, fiscal policy was driven by reform-averse Agrarians. Carelessness about borrowing led to an indebtedness that rose from 14 percent of GDP in 1993 to 74 percent at the end of 1998 (of all the earlier Soviet republics, only Tajikistan fared worse in this regard.) The result was a severe economic crisis, catalyzed by the Asian financial crisis in 1997 and the breakdown of the Russian financial market in August 1998. The Moldovan Leu

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depreciated by around 50 percent and exports dwindled, leaving Moldova in an indebted black hole (Radziwill et al. 1999; Ronnås & Orlova 2000). Though this was a time for political resoluteness, the parliamentary elections in 1998 created a more polarized parliament, severely inhibiting the government’s maneuverability to address the economic crisis. In the latter part of 1998, the Ciubuc government barely survived a no-confidence vote two times (Quinlan 2002: 87-88). In response, Lucinschi dismissed Ciubuc in February 1999, and after six weeks of political crisis, during which the infighting in the fragile coalition intensified, Ion Sturza was named new prime minister, presenting a reform-committed, Westernoriented cabinet but barely holding on to the 52 votes necessary to form a majority in the parliament (Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 56; Lunestad 2001, Wrobel 2004: 63). The economic problems only exacerbated political tensions. In May 1999, Lucinschi, like his counterparts in Ukraine and Belarus, tried to gain the upper hand and break the political stalemate by attempting to introduce a stronger presidency through a non-binding referendum. The turnout was low, but 65 percent supported the initiative of a stronger presidency. Lucinschi was emboldened, and in August, proposed amending the constitution. Parliament immediately reacted and vowed to fight for a fullfledged parliamentary system. As had happened before, the strong Constitutional Court was asked to settle the matter. On November 3, it ruled Lucinschi’s move illegal, and two weeks later, it approved the parliament’s draft proposal for the complete removal of the presidency (RFE/RL Newsline, 17 Nov. 1999; Quinlan 2002: 91-99). Thus, just as had happened with former President Snegur’s move to concentrate power, Lucinschi’s attempt to weaken horizontal accountability (D9) was effectively deterred through mediation by the Constitutional Court. Concurrent with the struggle over constitutional issues, the Sturza government lost a vote of confidence on November 5, 1999 as a result of its austere, reformist economic policy (Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 45-46), de facto leaving Moldova with only a lame duck president in charge of the country. Lucinschi had tacitly supported the no-confidence vote (because Sturza had opposed his attempts to strengthen presidential powers) but now had to find a replacement. This proved harder than expected. The political conflict continued for another month, until Dumitru Braghis was finally approved by the parliament after two other candidates had been rejected (Quinlan 2002: 90-91). Thus, Moldova ended the millennium in severe political and financial chaos. The economy was shattered, and a dysfunctional parliament stifled decision making and reforms. Nonetheless, the democratic achievements and the pluralism of the early 1990s had survived, and the territorial integrity of Moldova proper seemed secure.

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Russia as a Major Destabilizing Factor As the above shows, all major political conflicts of the 1990s, apart from the Transnistrian one, were solved internally, and most of them ended with a slightly strengthened democratic performance. Perhaps pluralism happened by default (Way 2002), as no one was simply strong enough to concentrate political power. But surely the fact that Moscow did not throw its full support behind any of the actors, as it did in Belarus, definitely also contributed to the fairly positive trajectory. None of the political elites in Chisinau held the resources or the freedom of maneuverability to singlehandedly turn the country towards Moscow, but neither did any of the people vying for power do much to court the Kremlin for more exclusive backing. Instead, the ruling and oppositional elites tried to maintain the status quo vis-à-vis Moscow, neither seeking to develop relations by intensely building linkages, nor trying to cut existing ties, carefully avoiding any steps that might complicate matters with the regional great power. At the same time, Russia seemed more occupied with consolidating its position in Transnistria. Contrary to its Chisinau counterparts, the Transnistrian ruling elites were eager to expand economic and military linkages to Moscow as this was the only way for them to secure their political survival. Throughout the 1995–1999 period, Russia, therefore, pursued a dual policy of destabilizing Moldova proper and generously supporting the PMR leadership, in effect continuing to negatively affect Moldova’s overall democratic performance. Supporting Transnistria, Subverting Moldova Throughout the latter part of the 1990s, the leadership in Transnistria consolidated power, successfully establishing its own state-like structures under full control by President Smirnov and his closest allies (Neukirsch 2001: 131). Through the powerful Ministry of Security, all political dissent was quelled, the media was brought under tight control, and violations of civil liberties were widespread (US Dep. of State 1995-2000; Lynch 2004: 44; Crowther 2007: 294). Thus, contrary to Moldova proper, Transnistria quickly turned into an authoritarian regime, regularly impeding the electoral regime (A1 and A4), the political rights (B5 and B6) and the civil rights regimes (C7). Moreover, horizontal accountability (D9) was simply nonexistent. Nevertheless, Russia continued its efforts to help keep the PMR regime firmly in power by granting political, economic and military support. Politically, Smirnov received supportive statements both in the form of praise from observers regarding rigged elections and referenda,21 and of

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declarations from the Duma recognizing Transnistria as a zone of special interest to Russia, and therefore crucial to defend.22 Financially, the undemocratic Smirnov regime received subsidies from Moscow in the form of very low gas and electricity prices, making Transnistrian steel and textile products more competitive, generous Russian investments, and average yearly credit injections on the order of $50-90m. Moreover, favorable trade agreements were struck with over 40 regions of the Russian Federation with the help of a Tiraspol branch of the Russian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (CISR 2003: 8, 19, 20; Lynch 2004: 80; Popescu 2005: 17; Küchler 2008: 54). Gas supplies were cut only once, in April 1997, despite chronic non-payment (Bruce 2007: 35-36). Militarily, Transnistria received protection while it vehemently opposed all attempts to find a political solution to the conflict. The Kremlin insisted on maintaining its “peacekeepers” in the region, de facto sealing off the region from Moldova proper. Thus, throughout the 1995–1999 period, Moscow effectively bolstered the undemocratic PMR regime, and thus indirectly contributed to the continued crippling of Chisinau leaders’ effective power to rule over the whole territory of the country (E10). Simultaneous with full support for Smirnov’s authoritarian statebuilding and the severe democratic incursions following it, the Kremlin also pursued a policy line that subdued Moldova proper, once more using the gas weapon. As elsewhere, Moldova could not pay its bills, and ever increasing gas debts made the country vulnerable to Russian sanctions. Arrears were repeatedly used as a pretext for cutting supplies, further destabilizing an already unstable political environment and a fragile economy. Gas cuts were implemented at least seven times in the latter part of the 1990s.23 On at least five of these occasions, the decrease in deliveries was clearly linked to the wish for either increased concessions in negotiations on troop withdrawal or Gazprom access to the Moldovan infrastructure for gas transport.24 In some instances, the cuts were imposed during peaks of political instability (as in late 1999) or deep economic crisis (as in July 1998). These repeated economic shocks, in combination with Russia’s support for the undemocratic Smirnov regime in the PMR, effectively restricted the democratically elected central government’s effective power to rule (E10) over all of its territory and its economy. Moldova was not able to cut these harmful energy linkages since affordable, alternative supplies were impossible to find, and forcefully confronting Russia in Transnistria was not an option. Moldovan political leaders were, therefore, victims of the whims of the Kremlin in this period: their only course of action was damage control. Moscow only impacted democratic performance on one other occasion. Intense Russian pressure led many Agrarians to support the fostering of

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stronger economic ties to Russia and, in general, show a more conciliatory approach. Since Chairman Lucinschi and Prime Minister Sangheli were strong proponents of the pro-Russia strategy in the run-up to the 1997 presidential elections (King 2000: 161-2), Moscow, tried to support such candidates.25 Shortly before the vote, the two contestants were each invited in turn to Moscow for high-profile meetings during which important economic deals were concluded. Not only was Snegur omitted from this treatment, the Russian CIS Minister, Aman Tuleyev, advised voters not to support him, as he, it was said, would not be able to secure Russian credits (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 Sep., 9 Oct., 31 Oct. 1996). Thus, this overt support for some candidates at the expense of others skewed the playing field, clearly impeding the impartialness and fairness of the electoral regime (A4). However, apart from these few attempts, Moldova’s political gatekeepers did not seek linkages to enlist Kremlin support. Rather, the political elites in Chisinau looked to the West. Seeking Protection and Support from Europe In the early 1990s, President Snegur fought hard to engage the OSCE and the EU. And once he succeeded, the European vector became a cornerstone in Moldovan foreign policy. Chisinau elites courted the European organizations, trying to secure financial and political backing. The EU, however, remained reluctant to upgrade its political engagement and, therefore, did not really push for further political reforms (Wrobel 2004). But financial support from the IMF and the World Bank was abundant, and it proved pivotal for bringing Moldova through its devastating economic crisis and offsetting Russian economic destabilization. Without this support, Moldova’s young democracy would most likely not have survived. Once President Snegur had secured membership in the CoE in June 1995 and concluded an interim agreement with the EU on January 1, 1996 – replacing the so far non-ratified PCA, real progress in relations with the European organizations seemed to come to a halt. Moldova repeatedly heralded European integration but did little to honor its obligations, and Europe remained only marginally interested in the small country. During the latter part of 1997, the new President Lucinschi made EU membership a strategic priority, flooding the EU institutions and member states with letters requesting access to negotiations on an association agreement together with the Central and East European states. But in March 1998, before the parliamentary elections, Brussels made it crystal clear that Moldova should be more unequivocal in its geopolitical orientation and implement the PCA before relations could be upgraded. Only after the

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parliamentary elections were satisfactorily held, the PCA was ratified (Löwenhardt et al. 2001: 607; Wrobel 2004: 62; Phinnemore 2006). Thus, in stark contrast to its actions toward Ukraine, the EU stuck to conditionality, not rewarding the Moldovan government before all demands had been fulfilled. But at the same time, neither the EU nor the CoE really pushed for advancing political reforms or influenced events that threatened to affect the country’s democratic performance negatively. Only once, in the midst of the political crisis in late 1999, did the CoE, through the Venice Commission, interfere to secure horizontal accountability (D9): by negatively evaluating Lucinschi’s attempt to concentrate political power, stating that his effort would “run contrary to European democratic principles”, urging Moldova, “if it considers itself a civilized state” to comply with the recommendations (RFE/RL Newsline, Dec. 16, 1999). European powers exerted real influence on Moldova’s political development in the latter 1990s only through the financial institutions of the IMF and the World Bank, and the security organization of the OSCE. During the period of strong financial hardship, from 1996 to 2001, the IMF provided $310m in assistance and the World Bank released $252m. In comparison, the commitments from TACIS were a more modest €52m (Emerson & Wahl 2004). Sticking to conditionality, tranches were repeatedly withheld when the Moldovan government or the parliament blocked implementation of recommended reforms (see, e.g., RFE/RL Newsline, 6 March 1997; RFE/RL Newsline, 11 Feb. 1998; Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 45-46). Most importantly, from late 1998, when continued Russian energy pressures and the financial crisis were close to bankrupting the Moldovan economy, the IMF stepped in and successfully steered the country away from a path that might very well have resulted in an escalation of the political crisis, increasing the likelihood for infringements on democracy (Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 36-50). Without the macroeconomic guidance and the multiple credit injections, Moldova would most likely have seized up. Thus, through these financial institutions, the European organizations were pivotal in pushing forward a policy that enabled the political elites of Moldova to minimize the devastating consequences of the financial crisis and the Russian economic destabilization, thereby obviously strengthening, albeit not securing, the Moldovan government’s effective power to rule over the economy (E10). However, the European powers not only influenced Moldova’s effective power to rule regime through financial help but also through the conflict resolution measures of the OSCE. The organization’s mediation transformed the Transnistrian conflict into “a kind of continuous negotiation process that for the most part has kept the risks of escalation for regional security under control” (Büscher 2000: 208). When negotiations stalled, the

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OSCE shuttled between the two sides to keep dialogue going (Neukirch 2001: 127), and all along, its representatives supported the official Moldovan demand of Russian troop withdrawal (Lynch 2000: 122-123). Even though a permanent solution was not achieved, the OSCE was instrumental in forcing Russia to, at least, substantially reduce its troop presence by over 6,000 soldiers and withdraw large amounts of military hardware (Hill 2002: 135). Thus, as in the first period under study, the OSCE served as Moldova’s territorial guardian during the 1995–1999 period. By defending Chisinau in negotiations and consistently putting pressure on Moscow, Moldova’s independence was ensured and the possibility of Russia further restricting Moldovan leaders’ effective power to rule (E10) was alleviated. Summing up, the facilitative gatekeeping strategy towards Europe, which started under President Snegur in the early 1990s and continued under President Lucinschi in the second part of the decade, now truly began to pay off. In the OSCE and the IMF, the EU countries were among the strongest advocates for increasing Western assistance to Moldova, and the two organizations proved pivotal for offsetting Russian destabilization, thereby, indirectly minimizing the negative effects on the Chisinau political elites’ effective power to steer the economy and maintain the territorial integrity of Moldova proper (E10). Comparing Gatekeepers and External Impact During the second part of the 1990s, inter-elite struggles and economic hardship continued in all three cases. In Ukraine and Belarus, the executives strengthened their powers, consolidating authoritarianism, while in Moldova the political elites simply lacked the resources, the maneuverability, and perhaps the mindset to monopolize politics. Again, the degree to which these political elites were able to deal with economic crisis and internal conflict was strongly influenced by the external actors under study. And again, the external impact was not just unilaterally imposed but formed by variations in facilitative and obstructive gatekeeping. In Ukraine, President Kuchma dominated the country’s gatekeeping activity. He was the one deciding to continue upgrading intergovernmental and economic ties with the West, and he was the one, later on in the period, choosing to seek rapprochement with Moscow, accepting Russian control of the Black Sea Fleet, and allowing for improved access to Russian capital. However, many factors contributed to forming these choices: Kuchma had to take into account not only his own strategic concerns but also the opinions of strong oppositional elites from, primarily, Eastern Ukraine. Throughout the period, Kuchma eagerly courted the West. Due to the

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dominance of geopolitical thinking in Brussels and Washington, democratic leverage was under-prioritized, and the Ukrainian incumbent therefore had nothing to fear from integration with the West. In fact, he was able to profit both politically and financially from strengthening linkages to Europe and showing geopolitical abidance. But why then did Kuchma suddenly turn towards Russia? For one, Russia’s wide economic sanctions took their toll not just on the national economy but also on businesses controlled by the oligarchs of Eastern Ukraine, whose continued support the president was dependent upon. For another, the Ukrainian population increasingly supported re-integration with Russia. Thus, with parliamentary and presidential elections approaching, Kuchma had very good reasons to turn towards a more facilitative strategy of gatekeeping; it simply satisfied the demands of both the electorate and his supportive coalition. That Western pressure for democratic reforms slowly started to emerge at this point only reinforced his motivation for securing additional external backing for his regime. In Belarus, both the internal and external situation was somewhat different. Already by 1996, President Lukashenka completely controlled Belarusian politics and, therefore, also dominated gatekeeping. But unlike Ukraine’s President Kuchma, who could enjoy support from both external actors despite his deepening of authoritarianism, the Belarusian president faced an EU committed to democratization. Throughout the period, therefore, he enthusiastically built very strong intergovernmental and economic linkages to Russia in an effort to maintain and strengthen his firm grip on political and economic power. In contrast, bilateral ties to the West were kept at a minimum, and the linkages between Brussels and the oppositional elites from the subjugated Supreme Soviet were consistently blocked to make sure that political opponents would not be empowered to rise once again. Thus, not even through a successful domestic monopolization of power was Lukashenka capable of fully monopolizing the country’s gatekeeping activity, but nevertheless, he significantly reduced the maneuverability of rival gatekeepers, keeping the external support for them at a manageable minimum. Finally, in Moldova, the split character of the country continued to influence the capabilities and opportunities of different gatekeepers. In Transnistria, the ruling elites were devotedly building intergovernmental and economic ties to Russia, as this was a way for them to secure political survival, and for Moscow, a tool for maintaining a firm grip on the region. In Moldova proper, the situation was quite different. The ruling elites did far from dominate the country’s gatekeeping scene. Rather, pluralism and conflict was the defining characteristic of the period. Nevertheless, neither ruling elites nor oppositional elites in Chisinau tried, to a larger extent, to

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monopolize external backing as a way of outperforming their political opponents. In fact, there seemed to be broad agreement on pursuing cautious, acquiescent linkage-building with Russia in combination with a more facilitative approach towards Europe, hoping to ensure financial and geopolitical support. Thus gatekeeping in this period was still a vital component for understanding the degree and character of the external influence. Gatekeepers in all three countries deliberately pursued strategies aimed at either expanding or constraining linkages to external actors. Most often, the strategies pursued were motivated by a wish to outperform rival political elites, satisfy domestic elite supporters, or minimize external pressure. However, limits to gatekeeping activities also became apparent. Neither the all-dominant Lukashenka was strong enough to do away with the linkages to Russia not serving his goal of maintaining autocracy, nor could the Western-supported Kuchma manage to avoid the establishment of the Black Sea Fleet as a legitimate military base. In contrast, though, Lukashenka’s vehement rebuttal of the West and Kuchma’s and Chisinau’s intensive linkage-building with the EU only confirms that unless external actors used severe pressure, their attempts to influence domestic events were futile without ruling elites being there to channel such influence in. In general, Russia continued to exert strong influence on the political development of the three cases under study – both directly and indirectly. In Ukraine and Moldova, the most important Russian influences concerned the effective power to rule regime (E10). This regime was negatively influenced in two ways. For one, both the Kremlin and the Duma strengthened the separatists of Crimea and Transnistria through supportive political statements while repeatedly challenging the territorial integrity of the “main” countries. Moreover, these local elites were buffed up through substantial financial crediting and subsidization (at least in the case of the PMR), and Russian military presence provided them with the necessary security guarantees to continue to challenge central authorities. In addition, Russia’s discretionary use of energy supply cuts in both Moldova and Ukraine, and of trade sanctions in Ukraine, destabilized the two countries’ economy and deprived elected leaders of authoritative control with the economy. But not only the effective power to rule regime (E10) was under Russian influence in the 1995–1999 period. In Moldova, and to a lesser degree Ukraine, Moscow interfered in the fairness and impartialness of the electoral regime (A4) by openly supporting and opposing candidates. However, these interferences were exerted in a less determined way and the effects were truly marginal compared to the importance of the actions affecting the effective power to rule regime.

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In Belarus, on the contrary, Moscow refrained from most of the destabilizing measures pursued in Moldova and Ukraine. Instead, Lukashenka’s weakening of the country’s electoral regime (A1 and A4) and political rights (B5 and B6) and civil rights regimes (C7), as well as the complete destruction of horizontal accountability (D9), were indirectly supported through the use of military levers (establishing permanent bases, supplying military hardware, and engaging in deep military cooperation), political levers (signing grandiose treaties), and economic levers (assisting with subsidization, credits and grants). However, only in Belarus did Russia also exert a positive influence by restraining Lukashenka’s incursion on the political rights regime (B5 and B6) through diplomatic persuasion political sanctions (isolation and entry-prohibition). Thus, in all three cases, Russia again primarily resorted to the strategies of reinforcement by punishment (ex-ante imposing costs on the countries, trying to force them into doing something) and reinforcement by reward (ex-post rewarding the countries for abiding) towards ruling elites and reinforcement by support (ex-ante giving benefit, expecting acquiescent behavior ex-post) towards oppositional elites in secessionist regions. Only with regard to Yeltsin’s persuasion of Lukashenka in autumn 1996 was the social learning model pursued. Turning to the EU impact, the influence was again much smaller than that exerted by Russia, and once again, it varied much from case to case. Furthermore, EU influence underwent a qualitative transformation during the period, with European leaders following a strategy of reinforcement by support in the first years to adhering to the principle of democratic conditionality through a strategy of reinforcement by reward (at least in the cases of Moldova and Belarus) combined with a social learning strategy of dialogue and persuasion, most clearly articulated in the Belarusian case, in the last years. In none of the three countries did the EU have much success actually pushing democratic performance forward. In Ukraine, political conditionality or open criticism was only scarcely applied. Kuchma’s violations of the electoral rights regime (A1, A3 and A4), the political (B5 and B6) and civil rights regime (C7), and the horizontal accountability regime (D9) was consistently given indirect support through financial and political backing. Furthermore, by timing important upgrades of relations to election campaigns, Brussels also weakened democratic performance directly as the impartialness of the electoral rights regime was disturbed (A4). In Moldova and Belarus, EU actions, unilaterally and through the OSCE and the IMF, neither worsened nor substantially improved democratic credentials. Rather, Brussels contributed by minimizing negative developments in democratic performance. In Moldova, the attempts at territorial and economic

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stabilization served to offset and reduce the negative repercussions of Russian actions. Without the financial credits and grants given in times of need, and without the diplomatic support for Russian troop withdrawal and insistence on respect for Moldovan territorial integrity, the country would simply have been even more severely affected by Russia’s impediments of its leaders’ effective power to rule (E10). In regard to Belarus, the diplomatic criticism and persuasion, along with the open support for and protection of the opposition and civil society, served to constrain President Lukashenka’s repressive actions, making the most brutal suppression much more costly. Thus, in these two cases the EU acted as the restrainer of negative developments, not as a democratizing force pushing forward a reformist agenda. As in the first part of the 1990s, then, the actions of the external actors under study were in no way the most important factor for explaining developments in democratic performance in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. But both Russia and the EU continued to strengthen and constrain domestic actors, thereby affecting their ability to outperform rivals or counterbalance external pressure. The regime trajectory of Ukraine seems to have been the least affected by its external environment; in the first years of the period, Russia severely stressed the ruling elites in Kiev while the West provided it with financial assistance and political backing, but the external interferences were not the primary factor molding developments. In contrast, in Moldova and Belarus, the external actors were much more pivotal in affecting democratic performance. Without Russian support for President Lukashenka and the separatist elites in Transnistria, and without European protection of Moldova proper and the Belarusian opposition, the trajectory of these two cases would most likely have looked very different.

Notes 1 Probably as a reward for his help with securing support for Kuchma’s election in the rural areas of the Dnipropetrovsk region (Puglisi 2003b: 112) 2 At this time, UESU was headed by the future “Orange Princess”, Yulia Tymoshenko. 3 It literally means roof, but it is mafia slang for protection. 4 We do not have any hard evidence, documenting that Kuchma, indeed, was involved in these killings. But clearly they served the purpose of him and his cronies, and they aligned both with the harassment and elimination of other political opponents in this and subsequent periods, and with the disclosure in the November 2000 “Kuchmagate” (see Chapter 6 for details).

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5 By letting the prime ministers sign the deal, Yeltsin did not have to put the agreement before the Duma for ratification. 6 True, the ratification of the Treaty on Friendship dragged on until December 1998 and February 1999 when first the Duma and then the Federation Council accepted it, and, true, Russia still refused to demarcate borders between the two states (Kuzio 2007: 84). But nevertheless, this was a breakthrough. 7 March and August 1996, July 1997, and January and December 1999. 8 From January 1 to the end of February 1999, deliveries of electricity were suspended, and from December 1999 to April 2000, the same happened with oil. 9 During 1996 and 1997, in particular, Russia intensified the economic pressure. In August 1996, Yeltsin unexpectedly decreed a 20 percent VAT on all goods imported from Ukraine – in contrast with other CIS states, in which only exports were taxed. Soon, trade restrictions with Ukraine were tightened as additional quotas and excise duties were introduced on some of the major Ukrainian export items. The threat of curtailing supplies to Ukraine’s nuclear power plants only strengthened the economic arm-twist. The trade restrictions hit Ukraine’s economy hard: in the first half of 1997, that is, before the Asian financial crisis set in, the country’s total export declined by a staggering 27.5 percent, and Russia’s share in Ukrainian exports decreased from 38.7 percent in 1996 to just 26.1 percent in 1997. Kuchma later stated that the restrictions had resulted in a $3bn loss for Ukraine. The VAT was removed again in November 1997, yet excise levies on several export items remained, continuing to skew trade relations (Smolansky 1999: 50-55). 10 At this point, the very oligarchs, who were demanding economic payment for their support for Yeltsin during the presidential elections in summer 1996, controlled Gazprom (Balmaceda 1998: 264). 11 For example, in early 1999 a two-month suspension of electricity deliveries was implemented to coerce the Rada into finally approving the joining of the CIS inter-parliamentary assembly (Itar-Tass Weekly News, 26 Feb. 1999; Dragneva & Dimitrova 2007: 175). 12 On September 5 that same year, the first EU-Ukraine summit was held in Kiev. Commission President Jacques Santer and the EU president at the time, Jean Claude Juncker, expressed satisfaction with economic and political reforms, and Ukraine’s European choice was for the first time recognized, although it was stressed that more work on reforms needed to be done before the country could join (Itar-Tass Weekly News, 6. Sept. 1997). 13 Between 75 and 83 percent supported Lukashenka’s position, based, however, on a turnout of only 64.8 percent (Marples 1999: 75). 14 Publicly he had even destroyed his own ballot paper by crossing out all names on the list, stating, “I’m not familiar with their programs” (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, May 16 1995). 15 Only 8 percent of payments for energy were in cash, and the prices of goods bartered were inflated beyond world price level, on several important export articles (Mildner 2000: 14). 16 For example, in February 1995, Belarus received 150m rubles, apparently with no strings attached, and in June 1997, 500m rubles were transferred (Martinsen 2002: 408). Moreover, in February 1996, a “zero option” (just like the one agreed upon in 1993) was signed, canceling Belarus’ $1.27bn energy debts – about 40 percent of the state budget at the time.

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17 Official Russia, on the contrary, remained silent, and Moscow Mayor Yurii Luzhkov even defended the actions of the Belarusian president (Moscow Times, 15 July, 1998; Balmaceda 1999: 7). 18 Transnistria will therefore only be analyzed in the sections dealing with the external actors. 19 It is more likely that it was an attempt to take control over the armed forces or trigger emergency rule. 20 Not much separated the two candidates, except that Lucinschi campaigned more for increasing rapprochement with Russia. 21 This happened in March 1995 (Segodnya, 30 March 1995; Kommersant Daily, 29 March 1995), December 1995 (RFE/RL Newsline, 28 Dec. 1995), and December 1996 (Segodnya, 24 Dec. 1996). 22 Such resolutions were adopted in June 1995 (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 June 1995), November 1996 (RFE/RL Newsline, 14 Nov. 1996), February 1998 (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Feb. 1998; Ronnås & Orlova 2000: 63), and March 1999 (Küchler 2008: 61). 23 The gas cuts took place in February 1995 (RFE/RL Newsline, 2 March 1995), February and December 1996 (Bruce 2007: 34; RFE/RL Newsline, 30 Dec. 1996), July 1998 (Quinlan 2002: 87; King 2003: 75), and in February, November and December 1999 (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 Dec. 1999; Quinlan 2002: 92-93; Bruce 2007: 36). 24 In November 1998, Gazprom finally succeeded in gaining a 50 percent plus one share in the joint venture Moldovagaz (Bruce 2007: 35-36). 25 Once elected, however, Lucinschi changed his position somewhat.

6 Competition for Domestic Power and External Influence Intensifies: 2000–2004

The first four years of the new millennium brought about major changes both with regard to the internal development of two of the three cases under study, and with regards to the actions of the external actors vis-à-vis their shared neighborhood. In Ukraine, Kuchma’s second term was characterized by the President’s desperation and fear of losing power. The country’s democratic performance continued declining, but by the end of the period, the attempt to pass on power to a trusted heir, Viktor Yanukovych, failed, resulting in the dramatic Orange Revolution instead and a real democratic breakthrough. In Moldova, the Communist Party won a landslide victory in the 2001 parliamentary elections, and the new Communist President Vladimir Voronin broke the slow, small-scale democratization trend of the 1990s, increasingly resorting to non-democratic means. Finally, in Belarus, President Lukashenka continued ruling the country with an iron fist, cracking down on all opposition and, in 2004, changed the Constitution to allow him to continue on as president for more than two terms, thus fully consolidating his dictatorship. In Russia, great changes took place as well. Yeltsin surprisingly stepped down on New Year’s Eve, putting the hitherto unknown prime minister, Vladimir Putin, in an advantageous position before the presidential elections, which was moved up to March 26. Former foreign and prime minister, Yevgenii Primakov, the only real competitor, decided not to run, and Putin therefore easily outmatched the Communist Gennadii Zyuganov (Åslund 2007: 207-208). For the first time, a Russian president was not just backed by a reform-supportive and much more compliant parliament, which had been elected in December 1999, but he also enjoyed a clear public mandate. Putin moved swiftly to make use of this new situation.

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Within the next couple of years, independent media was muzzled; the regions that had been drifting out of Moscow’s hands throughout the 1990s were brought back under tight political and financial control; oligarchs who showed too much interest in politics and too little respect for the Kremlin’s interests, such as Vladimir Gusinsky, Boris Berezovsky and Mikhail Khodorkovsky, were attacked by state agencies and forced to turn over their assets to Putin and his supporters; and the state administration was stacked with people loyal to Putin (Khrystanovskaya & White 2003; Baker & Glasser 2005; Shevtsova 2005; Kumar 2008). In the meantime, economic growth turned endemic,1 average living standards were improved (Åslund 2007: 191-197), and political continuity and predictability became dominant. The pro-government party of power, United Russia, increasingly won over deputies adrift in the Duma, and secured more than two-thirds of the seats in the parliamentary elections in December 2003. And with Putin’s re-election in March 2004, in which he won 71.3 percent in the first round of an election void of real competition and uncertainty, the concentration of power was complete. Only the continuing guerrilla warfare in Chechnya and the more frequent occurrences of suicide terrorist bombings in central Russia tarnished the glossy picture of stability, order and state control (Gelman 2006; Åslund 2007: 242-243). Domestic stabilization also put its mark on foreign policy, as actions became more coordinated and streamlined. At the same time, the goals of economic and political domination in the FSU area now moved higher up on the agenda (Nygren 2008). Putin increasingly emphasized economic and military cooperation, trying to gather his own “coalition of the willing” behind various CIS and non-CIS initiatives (Tsygankov 2006: 145). In general, the quid-pro-quo policy became manifest. Strong economic and political support was offered in exchange for improved Russian market access and economic integration as well as geopolitical abidance (Wallander 2007). Thus, Putin’s foreign policy was not new, but rather reflected a consolidation and reinforcement of the tendencies that had been crystallizing throughout the 1990s. The 2000–2004 period was full of change for the EU as well. Foremost, European cooperation deepened substantially with the full implementation of the Euro and the Schengen area, and the institutional reforms laid down in, first, the Nice Treaty and, after, in the ambitious Constitutional Treaty signed in October 2004 (Blair 2005; Dinan 2006). Moreover, this period also saw the greatest enlargement in EU history. In May 2004, ten new countries and 100 million people were added to the Union, and the historic reintegration of Eastern Europe was a reality.2 The tools developed in the late 1990s for monitoring and pushing through progress with regard to political and comprehensive reforms of administrative and judicial

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institutions as well as modernization and standardization of the economy had proved their worth – rapid substantive transformation through integration was indeed a viable strategy (Dimitrova & Pridham 2004; Vachudova 2005; Schimmelfennig & Sedelmeier 2005b; Pridham 2005). Preparing the Eastern enlargement naturally led the EU to think of its relations with its new neighbors. As the Balkan countries were finally becoming more stable and democratic, increasingly eager to deepen integration with the EU (Popescu 2005: 29), the incentive and energy to strengthen cooperation with the post-Soviet regions slowly surfaced. On April 15, 2002, at the Luxembourg Summit, Britain took the first step and put the question on the agenda by proposing a “special neighbor” status for Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova (Zagorski 2002: 10).3 In March 2003, the Commission released a communication paper entitled “Wider Europe”, in which the basic principles of what was later named the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP) were outlined (EU Commission 2003), and in June 2004, the ENP was formally approved at the Brussels European Council meeting. The ENP was clearly modeled on the enlargement process, stressing conditionality and benchmarks, making use of a similar monitoring system of action plans (the to-do list) and progress reports (the evaluation) (Kelley 2006). In return for political and economic reforms, the EU offered a significant upgrade of political relations, increased market access, easier access to participation in EU programs, and a substantial boost of financial and technical assistance, but no membership perspective (Milcher & Slay 2005: 6; Kelley 2006: 37). Thus, the ENP was held out only as a silver carrot. Despite its lower ambitions, the initiative reflected not just a substantially strengthened interest in the outskirts of Europe and beyond, but also a “new strategic urgency, a greater policy coherence” (Dannreuther 2006: 190, 193). In this way, the new policy signaled a clear turn away from the groping approach of the 1990s. But enlargement did not result only in the EU formulating a clearer policy vis-à-vis the FSU republics. It also changed the perception of Europe in these states. While, in the 1990s, the EU was nothing more than a distant dream of supporters of a pro-Western orientation, it had now become a close neighbor, encompassing not just the rich “old” Europe, but also countries like the Baltic States and Poland, which had always had close ties to the East. This made the world of difference for how ordinary citizens thought of the EU, and therefore, the enlarged organization simply gained more space on the mental map of political leaders and populations in the three countries. Moreover, as Tables 6.1 and 6.2 show, Europe slowly became more and more economically important, only further boosted with the 2004 enlargement and the inclusion of the eastern economies.

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Table 6.1 Trade Patterns of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, 2000–2004 (% Of Total Export to Russia and the EU) Ukraine

Belarus

Moldova

Russia

EU

Russia

EU

Russia

EU

2000

24.1

14.9

50.6

9.4

44.5

21.6

2001

22.6

17.0

53.1

11.0

43.7

21.4

2002

17.8

18.1

47.3

18.0

37.1

22.2

2003

17.8

17.6

49.1

23.0

39.0

23.3

2004

18.0

30.0

47.0

36.1

35.8

30.1

Source: www.imf.org. Table 6.2 Trade Patterns of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, 2000–2004 (% Of Total Import from Russia and the EU) Ukraine

Belarus

Moldova

Russia

EU

Russia

EU

Russia

EU

2000

41.7

17.6

64.8

13.4

15.3

26.8

2001

36.8

18.5

65.6

13.6

16.1

25.7

2002

37.2

20.2

65.1

14.4

14.7

24.9

2003

35.9

20.5

65.8

13.7

13.1

26.1

2004

41.8

32.3

68.2

19.8

12.0

32.8

Source: www.imf.org.

Hence, in the first years of the new millennium, the domestic situation changed substantially in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova – and the external environment of the three countries also underwent significant transformation. Russia and the EU upgraded their involvement, each offering substantial rewards, but demanding very different things in return. Indeed, their wishes for the development of the region became increasingly incompatible, and competing conditionalities, aimed at pulling each country

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in diametrically opposed directions, slowly emerged. The two regional great powers were bound to clash, and by the end of 2004, the external actors were openly fighting for influence in these westernmost republics of the former Soviet Union. The ruling elites now faced the dilemma of who to satisfy and who to defy. Ukraine 2000–2004 Ukraine ended the millennium with a blatantly rigged and biased election, and an economy close to complete meltdown. The oligarchs associated with Kuchma finally felt the heat and fully understood that if they were to avoid the financial default that wiped out many of the oligarchs in Russia in 1998, something needed to be done. Consequently, the liberal-minded, former chairman of the National Bank, Viktor Yushchenko, was brought in to serve as prime minister, tasked with dragging Ukraine out of the economic morass (Åslund 2009: 129-131). Yushchenko gathered a dedicated reform team and even engaged Yulia Tymoshenko, the former associate of Prime Minister Lazarenko and exhead of the energy company UESU, which secured incredible profits under Lazarenko’s one year in office. She knew the gas business and all the schemes from the inside, and proved that she was not afraid of tidying up the deeply corrupt sector even though it meant hitting at some of the wealthiest and most powerful oligarchs of the country. Together, the two carried through substantial reforms and brought the economy back on the right track within a year. Already in 2000, GDP grew by 6 percent, and until 2005, it boomed by a startling yearly average of 9 percent, peaking in 2004 at a growth rate of 12 percent (Yekelchyk 2007: 212; Åslund 2009: 133, 136, 147-149, 164). Once the imminent danger of economic default had passed, and it became obvious how boldly the reformers were approaching their task, President Kuchma and the oligarchs once again acted, trying to re-establish full control. But the publication of secret tapings of Kuchma’s office, depicting the ruling elites as deeply corrupt and criminal, made Kuchma and his entourage more and more desperate, and the opposition gained more and more popular support. Consequently, most of the president’s second term seemed to center around one goal: to retain political power while unashamedly enriching himself and his supporters, whatever the costs. As Table 6.3 illustrates, the goal was operative throughout the 2000–2004 period, and was achieved through continued brazen inflictions on elections, the silencing of opposition media and journalists, and the repression of opposition candidates. In the end, however, the strategy failed, as the attempt to manage the 2004 presidential elections ended, not with the

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continuation of authoritarianism, but instead with the total collapse of the regime and a democratic breakthrough known as the Orange Revolution. Table 6.3 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 2000–2004

A. Electoral Regime

Positive changes

Negative changes

Free and fair presidential election 2004 (Dec.) (A1, A4)

Biased and fraudulent elections and referendums 2000, 2002, and 2004 (Oct./Nov.) (A1, A4) Stripping opposition candidate’s candidacy in rerun 2002 (A3)

B. Political Rights

Widespread censoring and repression of journalists (B5)

C. Civil Rights

Several incidents of mysterious deaths politically convenient for the regime (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Constitutional agreement strengthening the parliament vis-à-vis the presidency 2004 (Dec.) (D9)

Attempt at strengthening the presidency in a rigged referendum 2000 (D9) Breaching the constitution by allowing Kuchma to run for a third term 2003 (D9) Bribing and falsifying votes in the Rada 2004 (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

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145

From Kuchmagate to Orange Euphoria: Reversing Authoritarian Decline Kuchma and his oligarchic supporters in the Rada quickly realized that Yushchenko’s reform drive threatened their profitable businesses: just by cleaning up the worst fraud in the energy sector, the state budget improved by $4bn a year, equivalent to an incredible 13 percent of official GDP (Åslund 2009: 138). Since this was the life blood of the ruling rent-seekers, they decided to strike back. By April 2000, the main oligarchic parties, at this point named The Social Democratic Party (United) and the Regional Revival faction, along with Kuchma himself, started criticizing the reformers, hitting particularly hard at Tymoshenko’s energy policies (Åslund 2009: 145-46). Simultaneously, the president made his first attempt of many to further concentrate political power: he organized a referendum, trying to secure a popular mandate for further strengthening presidential powers vis-à-vis the parliament. Officially, 82 to 90 percent of voters supported the various initiatives proposed by Kuchma, but blatantly manipulative and shockingly crude ballot fixing was widespread. Fortunately, the constitution stipulated that constitutional changes had to be approved by a two-thirds majority in the Rada, and Kuchma could not muster this support – not all deputies were keen on the idea of giving even more power to the president (Wilson 2002: 321-22). Kuchma again had shown open disregard for the electoral regime (A4), and again, he had toyed with the reduction of horizontal accountability (D9) to secure his own political survival. But the situation also revealed that the president’s grip on power had waned and was far from absolute. He could count on the Rada’s support for stopping undesired economic reforms, but not for strengthening his personal power. The Kuchma regime was still a far cry from the absolutism enjoyed by President Lukashenka in Belarus. During the rest of 2000, Yushchenko’s popularity grew and grew, peaking in October when his reforms facilitated the elimination of persistent pension reforms and on-time payment of public wages (Wilson 2005: 48). Rumors had it that Kuchma was just about to fire him (Åslund 2009: 146) when a scandal of hitherto unseen magnitude surfaced. On November 2, the mutilated and decapitated corpse of Hryhorii Gongadze was found in a forest outside Kiev. Gongadze had been an opposition journalist who had launched the independent and very critical online newspaper, Ukrainska Pravda. He had been missing since September after writing an article revealing the corrupt deeds of Oleksandr Volkov, an oligarch serving as Kuchma’s campaign manager and head of the presidential administration.

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On November 28, a sensational speech was made by the leader of the Socialist Party, Oleksandr Moroz, whom Kuchma had discredited and harassed during the 1999 presidential elections. Moroz announced that Mykola Melnychenko, Kuchma’s former security guard, had fled the country, entrusted with secret recordings of the president’s office that revealed the most powerful men in Ukrainian politics, using foul language, discussing various misdemeanors, corrupt schemes, and outright horrific criminal acts – including the removal of Gongadze. The tapings also documented the election fraud of the 1999 presidential election, as well as Kuchma’s order, in early 2000, to beat up and kidnap certain opposition deputies and his promise to destroy Yushchenko and Tymoshenko. Even though the authenticity of the tapings was questioned at first, there was later no doubt about their authenticity. The brutal criminalization of the upper echelons of the Ukrainian state was now public (Wilson 2002: 318, 323-26; Wilson 2005 49, 51, 55, 56; D’Anieri 2007; 92-3; Åslund 2009: 143). Kuchma Clings to Power, and a Democratic Opposition Emerges Kuchmagate, as it was termed, altered the balance of power in Ukrainian politics with one blow – the president was pushed onto the defensive, and oppositionist forces gradually gained strength, as at least part of the Ukrainian people seemed to have awakened from its slumber. Through the protest movement Ukraine without Kuchma, thousands of demonstrators took to the streets during the winter of 2000 and 2001, though only in western and central Ukraine (Kuzio 2002), forcing Kuchma to remove some of his most trusted men from government.4 Nonetheless, the ruling elites would not give up without a fight, and launched a counterattack. On January 19, 2001, Kuchma dismissed Tymoshenko, and on February 13, she was arrested on accusations of tax evasion committed in 1996-1997, during her time as head of the gas company UESU.5 Moreover, Yushchenko was forced to step down on April 26, after a no-confidence vote in the Rada, where the Communists voted along with the oligarchs (Åslund 2009: 146). Yushchenko’s successor, Anatolii Kinakh, quickly proved loyal to Kuchma – he continued reforms at a slower pace, careful not to disturb the economic interests of oligarchs and clans, and again allowed dubious privatizations. Furthermore, he did not overshadow the president, as Yushchenko had done. On the surface, things were returning to normal (Wilson 2005: 49). But Yushchenko’s successful reforms and the Kuchmagate scandal had altered the rules of the game. In parliamentary elections on March 31, 2002, a clear break was made with the one-sided political landscape of the late 1990s; a powerful anti-regime opposition ran for the first time in many years, and voters were mobilized by civil society groups working for clean

Competition for Domestic Power and External Influence Intensifies

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elections and comprehensive democratic reforms. Yushchenko’s broad center-right coalition, Our Ukraine, garnered 26.2 percent of the total seats; Tymoshenko’s more populist, social democratic Bloc Yulia Tymoshenko (BYuT) won 5.1 percent; the Communists 14.2 percent; and Moroz’ Socialist Party 4.9 percent while the Kuchma oligarchs that had formed the coalition For a United Ukraine secured 39.3 percent (Diuk & Gongadze 2002: 159). Despite the Kuchma regime’s ample attempts to manage the elections – clearly violating the electoral regime (A1, A4) by outright ballot tampering, applying administrative pressure, setting up clone parties designed to take votes from the opposition,6 manipulating voter lists, and soliciting support from biased media – the elections were nothing less than a breakthrough. Civil society groups, such as the Committee of Voters, documented the widespread fraud and, on election night, released three exit polls, based on a total of 18,000 respondents, showing Our Ukraine in the lead with 25 percent. This set a clear limit on further manipulation of the results, and the democratic opposition thus secured strong political representation (Diuk & Gongadze 2002: 157, 160-2; Wilson 2005: 65, 67). Nonetheless, by January 2003, the ruling elites had regained some of the lost control: most of the influential positions in the Rada were won by the pro-Kuchma parties; deputies from the four opposition parties, attracted by big bribes, drifted towards the ever-changing center factions controlled by Kuchma and his oligarch supporters;7 parliamentary re-runs, necessary in the districts where the March elections had produced inconclusive results, were blatantly manipulated; and in one district, an Our Ukraine candidate was disqualified on the eve of the ballot (violating A1, A3, and A4). By January 2003, a pro-Kuchma majority, albeit a somewhat more fragile one, again ruled the Rada (Diuk & Gongadze 2002: 163-5; Wilson 2005: 68). But with the 2004 presidential elections approaching, the Rada was not the only place where Kuchma and his supporters were trying to regain control. First, an attempt was made to cover up the Gongadze case – a new pro-Kuchma general procurator was approved by the Rada (Diuk & Gongadze 2002: 164), and in August 2003, a key witness died in police custody after receiving a lethal drug injection and severe beatings to the stomach (Wilson 2005: 54). Several other mysterious deaths linked to other cases occurred in this period as well, severely infringing upon the civil rights regime (C7) (Diuk & Gongadze 2002: 165; Wilson 2005: 54; Åslund 2009: 145). Second, control of the media was tightened. In June 2002, Viktor Medvedchuk, media oligarch from the Kiev clan and leader of the pro-Kuchma Social Democratic Party of Ukraine (United), was appointed head of the presidential administration. He quickly imposed Soviet-like temnyky (i.e., telling journalists what to write about and what not to deal with), turned the major TV stations into tabloids, gained full control over

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the printed press, repeatedly harassed independent media outlets, and orchestrated a heavy smear campaign against the opposition, in general, and Tymoshenko, in particular (Wilson 2005: 77).8 These moves brought the decline in press freedom to new heights (B5). In addition to cover-ups and media manipulation, Kuchma and his entourage engaged in more proactive planning as well. In November 2002, Kinakh was dismissed as prime minister, and the powerful Donetsk clan managed, at the expense of the Dnipropetrovsk clan’s candidate, Serhiy Tyhypko, to push a weakened Kuchma into nominating their man, Viktor Yanukovych (Wilson 2005: 83).9 This nomination had broader significance than normal, as it suggested a possible Kuchma successor. Massive bribing, of up to $200,000 per vote, secured the necessary votes for his approval in the Rada (Wilson 2005: 83), and Yanukovych formed the first completely centrist government of the now nine pro-regime oligarchic factions (Åslund 2009: 161). Clearly, this was an attempt to isolate the opposition and keep its leaders out of the public eye. However, Kuchma and the Dnipropetrovsk clan were not keen on passing political power to Yanukovych and the clan from Donetsk. So they worked out a plan in the last months of 2003 to stir up East-West confrontation between Yanukovych and the main opposition challenger, Yushchenko, and then launch Kuchma as the mediator necessary for maintaining order and stability in the country. In December, the legal foundation for the plan was prepared, when Kuchma convinced the judges of the Constitutional Court to allow him to run for a third term, even though this was clearly a breach of the constitution (Wilson 2005: 79-80), and thus impinged upon Ukraine’s horizontal accountability (D9). But with Kuchma’s popular ratings lingering only around a meager 5 percent, the immediate return of the incumbent was deemed too risky a solution. Instead, in January 2004, the pro-Kuchma faction proposed a constitutional package that would limit the powers of the president vis-à-vis parliament after the elections. Despite intense pressure and falsification of at least five votes, the proposal fell just barely short of approval in the second reading on April 8 (Wilson 2005: 80-81). Kuchma and the Dnipropetrovsk clan lost the battle, so instead they put their force behind Yanukovych, hoping that, if chosen, he would continue paying due interest to the demands of rival clans as well. The regime had changed tactics from control to damage control. The Orange Revolution During 2004, the pro-Kuchma majority in the Rada began to fall apart, and by September, it no longer existed (Kuzio 2005a: 34). At the same time, the opposition had gained more and more strength and increasingly challenged the authorities. Pro-democratic and pro-Yushchenko civil society youth

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groups, such as Pora, had gained strength; protest rallies attracted larger and larger crowds; and in July, Tymoshenko withdrew her candidacy, only to cast her full support for Yushchenko (Wilson 2005: 74-5, 122; Åslund 2002: 202). A unified opposition with strong popular backing had emerged. The ruling elites and their supporters were getting nervous and, therefore, resorted to ever more brutal means to maintain power.10 In August and September, Yushchenko came close to being killed, first in a road accident involving a KamAZ truck (used several times before in orchestrated road accidents), and then by dioxin poisoning. While clear evidence of the regime’s involvement in these incidents does not exist, there is no doubt that eliminating or scarring off the main opposition candidate was desirable from the view point of the ruling elites; and they had previously shown (during both the 1999 elections and the years following them) that they were willing to apply such means to achieve their goals. Besides the attempt to eliminate or scare off Yushchenko, Kuchma strengthened his control over the military by replacing Defense Minister Yevhen Marchuk with a more loyal supporter, Oleksandr Kuzmuk, and the harassment of civil society organizations was stepped up; Pora offices, along with private apartments of its leaders, were searched, and explosives allegedly found on the premises were confiscated. Hence, a tense, biased atmosphere was built up, severely, hampering the fairness of the preelection phase (A4) as well as the civil rights regime (C7). Nonetheless, public protests that had been building up in the previous months continued, swirling to sometimes 100,000 people demanding free and fair elections. These demands, however, were ignored. The blatant manipulations pursued in earlier elections were repeated, and even intensified – both in the first round on October 31 and in the runoff between Yushchenko and Yanukovych on November 21.11 Thus, once more, Ukraine’s electoral regime was seriously undermined (A1, A4), and, not surprisingly, Yanukovych was heralded as the winner after the second round. But then events took a dramatic turn. During the last week of November, demonstrations in central Kiev swelled, bringing several hundred thousand to the streets, crying foul and demanding new elections. As transcripts documenting election fraud were released, the protests only grew. Regime supporters were uncertain of what to do, and though a oncetightly knit, pro-regime network, these supporters started to defect one by one. The ruling elites became desperate, and Ukraine came frighteningly close to a violent stand-off between the pro-democratic, pro-Western protestors and an anti-democratic regime, only passively supported in the eastern and southern regions of the country. In the end, though, a political compromise was negotiated. On December 8, in return for accepting a new runoff, a constitutional package weakening some of the excessive

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presidential powers (that Kuchma had introduced) and giving the Rada greater powers to check and balance the executive was approved. On December 26, a much cleaner, less biased repeat runoff election was held. This time Yushchenko emerged as the victor with 52 percent against Yanukovych’s 44.2 percent. Hence, for the first time in ten years, the monopoly on power enjoyed by Kuchma and his oligarchic supporters was broken, and the gradual decline into ever severe authoritarianism was finally halted. The Embrace of Russia: Letting A Negative External Actor In While relations between Russia and Ukraine had been slowly improving at the end of the 1990s, a full turnaround now took place, and cooperation flourished. Throughout the 2000–2004 period, Presidents Kuchma and Putin met repeatedly, reflecting not just the good chemistry between the two leaders, but also the mutual understanding developing in this period. A modus Vivendi was quickly worked out – Kuchma put a brake on rapprochements with the West and willingly built economic and intergovernmental linkages to Russia through participation in Russiasponsored organizations and by facilitating Russian investments and asset takeover in Ukraine. In return, Moscow provided stable energy supplies at predictable prices, improved trade conditions, showed clear respect for Ukrainian independence and territorial integrity, granted full political support to both Kuchma and Yanukovych, and during the whole 2004 campaign as well as in the crisis period following it, unequivocally sided with and supported the ruling elites, blatantly interfering in the electoral contest. Thus, in this period, Russia played the role of an exclusively negative external actor, cooperating with and supporting the inflictions on democracy purported by the increasingly desperate Kuchma regime. Developing the Modus Vivendi The first summit between Kuchma and the new Russian president took place on April 17-18, 2000. The meeting was a success. Putin agreed to resume oil deliveries halted in late 1999, making it clear that Ukrainian independence was “irreversible”, but also stressed the link between energy and geopolitics (Sherr 2002: 157, 162). This two-day meeting was a turning point in bilateral relations. From then on, the Ukrainian president paid much stronger attention to fulfilling Russian demands. Already the following day, on April 19, Kuchma joined the Rada’s critique of Yushchenko’s reforms and, in particular, lambasted Tymoshenko’s energy policies (Åslund 2009: 146). This first step could, therefore, be interpreted as payment for the resumed oil deliveries and open support for Ukrainian independence.12

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In return, the Kremlin assisted on bringing the increasingly popular, pro-Western Yushchenko government down. Leading to the dismissal of Tymoshenko in January 2000, Russian military prosecutors brought forward five-year-old embezzlement charges against her, and the day after her arrest in February, Duma speaker Gennadii Selezhnev praised Kuchma for his latest example “of how to deal with corrupted persons” (Sherr 2002: 164). The ouster of Yushchenko was also made easier with Russia’s help. In midApril, while the Rada was considering a vote of confidence in the government, a defamatory documentary about the prime minister was rebroadcast on Ukrainian national TV, having been produced by Russian ORT TV (Solohubenko 2002: 75).13 Thus, the Kremlin actively assisted with the elimination of Kuchma’s political opponents, and the Ukrainian incumbent increasingly allowed Russian companies to gain control of large, profitable and strategically important Ukrainian enterprises, such as oil refineries (Balmaceda 2008: 30-1). During the summer of 2000, Kuchma’s actions further indicated the deal that had been struck. At the CIS summit in June, Ukraine, who normally refused to take part in CIS military cooperation structures, surprisingly joined as signatory to the CIS Anti-Terrorism Centre, which was coordinated by the Russian national intelligence agency FSB, and indicated further steps to enhance intelligence cooperation with Russia (Sherr 2002: 162-63). On August 18, during a CIS summit, Putin and Kuchma further cemented their mutual understanding. An escalating debate on Russian gas deliveries and Ukraine’s debt problem was swiftly settled, and the gas issue did not return for the rest of the 2000–2004 period. The Ukrainian president immediately gave something in return – in late August, Ukraine for the first time participated in a CIS air defense exercise, and Kuchma suddenly reversed his pro-European rhetoric, stating that “Ukraine would gain nothing from a confrontation with Russia… the West is closed to us now.” In the following month, Foreign Minister Borys Tarasyuk and several other Ukrainian officials, long unpopular with the Kremlin and found incompatible with good neighbor relations, were dismissed and replaced with people less enthusiastic about the West and more friendly towards Russia (Sherr 2002: 167). When Kuchmagate started in November 2000, bilateral cooperation entered a new stage. While Europe, as will be discussed below, threatened to expel Ukraine from the CoE, Moscow, on the contrary, provided Kuchma with much-needed support by portraying Western criticism as blatant interference in the country’s internal affairs and by immediately granting an eight-year delay on paying its debt for gas deliveries, giving Kuchma a popularity boost (Sherr 2002: 164-5; Nygren 2008: 59-60). Russia in this way directly assisted in downplaying these gross violations of the political

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rights (B5) and civil rights (C7) regimes, providing Kuchma vital legitimacy in a time of serious domestic crisis. To maintain this backing, Kuchma needed to continue giving concessions, forging stronger and stronger economic and intergovernmental ties to his great neighbor. He increasingly praised Russia and the UkrainianRussian kinship;14 it was agreed that the two countries’ energy grids should be linked, further increasing Ukrainian energy dependency of Russia (Balamceda 2008: 29); and participation in the pro-Western GUAM organization was scaled down (Balmaceda 2008: 30), while at the same time, a military cooperation treaty was concluded with Moscow, allowing not only for a joint naval unit in Sevastopol and joint weapon production, but as well granting Russia rights to freely organize military drills on Ukrainian territory (Mihkelson 2002: 114). During 2002 and 2003, linkage-building continued. In May 2002, Ukraine joined the Eurasian Economic Community (EurAsEC) as an observer;15 in July, Kuchma agreed to join as a full member (Puglisi 2003a: 840); and in February 2003, the level of formal economic cooperation was raised once more when the more exclusive Common Economic Space (CES) was launched. The initiative envisaged a customs and, eventually, currency union modeled on the EU, including only Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan.16 In September 2003, the deal was signed, requiring Moscow to remove quotas on steel products and other trade restrictions, all implemented during the 1996/1997 trade war (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 150; Åslund 2009: 171). In effect, this reversed the near-persistent decline in Ukrainian exports to Russia. The level of informal economic cooperation flourished as well. For example, in December 2002, a dubious gas agreement was again made in which the intermediary gas company, Itera, which had been skimming large profits from the gas trade between the two countries throughout the late 1990s and early 2000s, was replaced with a new structure, Eural Trans Gaz. This did nothing to abolish the rent-seeking, but simply made sure that the negotiated part of the profits went to the right people – that is, the new management of Gazprom, installed by Putin in spring 2001 (Åslund 2009: 169). As a show of gratitude, Moscow kept gas prices stable. Russia continued providing Kuchma with political and economic benefits. For the March 2002 parliamentary elections, the Kremlin sent socalled political technologists, such as Gleb Pavlovsky and Marat Gelman, to Ukraine to help Kuchma manage the elections– they were encouraged to set up fake clone parties and were given plenty of TV airtime to disseminate their highly biased views on the candidates running for election (Wilson 2005: 88). Though these political consultants17 were hired on private contracts, they were, nevertheless, so closely tied to the Kremlin that their

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presence and the strategies that they pursued could only be coordinated with the Russian leadership, despite the (ironic) name of the “think tank”: Foundation for Effective Politics. Moreover, Ambassador Chernomyrdin, along with several other high-ranking Russian officials, openly advised Ukrainian voters to avoid the opposition parties and instead vote for “proRussian” forces, and in general help fan the flames against pro-Western forces (Kuzio 2003: 438, 445). This only supports the argument that Russia was negatively affecting the impartialness and fairness of the elections (A4). In the following year, the attempts to boost Kuchma’s image continued. In January 2003, the President was granted three political victories before the establishment of the CES was proclaimed. First of all, exact land borders, which Russia had hitherto refused to even negotiate, were finally agreed upon (Kuzio 2007: 91), and Kuchma was suggested the next Head of the CIS Council of State by Putin, a first for a non-Russian (RFE/RL Newsline, 30 Jan. 2003). Later that year, an agreement settling the sea borders was finally reached as well (Nygren 2008: 56-58).18 Summing up, throughout the first three years of the new millennium, Russia persistently refrained from the economic and political sanctioning of the 1990s and instead provided political and economic treats to Ukraine’s ruling elites, helping to soften the image of the hard-pressed Kuchma regime, and to equip him with the freedom to regain strength before the crucial 2004 election year. Had the Ukrainian president not cultivated such a highly facilitative, yes even acquiescent, gatekeeping strategy, and had Russia instead continued pursuing its former policy line, Kuchma and his supporters would simply have had a much harder time staving off the opposition and holding on to power as long as he did. Hence, in these years, the Kremlin actively undergirded authoritarianism in Ukraine, helping to protect the regime and fight its opponents. Russian Involvement in the Orange Revolution During the electoral year of 2004, Russian interference on Ukraine’s internal matters reached a hitherto unseen level. For Putin, maintaining very good relations with Ukraine and preserving the compliant authoritarian system in place would help resolve so many other issues – by effectively halting the EU’s and NATO’s Eastern encroachment, by making dealings with Moldova and Belarus easier, and by making possible the continued extraction of rents through gas trade and other business (Wilson 2005: 94). Consequently, the Kremlin mustered all its power to secure a favorable outcome. Underlining the importance of the event, Dmitri Medvedev, head of the Russian presidential administration and later president, was put in charge of the official Russian strategy during the elections (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 151).

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During the pre-election campaign, interference materialized in three ways. First, Moscow’s favored candidate, Viktor Yanukovych, was given consistent and ample political support. In May 2004, after the Ukrainian parliament had ratified the CES agreement, the extremely popular Russian president met with Yanukovych in public and praised him for the country’s impressive growth rates (even though they were in fact the fruits of Yushchenko’s reforms in the early 2000s) (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 147). This scenario was repeated at several summits throughout the year19 and climaxed only five days before the elections, when Putin, during his prestigious three-day visit to Kiev, participated in a military parade with Yanukovych, appeared with a speech on Ukrainian national TV, praising the presidential candidate, and even in a one-and-a-half-hour-long broadcast, answered questions from concerned voters (Wilson 2005: 94; Åslund 2009: 183). Supporters of the Russian president also assisted with political backing. For instance, in October, Patriarch Alexei of the Russian Orthodox Church, the religious leader of more than 50 percent of the Ukrainian population and a close ally of Putin, blessed Yanukovych and expressed support for his political program. In the same month, during a congress for representatives of the Ukrainian diaspora in Russia, Dmitri Medvedev appealed, in front of spinning cameras, to all Ukrainians to do as the banners covering the central streets around the Moscow conference halls suggested and vote for Yanukovych (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 155; Åslund 2009: 183). Thus, Russia used several official channels to give strong political backing to the defender of status quo, Viktor Yanukovych. Second, in addition to all these supportive statements, the Kremlin provided financial and technical support for Yanukovych’s candidacy and gave political and economic concessions to boost Russia’s popularity and show voters the importance of good relations with Russia. At the Yalta Summit in July, after Kiev once again agreed to replace the intermediary gas company with a new structure, RosUkrEnergo, which allowed the Russian side to skim larger and larger profits, Putin announced that gas prices would remain stable throughout the year. In exchange, an agreement was made in which the Kremlin, along with some of Russia’s largest companies, would co-finance Yanukovych’s campaign (Åslund 2009: 170, 182-3). Various estimates have been made of the total Russian contribution to Yanukovych’s campaign, ranging from $50m to $600m (for an overview, see Wilson (2005: 118-21), and Petrov and Ryabov (2006: 152)). No matter what the exact numbers were, Yanukovych did not have a money problem, and Russia provided substantial non-accountable and non-transparent financial assistance (Kuzio 2005a: 40), allowing Yanukovych to spend an enormous sum on advertising, smear campaigns, bribing and so on.

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During the summer, the Kremlin-affiliated political technologists again arrived in Kiev to help run Yanukovych’s campaign (Wilson 2005: 86-8), and in late August, they opened the Russian Club as the center for the campaign. Russian Ambassador Chernomyrdin participated in the opening ceremony as evidence that the club’s actions were fully sanctioned by Moscow (Eurasian Daily Monitor, 22 Sep. 2004). In the same month, Putin promised that registration procedures for the large number of Ukrainians working in Russia would be eased considerably, allegedly in return for a promise of a complete Ukrainian withdrawal from the military base in Sevastopol, and furthermore declared that the VAT on oil exports to Ukraine would be removed, which would lower petrol costs by 16 percent, equivalent to $800m (Wilson 2005: 89-90), in effect enabling Yanukovych to double pensions on September 1. Hence, with this financial assistance and with the help of the skilled political technologists, the image of the proregime candidate was boosted and, for the first time, brought him into the lead. Third, Moscow stepped in more blatantly by helping the Ukrainian regime fight the opposition and secure the right results in the elections. In September, Russian prosecutors reopened the case brought against Tymoshenko in 2002, sending a request to Interpol for her arrest. Moreover, it seems likely that Russia was involved in what looked like assassination attempts on the main opposition candidate, Yushchenko (the road accident, the poisoning, as well as a later attempt in November). Though hard evidence does not exist, several details point in that direction (Wilson 2005: 23, 77; 96-104; Kuzio 2005b: 498). In addition to these campaign-related interferences, the Kremlin also sought to influence developments during the actual elections and their aftermath. In between the two rounds of voting, on November 12-13, Putin again met with Kuchma and Yanukovych, and once again expressed his hope that the prime minister would win the upcoming run-off. He allegedly advised Yanukovych to use “smarter” rigging, by inflating turnout in trusted regions instead of focusing on falsifying the votes cast, to secure his reelection (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 157). Indeed, this was the strategy followed in the marred run-off elections a week later. The day after the elections, on November 22, the CIS election observation mission, under full Russian control, declared the elections to be “legitimate and of a nature that reflected democratic standards” (Fawn 2006: 1144), and Putin congratulated Yanukovych on his victory even before the official results were announced. Putin also advised Kuchma to stop demonstrations by either introducing a state of emergency or transferring power to Yanukovych to let him do the dirty work (Wilson 2005: 95, 136). In the following tense weeks, Russian officials first demanded an

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unconditional recognition of Yanukovych’s victory and, when this proved impossible, opted for backing the Kuchma/Yanukovych demand to hold completely new elections instead of just a new run-off. On December 6, Putin finally backed down and expressed a willingness to work with the victor of the new vote, scheduled for late December (Wilson 2005: 140, 149). Thus, Russia interfered blatantly in all phases of the Orange Revolution and had a strong negative influence on Ukraine’s democratic performance throughout the year. The Kremlin skewed the playing field by openly providing one candidate with ample political, financial and technical support, while harshly criticizing the pro-Western opposition, thus, impinging on the fairness of the elections (A4). It also consistently supported the regime’s official interpretation of the election results and the events that followed, and even provided advice on how to actually carry out the rigging, indirectly and directly easing the task of manipulating the elections (A1, A4). Moscow presumably went so far as to conspire in attempts to eliminate at least Tymoshenko, but possibly also Yushchenko (using even more brutal means), hence gravely tampering with the civil rights of the opposition leaders (C7). Nonetheless, all Russia’s efforts in the end proved futile, and the result was not just an ordinary defeat, but a “scandalous humiliation” that shocked the Russian leaders for years to come (Petrov & Ryabov 2006: 145). The EU: From Inconsistency to Full Conditionality During the 2000–2004 period, the tight EU-Ukraine relationship that had developed in the 1990s steadfastly crumbled away. A growing mistrust between the two sides developed, and neither economic nor political ties changed significantly. As mentioned above, Kuchma early on accepted an offer from his Russian counterpart that would provide him with the tools he thought would enable him to maintain full power. In return, Moscow required that he tone down his pro-Western foreign policy. Europe simultaneously grew more impatient with Kuchma’s rule. The Ukrainian incumbent seemingly understood the incompatibility of his style of governance with further European integration. Consequently, linkagebuilding with the West dwindled. The EU became more and more wary of Kuchma’s soft “Belarusification”, but, at the same time, Brussels was afraid to push too hard, fearing first that too hard a push would weaken the pro-European, reformist Yushchenko government, and later that Ukraine would indeed, like Belarus, completely fall into the arms of Russia. Consequently, as before, the EU followed a fairly inconsistent line, while it was left to the

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CoE to criticize Ukrainian autocratization. Only in 2004, the principle of democratic conditionality became fully dominant, and the EU finally intervened during the chaotic days of the Orange Revolution, securing a peaceful settlement and thereby helping facilitate a democratic breakthrough. Increasing European Pressure As explained above, Kuchma’s turn to Russia took place before the Melnychenko tapes in November 2000 fully revealed the dark side of the Ukrainian regime, that is, before the West was finally forced to reverse its strategy of unconditional support to the incumbent. Before this critical event, Brussels was, nonetheless, very reluctant to criticize even blatant authoritarian tendencies. The unconstitutional referendum organized by Kuchma in April 2000 in an attempt to further concentrate power provides a good example of this reluctance. On April 3, PACE issued a sharply worded opinion on the upcoming referendum, basically arguing that the move was unconstitutional and that the strengthening of presidential powers was in conflict with international standards. They threatened to exclude Ukraine if the changes proposed were implemented (PACE 2000). Brussels, on the contrary, followed a more toned-down approach, merely expressing hope for a free and fair election process, encouraging Kuchma to follow the recommendations of the CoE (EU Council 2000). Even if the pressure from PACE somewhat constrained the Ukrainian president, the subsequent actions of the EU signaled that business could continue as usual, for nothing was done to sanction the welldocumented, blatant manipulations marring the referendum. Moreover, in May, in connection with a working visit with Prime Minister Yushchenko, the EU issued an opinion on Ukraine, echoing Kuchma’s excuses for the referendum. That is, the opinion recognized that the Rada was blocking reform legislation, but uttered not a word about the unfair vote itself. In September, when the yearly Ukraine-EU summit was held, the European Council even declared that Ukraine was making progress on reforms and aired the idea of establishing a free trade agreement. Simultaneously, the High Representative Javier Solana, in an article in the Ukrainian paper Zerkalo Nedeli praised progress on democratic reforms and even noted that he looked forward to “the results of the recent referendum being implemented”, despite the fraud being very well documented at this point (Zerkalo Nedeli, 19 Sep. 2000). Thus, Brussels was clearly not honoring democratic conditionality, fearing to disturb the implementation of reforms carried out by Yushchenko’s government. Kuchma could have continued business as usual, courting the West, as relations had not changed in any substantial way. But as documented above, he chose to turn to Russia and,

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in late August, stated that “the West is closed to us now” (Sherr 2002: 167). By September, Kuchma dismissed pro-Western officials, including Foreign Minister Borys Tarasyuk, considered the symbol of Ukraine’s Western drive. The Gongadze scandal in November 2000 brought an increasing distrust towards the Kuchma regime: its real intentions were becoming clear to the capitals of Europe. Two months later, the CoE expressed deep concern about “the intimidation, repeated aggression and murders of journalists in Ukraine and the frequent abuse of power by the Ukrainian executive authorities in respect of freedom of expression”, and demanded a thorough investigation of the incident (PACE 2001). The EU supported this statement but continued its more balanced approach, expressing “concerns about the continuing problematic environment for the media in Ukraine” and a wish to “stress to the Ukrainian authorities the need to ensure a safe, secure and harassment-free environment for journalists to operate in” (EU Presidency 2001a). But despite a recurring debate about whether or not to exclude Ukraine from the CoE (Sherr 2002: 164-5) and the EU expression of disappointment with the fall of the Yushchenko government in spring 2001 (EU Presidency 2001b), no further political or economic sanctions were imposed. Slowly, European criticism and pressure for democratic reforms grew. At the EU-Ukraine Summit in Yalta in September 2001, major concerns about democracy, media freedom and the rule of law were expressed (EU-Ukraine 2001), and in December, a very strongly worded report from the Council of the EU emphasized “profound concerns” about violence against journalists and the lack of judicial independence (EU Council, 11 Dec. 2001). Still, however, the EU continued to send mixed signals: on the one hand, occasionally criticizing the authoritarian tendencies; on the other hand, letting cooperation proceed as usual, downplaying many of the gross violations of the Kuchma regime. One telling example of this split policy relates to the March 2002 parliamentary elections. As noted above, a biased campaign, severe shortcomings and outright fraud were well-documented. Brussels, however, refrained from completely denouncing the managed elections. Instead, the EU president expressed overall satisfaction with the improved conduct of the elections, though with some critical remarks (EU Presidency, 10 April 2002). Immediately after the elections in April, the idea of the Wider Europe initiative was born, thereby signaling a European willingness to once again increase cooperation (McDonagh 2008: 155). Though the official policy line still emphasized cooperation, Brussels increasingly tried to circumvent the president and the old guard. This strategy started while Yushchenko was prime minister and continued during the parliamentary elections. For example, Western embassies in Kiev funded the exit polls

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that, in effect, limited the authorities’ margin for rigging (Wilson 2005: 667), thereby making a small but vital contribution to securing strong oppositionist representation. Clearly, assessing the EU in this period is difficult. Some moves helped delegitimize the Kuchma regime, but mostly, the EU’s actions had the opposite effect, allowing the Ukrainian president to cooperate with Brussels and extract, what Vachudova (2005) has termed, “foreign-policy rents.” Despite Kuchma’s gradual movement towards harder authoritarianism in late 2002 to 2004, the EU continued developing its Neighborhood Policy and, in early 2004, even hurried to conclude negotiations on an Action Plan before the EU enlargement in May 2004. Moreover, substantial sums kept flowing in, with the largest amounts, by far, allocated after the pro-reform Yushchenko government had fallen in April 2001.20 Summing up, on the one hand, the EU fairly consistently issued strong criticism of the most hardcore inflictions on democratic performance – such as the killing of journalists and the general absence of freedom of the press (B5, C7), and at the same time, it built stronger relations with the democratic opposition and civil society organizations. On the other hand, the commitment to strengthen anti-Kuchma movements remained low, and Brussels singlehandedly continued its political engagement with Ukraine’s criminalized leadership – providing it with both money and a fair amount of external legitimacy. At this point, therefore, the ruling elites in Kiev saw no reason to more actively cut links. The ties to Europe developed through the previous decade had simply not yet circumscribed their maneuverability. This, however, was soon to change. The Orange Turning Point: EU Insists on Conditionality and Facilitates A Breakthrough During most of 2004, the EU was mainly focused on realizing the longawaited historical Eastern enlargement, but also on making sure that the ENP, the comprehensive policy initiative for the EU’s new neighbors, could be launched simultaneously. As mentioned above, negotiations on an Action Plan with Ukraine had been rushed through in the first months of the year, but in June, when the European Council was about to finally approve it, Kuchma threatened to reject the Action Plan unless a promise of potential closer ties (that is, membership) was included. By July, membership had still not been offered, and he followed through on his threat, even suggesting that the goal of EU and NATO membership should be stripped from Ukraine’s defense doctrine (Kubicek 2007: 10; Pentland 2008: 135). Thus, at least for a while, he refused to build closer intergovernmental linkages, knowing that the EU, at that point, would never agree to give the country membership perspective.

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This open provocation brought a tough EU response. The EU strongly criticized the tense, violent and heavily biased election campaign, and consistently encouraged Ukrainian authorities to show their commitment to European values by conducting free and fair elections (RFE/RL Newsline, 28 Oct. 2004). After the fraudulent first round of elections on October 31, the EU president issued a statement calling on authorities to correct deficiencies in preparation for the second round, warning that clean elections were of “great significance” for bilateral relations (RFE/RL Newsline, 2 Nov. 2004). The US also stepped up its engagement. Before the first round, officials warned that fraudulent elections could result in “punitive measures” (RFE/RL Newsline, 29 Oct. 2004), and before the second round, US President George Bush threatened sanctions on anyone responsible for further manipulating elections. (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Nov. 2004). After the even more blatantly rigged second round, both the US and the EU sharply denounced the results. Brussels threatened to halt financial assistance and further “repercussions” (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 Nov. 2004), and on November 24, the same day transcripts documenting the extensive fraud were made public in Kiev, US Secretary of State Colin Powell stated that Washington would not accept the results (RFE/RL Newsline, 24 Nov. 2004). These were strong signals from Ukraine’s formerly close allies, and they emboldened the demonstrators in the streets of Kiev to continue their protests. The conflict quickly escalated and a violent outcome seemed very real. Brussels, therefore, decided to act. On November 26, High Representative Javier Solana, Polish President Alexander Kwasniewski and Lithuanian President Valdas Adamkus formed an EU delegation and flew to Kiev to mediate. During the following days, roundtable negotiations were conducted with the two presidential candidates, President Kuchma, Rada Chairman Volodymyr Lytvyn and Russian Duma Speaker Boris Gryzlov. In the end, the EU delegation succeeded in brokering a compromise according to which the Supreme Court, the most independent of Ukrainian courts, would be left to rule the validity of the allegations of fraud (Sushko & Prystako 2006: 139). However, the night between November 28 and 29 (the day the Supreme Court hearings were scheduled to begin), the agreement came very close to breaking, as 10,000-13,000 troops, armed with live ammunition and tear gas, encircled Kiev and marched toward the center where demonstrators were protesting. What could have resulted in a bloodbath was luckily averted by Yushchenko, who had been contacted by someone in the Security Service (SBU), who then immediately contacted several Western leaders who, in turn, got hold of President Kuchma to warn him to abort the mission – even though it was unclear whether he was even

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aware of it happening (Wilson 2005: 136-7). The imminent danger of a violent resolution passed, and the Supreme Court began its hearings. On December 3, the Court ruled that mass violations and severe media bias had taken place, putting sole blame on the authorities. Furthermore, it took a clear political standpoint and recommended new run-off elections (RFE/RL Newsline, 3 Dec. 2004). The way was paved for the constitutional agreement reached in the Rada on December 8. Summing up, the EU and the US played a pivotal role in the heated months of the Orange Revolution. Their consistent criticism of the fraudulent election process, and in particular, Colin Powell’s firm refusal to accept the results of the second round, helped delegitimize the ruling elites and confirm and strengthen the opposition’s and protestors’ beliefs that they had cause to fight. In addition, the crucial EU intervention, forcing a roundtable meeting, created a more level playing field as it put the two candidates on equal footing in the negotiations for the first time: Yushchenko could no longer just be waved off; authorities were forced to give concessions. Finally, the prompt reaction during the fateful night before the Supreme Court rulings was absolutely pivotal for averting a violent clash between demonstrators and troops, and for paving the way for not just new, significantly improved elections, but also a constitutional agreement that removed the excessive presidential powers arrogated by Kuchma, providing for a more balanced separation of powers. Thus, all in all, the EU, in close cooperation with the US, positively affected Ukraine’s democratic performance through improvements in the electoral regime (A1, A4) and the horizontal accountability regime (D9), and also by stopping what could have resulted in gross violations of the political rights regime (B6) and the civil rights regime (C7). But was the West party to the conflict? Did it “manage” the Orange Revolution by funding and training the opposition? This was how Russia and Yanukovych tried to present the case. But is it a fair picture of what really happened? The issue has been discussed at length,21 and there seems to be general agreement that such an interpretation of events was a gross, misleading overstatement. Indeed, the EU, and to a much higher degree, the US did provide funding to democracy assistance programs, to voter education programs, and to civil society groups such as Znaiu and Pora, which proved important for orchestrating demonstrations. But the West did not create the opposition: opposition parties and civil society organizations were far from dependent on Western funding.22 And throughout the months of the revolution, the anti-regime organizations operated independently, not following a Western revolutionary manual. Thus, the West did assist with sustaining competitive authoritarianism (McFaul 2006: 184), it did help tip the balance at crucial moments (Levitsky & Way 2010: 219), but it did not

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produce the revolution. Rather, this was the product of a well-organized opposition movement, a weakened incumbent in charge of a splintering elite coalition, and dissatisfied Ukrainian voters protesting in the streets on a very large scale. Brussels and Washington, therefore, did not control events, but they did help make the democratic breakthrough possible by strengthening and protecting oppositionist forces, while at the same time sharply denouncing the incumbent regime. Belarus 2000–2004 Belarus ended the 1990s as a full dictatorship. President Lukashenka was in firm control of economic resources, the media and the parliament, and oppositional activities and civil society protests were brutally crushed. During the first four years of the new millennium, this scenario was more or less reproduced. As depicted in Table 6.4, President Lukashenka consolidated his power through fully controlled elections, and through a fixed referendum, he changed the constitution, allowing him to run for more than two consecutive terms. Moreover, increased repression of the opposition, the media, and civil society organizations was pursued, and potential competition from within the regime’s own ranks was dealt with effectively. During 2000-2001, Lukashenka maintained focus on securing his own political survival. To do so, he had to win the parliamentary elections in October 2000 and the presidential elections in September 2001. In preparing for the former, the first part of 2000 was used to gravely stack the deck. In February, a new electoral law was approved, severely restricting the work of election observers, barring the opposition from seats on the election commission, and making both registration procedures and campaigning more cumbersome (Silitski 2005: 89). Two months later, a massive audit of various media was conducted to ensure that only pro-regime reporting reached the electorate. Faced with these terms, the majority of the opposition simply decided to boycott the elections. As expected, the whole process – that is, registration (A3), campaign, voting and counting (A1, A4) – proved deeply flawed (OSCE/ ODIHR 2000). All along, Lukashenka fully controlled who to entrust with a seat in the legislature and who not to, depriving his political opponents the possibility of representation. In December 2000, the opposition, therefore, convened in a common forum, the Consultative Council of Democratic Forces (CCDF), trying to make a difference in the upcoming presidential election. The strategy was clear – a common candidate had to be found, and it had to be a moderate one who could appeal to a large part of the electorate as well as attract the support of the conservative political and economic elites dissatisfied with

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Lukashenka’s dictatorial rule. But even though the list of possible candidates was reduced to five, deep disagreements and unproductive infighting prevented a single candidate from emerging. On August 21 2001, with less than three weeks to the vote, Uladzimir Hancharyk, Head of the Federation of Trade Unions of Belarus, was finally agreed upon (Silitski 2002: 364). Apart from promising to hold new parliamentary elections and pursue political reforms, Hancharyk focused on the economic hardship of ordinary voters and, according to independent polls, managed to convince two-thirds of the undecided Belarusian voters. This was a remarkable accomplishment in a regime where the incumbent had close to complete control over the media and the campaign (Padhol & Marples 2005: 90). The elections saw the rise of a more active and pluralist civil society. About 200 NGOs campaigned for free and fair elections, conducted parallel vote tabulation, observed the elections, documented violations, and orchestrated a successful get-out-to-vote campaign (Potocki 2002: 149-153). This was all a further confirmation that many Belarusians were far from satisfied with the President. However, even with growing opposition activity, Lukashenka maintained full control. Despite average support ratings throughout the year between 30 and 50 percent, the incumbent was declared the winner in the September 2001 elections, receiving a highly improbable 75.6 percent of the vote. Throughout the process, the electoral regime (A1, A3 and A4), as well as the political rights (B5 and B6), and civil rights regimes (C7) were severely violated.23 Thus, Lukashenka was well prepared and successfully orchestrated his re-election. Not even a clear “winner-issue” for the opposition was enough to tarnish his reputation. Following the “well-managed” parliamentary elections in October 2000, a case resembling the Gongadze scandal in Ukraine took center stage. As described in Chapter 5, several opposition leaders mysteriously went missing in late 1999, and now evidence pointed to a special police unit under one of Lukashenka’s closest allies, thennational security advisor, Viktor Sheiman. With this discovery, the investigations were immediately halted, and Sheiman was appointed new prosecutor general (Silitski 2005: 88-9). But on June 11 2001, a few months before the presidential elections, the case resurfaced when two of the investigators on the case brought evidence forward proving that Lukashenka and his closest collaborators had set up a death squad tasked with assassinating political opponents (Burger & Minchuk 2006: 30).24 This was Kuchmagate times two, but the complete media blackout in Belarus prevented the issue from severely threatening the president. Even though presidential candidate Hancharyk and the rest of the opposition continuously brought the allegations up, an independent poll on election day showed that incredible surprising 30 percent of voters had never even heard

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of the assassination plots (Potocki 2002: 149). This amply illustrates how mighty Lukashenka had become. Table 6.4 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 2000–2004 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Fraudulent and violent elections and referendum 2000, 2001, 2004 (A1, A3, A4)

B. Political Rights

Complete state control of media (B5) Brutal dispersal of demonstrations and oppression of opposition parties and NGOs (B6)

C. Civil Rights

Unjustified arrests and beatings of political opponents and protestors (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Complete elimination of checks and balances through abolishment of twoterm rule (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

Even though the economic situation in Belarus was sharply deteriorating, Lukashenka maintained full political control.25 The opposition was effectively crushed, the population was oppressed and systematically misinformed, economic and political elites were repeatedly reshuffled, and political life remained surprisingly stable (Fritz 2007: 217, 223). In late 2003, however, with the October 2004 parliamentary elections approaching,

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tensions started up again. The regime now clamped down on the civil society sector that had flourished in the early 2000s – almost 100 NGOs were forced to close, and the media were heavily penalized for reporting on NGO activities. Furthermore, tighter control was placed on the higher educational system (meant to reign in the many students active in various pro-opposition youth groups) and the independent press (Silitski 2005: 912); opposition candidates were jailed and parties closed; and state employees were no longer offered permanent employment, but instead, oneyear contracts that were extended at the discretion of the regime-installed management, making political protest extremely costly (Silitski 2010: 287). To make things worse, Lukashenka began preparations for a position of president for life. On September 7, 2004, he announced his intention to hold a referendum on the same day as parliamentary elections to remove presidential term limits (RFE/RL Newsline, 8 Sep. 2004). Once again, opposition forces joined hands to form the Democratic Forces of Belarus (Marples 2007: 81), but all efforts to lessen Lukashenka’s iron grip proved futile. Despite a Gallup exit poll after the parliamentary elections showing that 32 percent had voted for democratic candidates, not a single seat went to anti-regime candidates. Those daring to run were harassed or detained, and half of them were even denied registration or were disqualified during the heavily biased campaign (Silitski 2005: 93-4). At the same time, Lukashenka’s referendum passed with an alleged 79 percent; the president could now serve more than two terms. The OSCE criticized the campaign for “unrestrained bias” (OSCE/ODIHR 2004), the voting itself was marred by massive rigging, and the sparse demonstrations taking place in its aftermath were brutally dispersed (Silitski 2005: 93). Hence, through gross and repeated violations of the electoral regime (A1, A3, and A4), the political rights regime (B5 and B6), and the civil rights regime (C7), Lukashenka maintained his grip on power. And with the removal of the last check on his power, the two-term limit, horizontal accountability (D9) was completely eliminated, permitting Lukashenka a full-blown, unconstrained autocracy. Russia Tightens the Screws, but Remains a Solid Support During the 2000–2004 period, the schizophrenia characterizing RussianBelarusian relations in the late 1990s continued. On one hand, Moscow continued providing not only crucial military and economic support for Lukashenka’s regime, but also political support targeted at thwarting criticism during periods of intense Western pressure and heightened oppositionist activity. On the other hand, relations appeared more strained and more conflict-ridden. Russia’s President Putin increasingly emphasized

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that support was not a free lunch. Undergirding Lukashenka’s power had a price, primarily in the form of obtaining access to profitable Belarusian enterprises and in general increasing economic, and thus also political, control over the country. Such demands were obviously doomed to foster conflict. Lukashenka, whose raison d’être seemed to be to concentrate as much power as possible, did everything possible to protract the establishment of such ties, simultaneously seeking to cut existing linkages that inhibited his freedom to maneuver. That said, the Kremlin was careful never to allow conflicts to escalate to the point where the continuation of an authoritarian regime in Belarus would be in danger. Moscow may have preferred another leader in control in Minsk, but clearly also feared the alternative if it pushed too hard. Russia’s Negative Influence: Continuing the Bolstering of Autocracy In the first four years of the new millennium, Russia continued its pivotal support to the autocratic Belarusian regime in various ways. First, substantial implicit financial aid kept flowing, as it had done in the 1990s. Most importantly, nominal energy prices were kept well below prices offered to other republics (running between $24 and $47 in the 2000–2004 period), and real prices were even lower as payment arrears and barter with low-quality goods were largely accepted. Moreover, the price hikes on gas that did take place were offset by compensation loans to secure payment and the increase of transit fees (Kommersant, 23 Oct. 2002; RFE/RL Newsline, 8 June 2004; Silitski 2007: 6). The Belarusian budget was further boosted by the continued skimming of customs revenues on goods bound for Russia (which Russia allowed and facilitated),26 as well as the profitable re-export of both Russian arms27 and Russian oil.28 Furthermore, a stabilization loan of $100m was granted in April 2001, providing Lukashenka with cash to campaign and to fulfill his election promise of raising salaries and pensions (Sannikov 2002: 227). But more than material resources, Russia also provided crucial political support, boosting the president’s image and defending him against external and internal criticism. For one, the intergovernmental linkage-building pursued so intensely in the 1990s continued, albeit at a much less ambitious level. Economic-political integration projects, such as the EurAsEC Customs and Currency Union established just five days before the October 15, 2000 parliamentary elections, did not bring much new with regard to integration (rather, it was an attempt to breathe life into the old CIS Customs Union), but Lukashenka could use it to present himself as a statesman capable of concluding favorable agreements with the outside world – crucial in a period when the West had cut off all ties. Moreover, military cooperation was deepened (Sannikov 2002: 224-5; Deyermond

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2004: 1194), and negotiations on the implementation of the Union State agreement made with Russia in 1999 led to several high-level meetings during which Lukashenka extracted the legitimacy that followed from interacting regularly with the wildly popular Russian President Putin. Apart from the occasional intergovernmental linkage-building, the Kremlin started defending and supporting Lukashenka to a much higher degree in this period than it had done in the late 1990s. Support was, in particular, granted during times of potential crisis, that is, during election periods, when the democratic opposition was most active and the West most critical. In connection with the October 2000 elections, official Russia provided ample support to the Belarusian incumbent.29   Though Putin made it clear that he regarded the elections an internal affair of Belarus (Sannikov 2002: 231), only five days after the fraudulent elections, he met up with Lukashenka, once again provid½ing him with crucial legitimacy in his time of need. In addition, Russia denounced the adverse conclusions made by the OSCE Technical Evaluation Mission, instead expressing hope that the new parliament would be represented in the OSCE Parliamentary Assembly (Economic News, 18 Oct. 2000). The supportive stance was repeated before and after the September 2001 presidential elections. On April 2, at the fifth anniversary of the Community Agreement, Putin honored Lukashenka with the Russian Order “For Services to Fatherland” for his support for Russian-Belarusian unification (RIA Novosti, 2 April 2001), and Russia dispersed the abovementioned $100m stabilization loan. In the months before the election, Lukashenka and Putin met frequently, and leading Russian politicians such as Gennadii Seleznyov, Yegor Stroyev, Yurii Luzhkov, Vladimir Zhirinovsky and Gennadii Zyuganov, as well as Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church Aleksei II, visited Minsk, presenting the incumbent with full backing from the entire political spectrum (Potocki 2002: 151; Padhol & Marples 2005: 86). Moreover, Russian business, in particular the Kremlin-controlled energy company RAO UES, provided financial assistance to Lukashenka’s campaign (Kononczuk 2008: 37), and the Russian media, which had for long pictured Lukashenka negatively,30 toned down its negative reporting during the run-up to the election (Potocki 2002: 149). After the vote, all Russian political parties congratulated Lukashenka on what Putin termed “an impressive victory” (Martinsen 2002: 411), and CIS election observers found the elections to be “free, open [and] in compliance with all universal democratic procedures” (Padhol & Marples 2005: 91). Finally, again in 2004, criticism of Lukashenka on Russian TV was muted during the run-up to the October parliamentary elections and the referendum. After the vote, the Kremlin, the Duma and CIS observers fully

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endorsed the results, simultaneously condemning Western sanctions and their alleged use of double standards. Furthermore, Lukashenka was rewarded with a continuation of low gas prices for the rest of the year (ItarTass, 18 Oct. 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 18 Oct. 2004; Itar-Tass, 22 Oct. 2004; Silitski 2007: 8). In addition to domestic electoral support, Russia repeatedly defended Belarus against critical resolutions prepared by Western nations and sanctions they adopted. At the OSCE Ministerial Conference in December 2000, Russian representatives blocked the adoption of a negative joint statement on the fraudulent 2000 elections (Wieck 2002: 271). When the EU and the US introduced visa sanctions targeted at the Belarusian leadership in November 2002, influential Moscow Mayor Yurii Luzhkov reminded the public that “the Belarusian administration was elected in a universal ballot under strict international control. It is fully legitimate” (ItarTass, 19 Nov. 2002), and Duma Speaker Seleznyov denounced the Western actions, saying that “Belarus can’t be treated that way” (Kommersant, 28 Nov. 2002). In April 2004, when PACE voted to recommend that the Committee of Ministers suspend all contacts with the Belarusian leadership due to the alleged killings of oppositionists, Russia fought hard to minimize consequences (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 April 2004). And in mid-November, when the issue of Belarusian human rights violations was proposed at the UN General Assembly, Moscow effectively stopped the discussion (Itartass, 19 Nov. 2004). Summing up, Russia again provided substantial financial, military and political support to Belarus. Without this crucial backing, in particular considering the timing of it, Lukashenka’s repression (B5, B6, C7, and C8) and election rigging (A1, A3, and A4) would have been much more costly to pursue, political and economic stability would have been harder to maintain, and his standing in the eyes of the electorate would, therefore, have been worse, only further raising the costs of exerting repression and control. Russia’s negative influence on the democratic performance of Belarus during this period is well-documented. However, as the following will show, this support did not come without strings attached. Russia Pushes for Economic Concessions: Lukashenka Resists As shown in Chapter 5, the Yeltsin-Lukashenka relationship was far from smooth. Russia repeatedly tried to force, in particular, economic concessions on Minsk. This did not change with Putin. In fact, relations only turned tenser as Moscow’s demands became clearer and more assertive. As in Ukraine, the Kremlin primarily aimed to take control over profitable and/or strategically important economic assets, such as the energy sector. But attention was also given to implementing the Union Treaty and,

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particularly, to creating stronger economic and intergovernmental bonds through the introduction of a common currency and a common state (Danilovich 2006: 111). Both of these goals constituted a serious challenge to Lukashenka’s main aims of maintaining complete economic and political control. He therefore turned increasingly to obstructive gatekeeping, resisting such linkages to Russia with all means possible. To force the Belarusian president into accepting the expansion of linkages, Russia occasionally exerted economic and political pressures and carefully withheld political and economic support in the run-up to events where Lukashenka needed it the most. For example, in the first half of 2001 – a year when Lukashenka vied for Russian support before the crucial presidential elections in September – President Putin openly declined to meet the Belarusian leader when he was visiting Moscow: In addition, the Russian State Customs Committee introduced new rules regarding documentation of goods imported that, if maintained, would hit Belarusian exports hard (Danilovich 2006: 119-20). In April, Belarus agreed to finally ratify an agreement introducing a single Russian-Belarusian currency on January 1 2005, and Putin gave Lukashenka full support and replaced economic sanctions with the promised $100m stabilization loan (Kuzio 2001: 2; Kuzio 2003: 440). In the same month, the Russian Brewery Baltika concluded an agreement with the Belarusian government, investing $50m in the modernization of the largest Belarusian brewery, Krynitsa, in return for a controlling majority of shares (Leshchenko 2008: 1428). However, after Baltika had pumped $10.5m into the hard-pressed Krynitsa, the Belarusian state withdrew from the agreement, exemplifying Lukashenka’s wariness of too much Russian capital in his country. The Kremlin reacted harshly, and in May, five of the opposition candidates for the upcoming presidential elections were received in Moscow (Martinsen 2002: 412) and allowed speaking time on ORT (Rossiiskaya Gazeta, 16 June 2001), clearly a signal to Lukashenka that Russian support should not be taken for granted. Moreover, it is thought that the Russian FSB was involved in bringing evidence forward at this time alleging the Lukashenka-controlled death squads, the Belarusian version of Ukraine’s Kuchmagate (Padhol and Marples 2005: 85-6). Though concrete evidence for this accusation does not exist, it definitely fits with the timing of Russian pressure. Regardless, Lukashenka gave in later in June, promising greater access for Russian capital and control of gas, oil and railway transit in return for much needed financial and political support during the presidential elections (Silitski 2003; Ioffe 2004: 94). However, once President Lukashenka had secured his own re-election, he started backtracking – trying to avoid the implementation of promises

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made to Russia. From mid-2002 to mid-2004, therefore, Moscow again tightened the screws on Belarus. In June 2002, the offensive set in: President Putin declared that because Belarus was not serious about interstate integration and only cared about extorting economic and political privileges, the time had come, in his words, to “separate cutlets from flies” (Silitski 2003). Lukashenka was forced to accept an agreement sketching the merger of the Belarusian gas-transit enterprise Beltransgaz and Russian Gazprom (Hancock 2006: 130). Moreover, Putin suggested speeding up the implementation of the integration process envisaged in the 1999 Union Treaty, making clear that a confederal project was not enough: a common state was the goal, and therefore, elections for a common president and a common parliament should be held within a few years (Ioffe 2004: 102). This was a clear signal to Lukashenka. The times when one prestigious integration project after the other could be created without really moving closer and without giving much in return for Russian aid were definitively over. Lukashenka was no longer facing a weak Boris Yeltsin, but a wildly popular Vladimir Putin, who could easily defeat the Belarusian incumbent if a common presidential election were held. Lukashenka felt the heat, and in September 2002, an anti-Kremlin campaign was launched in the state media (Ioffe 2004: 104). In late October, Moscow retaliated by cutting gas supplies by half, demanding that debts for unpaid gas be paid up (Kommersant, 12 Nov. 2002). Payment arrears were nothing new, but now Moscow suddenly cared about it, or, what seems more plausible, simply decided to make use of it to increase pressure. The Belarusian parliament was forced to remove the legal ban on privatizing the country’s natural gas pipeline system; a joint venture between Beltransgaz and Gazprom was established (though still pending parliamentary ratification); and Minsk accepted a one-money printing center in Moscow in connection with the planned establishment of a common currency. In return, gas supplies were fully resumed and the next tranche of the stabilization loan was released, but the Belarusian share of the common Union budget was lowered from 20 percent to 5 percent (Hancock 2006: 130; Danilovich 2006: 134). However, Moscow’s antagonism changed the way that the Belarusian electorate viewed the integration idea. In December 2002, a poll showed that almost three-quarters of the population would not support a union that would result in the loss of Belarusian sovereignty (Leshchenko 2004: 345), and Lukashenka’s approval ratings rose dramatically (Danilovich 2006: 131). Suddenly, the former Russophile autocrat had a popular mandate for staunchly defending Belarusian sovereignty – and thereby also his own monopoly on power. During 2003 and 2004, Lukashenka hit hard at existing Russian-Belarusian linkages. First, information linkages were cut with the

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excuse of promoting Belarusian media.31 In December 2003 and spring 2004, technocratic linkages dangerous to Lukashenka’s control over the coercive apparatus were slashed when the KGB was reshuffled, removing persons, in particular in the leadership, who had established ties too close to the Russian FSB (Danilovich 2006: 142; Kononczuk 2008: 48). And in late April 2004, Mikhail Marynich, a parliamentary deputy and former minister of foreign economic affairs, was arrested and later sent to jail, on grotesque charges of stealing computers from his own NGO,32 presumably because he was not only becoming increasingly popular among Belarusian voters, but also frequently travelled to Moscow, apparently establishing his own personal ties to the Kremlin, possibly preparing the ground for Putin to support him instead of the incumbent (RFE/RL Newsline, 12 May 2004; Way 2005: 251, 255). Simultaneous with this linkage cutting, Lukashenka fiercely fended off all Russian efforts to further strengthen intergovernmental and economic ties. For example, in July 2003, he abandoned the agreement on a single currency the day before it was to take effect (Deyermond 2004: 1197). And even though Russia tried to increase pressure once again in early 2004 by cutting gas supplies twice, Lukashenka resisted the pressure by siphoning off gas meant for Europe, forcing Gazprom to resume flows. In June, though, in due time to avoid destabilization before the parliamentary elections and the referendum four months later, a full agreement was made raising gas prices from $30 to $47 per 1000cbm in exchange for a hike in transit fees and a loan, enabling Belarus to pay its debts. Once the 2004 electoral campaign started, the bilateral complications were, again, toned down, and Lukashenka was provided full support (RFE/RL Newsline, 24 Jan. 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 18 Feb. 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 19 Feb. 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 8 June 2004; Hancock 2006: 131-132). Summing up, throughout the period, Russia continued its crucial backing of the Belarusian dictator. Slowly, Lukashenka’s regime became more and more dependent on Russian support. But the Belarusian executive fully understood that if he did not circumscribe Moscow’s attempt to increase economic and political interdependence, he would definitely lose his monopoly on power. Helped along by the Belarusian population, who increasingly supported independence and rejected Russian hegemony, as well as by Russia’s overriding geopolitical goal of maintaining Belarus as a close ally whatever the costs, Lukashenka engaged in fierce obstructive gatekeeping, successfully resisting Russian pressure to strengthen linkages that, otherwise, would have weakened his full grip on domestic politics.

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Europe and Its Lack of Linkages: Limited Effects of Normative Pressure Throughout the 2000–2004 period, the EU, the CoE and the OSCE continued their coordinated efforts to reverse the negative developments in the democratic performance of Belarus. Through a myriad of critical statements, resolutions, reports and political sanctions, the Lukashenka regime was put under intense normative pressure, and the population of Belarus was shown that, in the eyes of the West, their leaders were considered illegitimate. At the same time, Europe increased its efforts to strengthen the political opposition and defend the victims of Lukashenka’s repressive policies. However, the regime proved resilient to Western pressure and the Belarusian president consistently cut ties that disturbed or threatened to disturb his grip on power. Lacking the linkages and the receptiveness of the pivotal gatekeepers crucial for facilitating external influence, European pressure did not produce substantial change, but merely contributed to keeping a minimum of political opposition alive and restraining Lukashenka from committing the most extreme, oppressive actions, like those pursued in the late 1990s. During the first four years of the 2000s, the EU, the CoE and the OSCE continued the three-pronged strategy developed in the later 1990s. First, Lukashenka was repeatedly urged to take democratizing steps, the West emphasizing that the door would not be closed should he decide to turn around. Simultaneously, there was consistent sharp criticism of human rights violations, repression of political opponents, and the muzzling of independent media, as well as the denouncement of fraudulent and biased elections and legal acts restricting opposition activity.33 Most important of these was probably the CoE Pourgourides Report (PACE 2004), which documented that the disappearances, and most likely the killings, of political opponents in 1999 and 2000 had been authorized from the highest level of the Belarusian regime. Second, direct and indirect sanctions were imposed by the EU on five occasions. First, in November 2002, the EU imposed a visa ban on Lukashenka and several other high-ranking government officials involved in the ouster of the OSCE operating in Minsk and responsible for repeated human rights violations (Moscow Times, 20 Nov. 2002). Soon after, the US followed suit and introduced an extended visa ban (Kommersant, 28 Nov. 2002). However, as explained below, this ban was revoked only five months later, after Lukashenka had agreed to let the OSCE establish a new office, albeit with more restricted maneuverability. On September 24, 2004, the EU introduced a new visa ban (and again, the US followed suit a few days later) on four high-ranking Belarusian officials allegedly involved in the

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politically motivated disappearances, and possible killings, documented in the CoE Pourgourides Report (EU Council 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 27, 28 Sep. 2004). After the fraudulent October parliamentary elections and referendum, two more officials in charge of conducting the rigged elections were added to the ban (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 Nov. 2004). Finally, two indirect sanctions were introduced in 2004: in May, Belarus was excluded from the new European Neighborhood Policy (RFE/RL Newsline, 13 May 2004), and in December, Belarusian requests for the removal of EU textile quotas were denied (EU Council 2004).34 Third, the three Western organizations collaborated on supporting and protecting the political opposition, civil society and the independent media. To optimize such efforts, an effort was made to maintain some kind of common physical representation in the country. The main tool for this support was the OSCE office operating in Minsk. In particular, during 2001, the OSCE AMG office and its leader, Hans Georg Wieck, pushed the opposition to unite and agree on a common candidate prior to the September presidential elections (Padhol & Marples 2005: 82; Marples 2009: 761).35 Furthermore, the OSCE was used to recruit, train and register 15,000 domestic observers for the elections (Wieck 2002: 272; Charman 2002: 396). In the following years, OSCE officials as well as officials from Western embassies watched political court proceedings and visited detainees, reminding Lukashenka that they were monitoring his every step. In addition, contacts with the opposition were further developed, and its leaders were regularly invited to Brussels for consultations. Hence, the EU and the OSCE tried hard to foster and maintain political and economic ties to democratic-minded oppositional elites and the pro-reform parts of Belarusian civil society, hoping to strengthen their capability to challenge the dictatorship. All along, however, Lukashenka did everything possible to make European operations more difficult. In March 2001, he banned foreign support for election-related and other activities of independent NGOs (Potocki 2002: 152).36 During 2002, OSCE AMG office personnel were denied visa renewals and, thus, forced to stop work (Baltic Times, 6 June 2002; Moscow Times, 20 Nov. 2002; Itar-Tass, 20 Feb. 2003; Löwenhardt 2005: 145). Only after the EU introduced the visa ban on Lukashenka and several other high-ranking government officials involved in the ouster of the OSCE office was an ordinary OSCE office with more limited capacities allowed to be established (Abadijan 2009: 340-1). Thus, Lukashenka was careful to keep intergovernmental and civil society linkages to Europe at an absolute minimum. He even sought to reduce contacts among academics, evidenced by the closure of the European Humanities University in Minsk in July 2004 (RFE/RL Newsline, 21 July 2004).

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In sum, the European organizations did everything possible to defend and improve Belarus’ democratic performance. Among the three, the EU (often, though, through the OSCE office in Minsk) was the frontrunner and the only organization capable of introducing further sanctions. However, neither pressuring nor convincing Lukashenka to change his ways proved successful. European pressure could not produce substantial changes in the country’s democratic performance without the linkages it needed to push where it would really hurt, and without the receptiveness of the Belarusian leadership. At most, European efforts contributed to keeping a minimum of political opposition alive and, through its rigorous monitoring, restraining Lukashenka from resorting to more oppression than was the case. Had it not been for the consistency of European supervision and criticism (the US mostly followed in this period, strengthening the pressure, but not creating it), Lukashenka would likely have repressed political opponents even harder and perhaps would have resorted to political killings, as he apparently did in 1999 and 2000. In this way, Europe contributed positively by, albeit marginally, minimizing inflictions on the political rights (B5, B6) and the civil rights regime (C7), but was unable to influence either the electoral regime (A1, A3, A4) or horizontal accountability (D9). Moldova 2000–2004 Moldova ended its first decade of independence with a catastrophic economy, a political impasse, resulting from the conflict between President Lucinschi and the legislature over constitutional changes, and a frozen conflict with the ever more authoritarian break-away republic Transnistria. During the 2000–2004 period, the country underwent significant change. Slowly the economy recovered; a full parliamentary republic was established; and a year later, the Communist Party (PCRM) won a landslide victory, enabling their leader, Vladimir Voronin, to become president, concentrate power, and increasingly institute a soft authoritarian system with unfair elections and restrictions on the freedom of media, the opposition and other groups, deflating horizontal accountability. Moreover, the negative developments on democratic performance in the PMR continued, and the Moldovan authorities remained unable to effectively rule over this part of the country. The primarily negative tendencies of the period are summarized below in Table 6.5.

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Table 6.5 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 2000–2004 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Free and fair parliamentary elections 2001 (A4)

Biased local elections 2003 (A4)

B. Political Rights

Registration of the Bessarabian church 2002 (B6)

Increasing state control with media (B5) Repeated banning of CDPP (B6) Outlawing demonstrations 2002 (B6)

C. Civil Rights

Kidnapping of CDPP member 2002 (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Increasing state control over the judiciary (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

Still no control of Transnistria (E10)

The Communists Take Power and Concentrate It As Chapter 5 showed, President Lucinschi’s attempts to strengthen the presidency ended with his complete defeat. The legislature won the battle and instead proposed a full parliamentary republic in which the president would no longer be able to introduce legislation, nor would he be elected by the people. On July 5, 2000, the constitutional changes were approved, with a remarkable 92 of 101 deputies supporting it (RFE/RL Newsline, 7 July 2000). Lucinschi first vetoed the changes but, a week later, signed it into law, thus peacefully giving up power and, in effect, becoming a lame duck (Hill 2002: 140). Politics came to a standstill until December when the incumbent’s term was set to end and a new president was expected to be elected by the parliament. However, this task proved easier said than done, and after repeated voting with no outcome, Moldova was forced into early

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parliamentary elections, scheduled for February 25 2001 (RFE/RL Newsline, 3 Jan. 2001). The elections, deemed free and fair by international and domestic observers despite some smaller irregularities (OSCE/ODIHR 2001), dramatically changed the political landscape in Moldova. The Communist Party won a landslide victory, gaining just over 50 percent of the votes (securing 71 seats due to many parties not passing the 6 percent threshold) – an impressive result compared with the 30 percent in the 1998 elections. The only other parties obtaining representation were the popular prime minister’s Braghis Alliance (19 seats) and the pro-Romanian CDPP (11 seats) (Quinlan 2004: 485). This was clearly a protest vote against the hard economic situation that the political establishment had failed to avoid in the late 1990s. Neither the parties of Speaker Diacov and former Speaker Sturza nor those of former Presidents Snegur and Lucinschi passed the threshold, and only 34 of the deputies elected had earlier served in parliament (Hill 2001: 135-138). The PCRM thus went from being the dominant opposition party to controlling a two-third’s majority, enabling them not just to elect their leader, Vladimir Voronin, as president in April 2001, but also, if necessary, to change the constitution. The PCRM used this favorable position to quickly concentrate political power. During the next few years, Moldova turned into a de facto presidential system in which Voronin controlled both parliament and the judiciary, and the Communists built “an informal system of rule through the reorganization of the local government system (making them dependent on central funding), the purge of administrative personnel, staffing it with their own supporters, subordinating state-owned media by appointing loyal managers and cowing journalists (threatening with dismissal), and building an informal business network[…] the PCRM became a de facto party of power” (Rodkiewicz 2009: 51-54). Thus, for the rest of the 2000–2004 period, the PCRM severely weakened Moldova’s democratic performance. The hitherto fairly untarnished electoral regime deteriorated with administrative pressure and a media bias dominating local elections in May and June 2003 (A4) (OSCE/ODIHR 2003). The political rights regime grew weaker as the independent press was increasingly harassed and state media was put under stricter control (B5), opposition activity, in particular demonstrations organized by the pro-Romanian CDPP, was restricted, and party leaders were deprived of their parliamentary immunity (B6) (Waters 2002; Quinlan 2004; Crowther 2007; McDonagh 2008). Furthermore, the Bessarabian Church, an eparchy of the Romanian Orthodox Church, which had been denied registration throughout the 1990s, was still not recognized by authorities (B6) (Munteanu 2002), and horizontal accountability (D9) was

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limited as the judiciary increasingly came under Communist control. Within a year, 70 percent of the heads of district and appellate courts were replaced and several Constitutional Court judges were unilaterally selected by the party, impeding what had for long been the watchdog of democracy in Moldova (Way 2002: 131). Democratic Moldova Resisting Voronin’s authoritarian state-building, however, was not silently accepted – neither by the opposition parties, the part of the electorate not voting for the Communists (around 50 percent), nor the journalists working for the state media. Consequently, several stand-offs between the ruling elites and their opponents took place during the 2000–2004 period. One example is the events that unfolded in the first half of 2002, when the conflict between the PCRM and the opposition peaked. By late December 2001, the Communist government had passed a bill changing the administrative-territorial structure of the country, skipping direct elections of mayors (thus allowing for early local elections). Furthermore, they announced that the Russian language would be made a second official language and, thus, introduced as compulsory in primary schools (US Dep. of State 2002). This reignited the old identity issue, and the opposition party, the pro-Western and pro-Romanian CDPP (remnants of the Moldovan Popular Front), organized protests in the streets of Chisinau. Quickly, the protests turned into large around-the-clock antiPCRM demonstrations (peaking at around 80,000 participants) condemning the impingement on basic rights and independent media (Waters 2002: 3). The PCRM promptly reacted by declaring the protests illegal, banning the CDPP, and later, removing the immunity of several of the party’s leaders (RFE/RL Report, 25 Jan. 2002; Quinlan 2004: 488). In the following month, tensions only escalated. The Communists tried repeatedly to illegalize the CDPP and the demonstrations, and the management of State TV forbade journalists from broadcasting images of the protests (RFE/RL Newsline, 7 March 2002). But the persistence of the demonstrators, the opposition from the Constitutional Court and, as will be shown below, strong Western pressure forced Voronin to give in and engage in dialogue with his opponents to relax restrictions on opposition activities and improve press freedom, in particular with regard to the state-run Teleradio Moldova. Following this episode, President Voronin’s project of authoritarian state-building was consistently challenged. The journalists at Teleradio Moldova refused to be cowed, and the frequent popular demonstrations organized by the CDPP was a constant nuisance factor (Quinlan 2004; US Dep. of State 2003-2005). That is, popular and political opposition proved difficult to smother, but at the same time, Voronin, despite controlling all

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political institutions and the administrative apparatus, did not resort to the extremely repressive methods pursued in Belarus, nor to the relatively softer means used by Kuchma in Ukraine. Throughout the period, Moldova remained only a soft semi-authoritarian system, allowing a fair amount of opposition and not undertaking extreme rent-seeking. As I argue below, the EU played an important role in maintaining the advancements of the 1990s, preventing further autocratization and getting the economy under control. From Kremlin Support to Business As Usual With Putin in power in Russia, the earlier strained, bilateral relations with Moldova improved dramatically. Just like earlier President Lucinschi had done it, President Voronin also welcomed extensive intergovernmental and economic linkage-building with Russia. In return Voronin received financial and political support for his authoritarian state-building project. Furthermore, Moscow showed its goodwill toward Moldova proper by increasingly pressuring the Transnistrian leadership to accept the withdrawal of parts of the Russian military equipment and to be more flexible in negotiations. But the warmer relations did not last long. In late 2003, at the absolute last minute, Voronin refused to sign the Russiandrafted peace plan, the Kozak Memorandum, which would have allowed Russian troops on Moldovan territory for another 20 years and would have granted Transnistrian politicians, and indirectly Russia, a disproportionately large say over federal matters. This was a smack in the face for the Kremlin, and soon, things were “back to normal”, with Russia punishing Moldova proper, protecting the PMR. Lucinschi and Voronin Extend Linkages in Exchange for Russian Support Putin’s rise to power brought the possibility of pushing the reset button in relations with neighboring republics, not least in Moldova. In late January 2000, Lucinschi held a meeting with Putin that he afterwards described as a “turning point.” Putin had “unequivocally supported Moldova’s position on the conflict” (RFE/RL Newsline, 27 Jan. 2000). From this point, Russia showed a more cooperative stance on the Transnistrian issue and used fewer punitive measures towards Moldova proper. In fact it seemed like, as with Kuchma in Ukraine, Putin and Lucinschi had clearly reached some kind of mutual agreement paving the way for less volatile relations. During the following year, Moldova and Russia made several economic agreements. In April, a decision was made to reschedule gas debts of $122m for 20 years with a five-year pardon period (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 April 2000), and in June, the gas price was lowered from $60 to $50, and fuel debts were paid off by transferring another $47m worth of shares from the

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joint venture Moldovagaz to Russia (RFE/RL Newsline, 26 June 2000; Eberhardt 2002: 245). Allegedly, Moldova’s Prime Minister Braghis promised shares in the greatest of Moldovan enterprises, the tobacco and wine industry, and also proposed that Russia lease a military base in Transnistria (Quinlan 2002: 96; Bruce 2007: 36). In return for such flexibility, Putin approved a timetable on July 13, in accordance with the 1999 OSCE Istanbul Summit, for the withdrawal of Russian troops and arsenal from the Transnistrian region. However, the draft proposal for a solution to the conflict, presented by the newly established Primakov Commission in August, was still overwhelmingly favorable to the PMR, and stopped short only of granting it status as an international entity (Neukirch 2001: 129). And as in Ukraine and Belarus, Russia still punished unwanted behavior and pressured Moldova for further economic and military concessions. Gazprom halted gas supplies twice in 2000: once at the end February, after a Spanish company, Union Fenosa, purchased Moldova’s central power grid – an asset that Gazprom was very interested in, and once again in December, amidst the political crisis of finding Lucinschi’s successor, signaling that the new president definitely had to be able to deal with Russia in order to avoid a resumption of the gas pressure experienced in the 1990s (RFE/RL Newsline, 28 Feb. 2000; Quinlan 2002: 96; Bruce 2007: 36, 39). Thus, Moscow showed a willingness to improve relations, but still refrained from fully backing any of the political actors in Chisinau, despite the fact that both President Lucinschi and Prime Minister Braghis were becoming more and more attuned to Russian demands. The surprising Communist landslide victory in the first months of 2001 gave the leadership in the Kremlin pause. However, on April 17, the newly elected President Voronin visited Moscow and expressed a wish to join both the Russian-Belarusian Union and the EurAsEC (Itar-Tass Weekly News, 17 April 2001). The Kremlin was delighted, and a period of even warmer relations began, with Putin and Voronin meeting eight times during the rest of the year (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 March 2003), negotiating the circumstances under which intergovernmental and economic linkages could be expanded as well as working out ways to find a lasting solution to the Transnistrian conflict. Regarding the latter issue, Russia increasingly placed a stronger political and economic pressure on the PMR.37 Moscow not only showed a willingness to perhaps withdraw military support for the PMR but also to reduce its economic and political support for the separatist regime. At meetings in July and August, Putin and Voronin agreed to take “special economic measures” against the Smirnov leadership if it continued to block negotiations (RFE/RL Newsline, 16 July 2001). This was meant as a green

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light for Moldova to introduce new WTO customs seals on September 1, forcing Transnistrian enterprises to pay customs to Moldova in order to export (ICG 2003: 25). Those actions dealt a hard blow to the exportoriented PMR economy – in 2002, exports fell by 35.5 percent and imports fell by 16.9 percent (CISR 2003: 3). The increased pressure by Russia on Transnistria, however, exacted a price from Moldova in the form of greater geopolitical abidance and increased economic cooperation. On September 28, 2001, Moldova, therefore, joined the CIS Antiterrorist Center (RFE/RL Newsline, 1 Oct. 2001); in October, Russian Prime Minister Kasyanov, visiting Chisinau, was handed a list of 60 Moldovan enterprises for sale or desperately needing investment; and in November, Moscow at last signed an updated version of the Basic Treaty on Russian-Moldovan Friendship.38 The treaty for the first time recognized Moldovan independence, but Voronin also allowed it to name Russia the guarantor of its territorial integrity (Küchler 2008: 61). Such facilitation of increased Russian influence was rewarded promptly. A week later, a favorable gas payment scheme for the following two years was agreed on (RFE/RL Newsline, 30 Nov. 2001), and in December, when Igor Smirnov was re-elected as president in the PMR after a campaign filled with oppression and harassment of political opponents and independent media, Moscow neither sent observers nor recognized the results. Moreover, Russian media brought allegations against Smirnov, accusing him of being involved in corruption, illicit arms trade and assassinations (Izvestia, 11 Dec. 2001; Moscow Times, 21 Dec. 2001; US Dep. of State 2002; Emerson & Wahl 2004). Kremlin support continued the next year. When the PCRM faced its first real crisis, confronted by demonstrations and Western pressure in the first half of 2002, Russia sought to boost Voronin’s popularity at the peak of the conflict. At a high-profile meeting between Voronin, Putin and Kuchma in mid-March, it was declared that “full agreement” on a solution to the Transnistrian conflict had been reached, even though it had not (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 19 March 2002), and the Russian ambassador in Moldova provided further political support by echoing Voronin’s interpretation that the protests were sponsored by Romania, thereby trying to delegitimize the opposition’s activities (RFE/RL Newsline, 19 March 2002). Moreover, Voronin was provided financial maneuverability when Russia, out of the blue, lowered electricity prices by almost 20 percent (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 19 March 2002).39 During the rest of 2002 and most of 2003, the new mutual understanding continued to dominate. Russia delivered energy at reduced rates, provided Voronin with political support and pushed the PMR for a solution to the conflict. In general, Moscow did nothing to avert the

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democratic setbacks taking place in the first year of Voronin’s rule. Rather, the PCRM regime was provided with broad political and financial assistance, and it was granted additional support in times of need. Thus, throughout the first three years of the new millennium, Russia undergirded and boosted the soft authoritarian steps taken by President Voronin and the Communist Party, indirectly supporting the weakening of horizontal accountability (D9) and the decline in electoral (A4), political (B5, B6) and civil rights (C7). The Kozak Memorandum and the Break with Russia From November 2003, Russian support and bilateral linkage-building was abruptly halted because President Voronin decided, at the eleventh hour, not to sign the Kozak Memorandum, a Russian-drafted plan for a final settlement of the frozen conflict with Transnistria. Since summer 2003, Dmitri Kozak had, on Putin’s order, secretly negotiated with Chisinau and Tiraspol, while still taking part in the negotiations with the OSCE as if nothing had changed. The strategy was clearly to circumvent the West and present a fait accompli. In September, however, the OSCE realized what was going on, but Kozak downplayed his accomplishments and pretended that no progress had been achieved (Löwenhardt 2004: 107-108). Perhaps this was true, or perhaps the Kremlin now simply felt it had to move faster. No matter what, to get things going, Gazprom, in October, suddenly reduced supplies to Moldova for the first time since the Communists had taken power (Bruce 2007: 39). This move persuaded Moldova’s president to go along with the agreement, and on November 14, just six weeks before Russia should fully withdraw its troops from the PMR, according to the 1999 Istanbul Agreement, Kozak presented the memorandum to the OSCE, stating that Putin would come to Chisinau to sign it on November 25. The plan stipulated that Russian troops would be allowed on Moldovan territory for another 20 years, that Russian would become official language, and that Moldova and the PMR would be constructed as a federation in which Transnistrian politicians, and thereby indirectly Russia, would have a disproportionately large say in Moldovan politics (Löwenhardt 2004: 108110; Emerson & Wahl 2004; Quinlan 2004). Briefly put, the Memorandum envisaged a permanent weakening of Moldovan leaders’ effective power to rule (E10). In return, parts of Moldova’s gas debt would be eliminated and the gas price lowered to $50 (Bruce 2007: 39, 41). However, on November 25, when Putin was to come to Chisinau for the signing ceremony, Voronin called the Kremlin and cancelled (Löwenhardt 2004: 109). This was a severe diplomatic humiliation for Russian foreign policy, and the warm bilateral relationship turned cold. Moscow again blocked all efforts to solve the conflict (Vremya Novostei, 25 Nov. 2004; Quinlan 2004:

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496): it reverted to defending most of Transnistria’s provocative actions and efforts of prolonging the withdrawal of Russian troops and material (RFE/RL Newsline, 4 Aug. 2004), and it returned to providing political legitimacy to PMR President Smirnov.40 In addition, it immediately stopped the preferential treatment that the Moldovan leadership had got used to and that had bolstered the autocratization process.41 Hence, during the last year of the 2000–2004 period, Russian influence on Moldova’s democratic performance was limited to politically, financially and militarily supporting the authoritarian regime in Transnistria, thereby again indirectly contributing to the weak posture of Moldovan leaders’ effective power to rule over all of its territory (E10). But apart from this, Russian actions aimed at influencing the political events in Moldova proper were few and of only marginal importance. Active European Involvement: Restraining Voronin, Smirnov, and Putin Turning to Europe, the early 2000s did not see much additional linkagebuilding in Moldova, apart from the launch of the ENP initiative. The Communists quickly learned to rhetorically support European rapprochement while, in fact, doing very little to pursue it. Nonetheless, with the Eastern enlargement drawing closer, the EU, and the CoE as well, became much more active in trying to influence political developments in Moldova, in particular, from the time Voronin took power in 2001. And since strong economic links had been forged during the 1990s, and since Europe, in general, was perceived as extremely positive among the electorate and the political opposition, it was possible for the two organizations to influence the country positively, on several occasions reversing or minimizing Voronin’s attempt to introduce autocratize politics. The EU became more active also with regard to the PMR regime, introducing political and economic sanctions, trying to force the authoritarian leadership to minimize repression and return to the negotiating table. Thus, for the first time in the history of independent Moldova, the EU, along with the CoE, got strongly involved, trying to reverse the negative political developments in the country. Europe’s proactive attempts to positively affect Moldova’s political trajectory were kickstarted by the crisis in Chisinau in early 2002. When demonstrations against PCRM policy initiatives broke out and the Communists retaliated by outlawing the protests and banning the CDPP, the EU, along with the CoE, got actively involved, trying to halt the negative developments: the European Commission and the CoE criticized the suspension of the CDPP and demanded to know how the PCRM restrictions

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complied with the European Convention on Human Rights (McDonagh 2008: 154); the European Parliament approved a resolution calling on Moldova to respect democratic rights and ensure the supremacy of the law (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 March 2002); PACE made it clear that Moldovan authorities would be held fully accountable for the March 22 kidnapping of the prominent CDPP member Vlad Cubreacov (RFE/RL Newsline, 29 March 2002); and when the PCRM threatened to use force against the protestors, CoE secretary-general, Walter Schwimmer, sent a clear message to Voronin to convince him not to (RFE/RL Newsline, 9 April 2002). The intense pressure paid off. The CoE succeeded in bringing Voronin and the opposition together to sign an agreement according to which the CDPP would end the protests in return for the Communists’ promise to annul the suspension of the party, to stop the harassment of its members, and to take steps to improve media and opposition freedom in general (RFE/RL Newsline, April 30, 2002). Moreover, on May 25, the kidnapped CDPP member Cubreacov reappeared in good health (US Dep. of State 2003). Had it not been for the consistent pressure of the two European organizations and the concrete mediation of the CoE, the standoff between the Communist Party in power, and the democratic opposition would most likely not have ended the way it did. Voronin seemed ready to use force and other undemocratic means to stop the protests that threatened to derail autocratization. Moreover, as argued above, Russia showed a willingness to support whatever actions the Moldovan president might take to quell the uprising. Therefore, further incursions on the democratic performance of the country would almost certainly have happened had Europe not reacted in the firm way it did (McDonagh 2008: 157). Even though harassment of both independent media and opposition continued, the PCRM’s most serious attempt to fully monopolize power was averted, and in the following years the EU and the CoE committed themselves to carefully monitoring the outcome of Voronin’s promises, consistently criticizing all his attempts to return to harder authoritarian measures (RFE/RL Newsline, 24 Sep. 2002). An example of CoE and EU involvement revolved around the attempts by the Communists to bring the state-run Teleradio Moldova under full control, despite its promise to the CoE to keep it independent. On several occasions the party tried to pass bills ostensibly to transform the media entity, but in reality, they changed only little and kept them under state control. However, the CoE carefully scrutinized the bills each time, criticized them, and proposed amendments, parts of which were honored (RFE/RL Newsline, 14 March, 2003; US Dep. of State 2003; McDonagh 2008: 156). Another example concerned the autonomous Bessarabian Church, an eparchy of the Romanian Orthodox Church, which had been denied registration eleven times throughout the 1990s and early 2000s and

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was finally legalized in late July 2002. Three different presidents, five cabinets, and three parliaments had denied its registration between 1992 and 2002, seemingly afraid of challenging the powerful Russian Orthodox Church, angering Russia and perhaps fearing that ethnic tensions might again erupt. Regardless, the Bessarabian Church was not registered until the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR), the CoE and the EU started pushing intensely for abidance with the court’s ruling and respect of religious freedom. And that happened only on the day before the deadline set by the ECHR (Munteanu 2002; Turescu & Stan 2003; Panainte 2006). Summing up, the EU and the CoE had an important positive impact on the democratic performance of Moldova in the 2000–2004 period. Serious inflictions on the political rights regime (banning parties and illegalizing demonstrations (B6), restricting media freedom (B5)) and the civil rights regime (abducting a political opponent and coming close to violently dispersing protestors (C7)) was minimized or even averted, and a clear positive change was made, finally securing the registration of the Bessarabian Church (B6). Three factors seem to explain the success. First, the EU enjoyed great popularity, not just among the electorate42 but also among the political elites.43 Furthermore, the neighboring big brother, Romania, was getting closer to full integration in the EU, and this not only made the EU more active, but also made Moldovans more attentive and sympathetic to the EU. Second, Moldova was becoming more and more dependent on good relations with the EU due to its increased economic importance – not just with regard to securing continued financial transactions,44 but also with regard to trade, soon overtaking Russia’s position as the most important trade partner (cf. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 earlier in this chapter). Third, the conflict in Transnistria was still a problem despite improved relations with Russia. If the EU had been frozen out, Moldova would simply have been left alone to deal with Russia, clearly an undesirable scenario. Hence, even for Moldova’s communists, Europe was simply too important to be rejected. The linkages developed during the 1990s and the pluralism that the opposition, civil society and large parts of the population had got used to put severe constraints on the maneuverability of the ruling elites in Chisinau. In stark contrast to the Belarusian case, openly cutting linkages or plainly disregarding European recommendations could have had considerable electoral, economic and security-related consequences. Voronin and the PCRM were clearly not ready to face such a scenario. Pressuring Smirnov and Balancing Russia The EU not only affected political developments in Moldova proper, but those in Transnistria as well. Brussels continued to mediate the

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Transnistrian conflict through the OSCE, trying to keep negotiations alive, pressuring Russia to withdraw its troops (Löwenhardt et al. 2001: 615). However, from 2003, the EU intensified its independent involvement in the negotiations alongside the OSCE. Furthermore, it increased its pressure on the PMR leadership, pushing it to minimize repression at home and show more flexibility in negotiations. Apart from a wish to promote democracy in the area, the EU was driven by an attempt to deal with the smugglers’ paradise that the PMR had become, and this preferably before 2007 when Moldova’s neighbor, Romania, was to be admitted. On February 27, 2003, the EU took its first step against “continued obstructionism”, issuing a travel ban on 17 top Transnistrian officials, including President Smirnov and his two sons. Soon thereafter, the US did the same (ICG 2003: 10-11; Küchler 2008: 99). For a while, it seemed to work, but President Smirnov’s sudden acquiescence was put on hold as soon as Moscow stepped up its efforts to secure the Kozak Memorandum. In early March, the EU Commission, trying to tidy up the corrupt and shady smuggling characterizing much of Transnistrian “exports” to Europe, brought Moldova and Ukraine together to sign a deal according to which Ukraine would agree to only accept the new Moldovan customs seals, introduced as a consequence of the country’s entry into the WTO, in effect forcing PMR enterprises to legally register and pay customs to Chisinau (ICG 2003: 25-6; Emerson & Wahl 2004). And during summer 2003, both the OSCE and the EU made it clear that the EU was interested in taking over the peacekeeping mission if negotiations were to bring about the withdrawal of Russian troops (Economic News, 16 Sep. 2003; Löwenhardt 2004: 107). Most importantly, however, Brussels, together with the OSCE and the US Ambassador, was pivotal in convincing President Voronin to refrain from signing the Kozak Memorandum in November 2003. While large demonstrations in the streets of Chisinau demanded Voronin’s resignation, numerous phone calls from Western leaders advised him to reconsider signing the memorandum, all putting pressure on the Moldovan incumbent. This combination of internal and external disapproval created a scenario much similar to that of the 2002 events, and as the Rose Revolution in Georgia was simultaneously forcing President Eduard Shevardnadze to step down, President Voronin changed his mind and decided to cancel the signing of the Memorandum, thereby rejecting a more substantial, permanent and “legal” Russian say over the country’s internal matters (Quinlan 2004; Löwenhardt 2004; Crowther 2007; Küchler 2008). Summing up, the EU, together with the OSCE and sometimes the US, played an important role in averting a further deepening of the restrictions on Chisinau leader’s effective power to rule (E10). By staving off Russian

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attempts at increasing control over Moldova proper, and by more explicitly denouncing the Transnistrian leadership, while strongly supporting Chisinau’s attempts to normalize economic and political relations between the two regions, Brussels was pivotal in substantially strengthening the bargaining power of Moldova proper. Comparing Gatekeepers and External Impact During the first part of the 2000s, developments in Belarus as well as Ukraine and Moldova took an increasingly authoritarian turn. Executives in all three countries tried to muzzle opposition and monopolize power. While Lukashenka deepened his strong control over Belarusian society, Ukraine’s Kuchma as well as Moldova’s Voronin came only half-way. In this chapter, it has been argued that the most important explanation for this variation was found in the domestic configuration of power, which in turn was influenced by the actions of external actors and gatekeeper elites. In Ukraine, President Kuchma and his oligarchic supporters in parliament showed how ruling elites can be absolutely pivotal in facilitating the external influence that strengthens them. Throughout the 1990s, the Ukrainian leadership was oriented mainly toward Europe and the US. But with the Kuchma regime becoming more authoritarian and more afraid of losing power, in combination with the EU and the CoE increasingly letting democratic conditionality rule in bilateral affairs, and Russia showing a readiness to provide political and economic support in return for, primarily, economic concessions, Kuchma and his entourage simply chose to reorient towards the East, building intergovernmental and economic linkages like never before. The receptiveness of the Ukrainian leadership made it possible for the Kremlin to influence political developments of the country in ways that had not been possible earlier on. Though Russia’s attempt to secure the Kuchma regime in the end failed, Moscow’s provision of political, economic and security-related support helped the Ukrainian ruling elites cling to power by hampering democratic performance to a, hitherto, unseen degree. However, Russia was not the only external actor trying to influence events in Ukraine, nor was it the only one with the means to do it. When the Yushchenko government of the early 2000s put through its reformist agenda, it not only contributed to decentralizing economic power in the country, it also facilitated the birth of a stronger opposition movement. Quickly the new opposition became popular among the electorate, and it successfully built strong contacts with the West. President Kuchma and his oligarchic supporters understood that they needed to curtail the opposition if they were to remain at the helm of Ukrainian politics. Their power,

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however, was far from almighty. The Kuchma regime constituted a fragile coalition of rent-seeking clans, deeply mistrusting one another. Consequently, Kuchma was not allowed to fully concentrate power, which was necessary to completely squelch rising political opponents. The democratic oppositional elites, teaming up with civil society elites and some economic elites were, therefore, capable of using their own gatekeeping powers to attract political and financial support from Europe and the US and to speed up European and transatlantic integration. When Kuchma and Yanukovych, in close collaboration with Russia, tried to smother the Orange Revolution and force the managed succession upon the demonstrators in Kiev, these newly established links to the West proved crucial for tipping the balance in favor of democratization. In Belarus, President Lukashenka, in contrast to Kuchma in Ukraine, had managed to fully monopolize both economic and political power, leaving alternative gatekeepers with very few capabilities. The Belarusian leader was, therefore, in a position to more easily cut or resist linkages to Russia and the EU that threatened to tilt his power. Throughout the period, Russia and the EU each tried to force their own priorities, but the Belarusian incumbent, to a large extent, fended them off, showing how capable he was of manipulating external actors. As a consequence, the EU maintained the role of marginal restrainer, while Russia continued to undergird the dictatorship with political, economic and military assistance. Thus, the external actors still influenced developments, but Lukashenka skillfully sorted these linkages according to his needs. Finally, the Moldovan case also illustrates how crucial gatekeeper elites are for mediating external influence. President Voronin and the PCRM started to build extensive intergovernmental and economic linkages to Russia immediately after taking power in early 2001. These links facilitated Moscow’s support for Voronin’s state-building, and they were almost powerful enough to force him into accepting the Kozak Memorandum, which would have cemented Russian influence for decades to come. Voronin, however, did not have anywhere near the gatekeeping monopoly enjoyed by Belarusian President Lukashenka, so the intergovernmental and economic links built with the West during the 1990s, along with the general popularity of Europe and the capability of the oppositional and civil society elites to attract the attention of the EU and the CoE, made Voronin’s ability to disregard Western pressure and to continue his concentration of power much more difficult. While Russia undergirded the power of the Communists for most of the period, the EU made sure that Moldova did not further develop its soft authoritarian tendencies. Hence, in all three countries, political elites worked to circumscribe the external linkages that could weaken them in their domestic struggles for

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political power while cultivating the ties that strengthened them. Their ability to successfully do so, however, varied significantly, mostly due to differences in power concentration, public attitudes and the density of links established during the first decade of independence. In contrast to the 1990s, both Russia and the EU now produced a more one-sided impact on Ukrainian, Belarusian, and Moldovan democratic performance, and they increasingly put more efforts into doing this. In Belarus and Ukraine, Russia provided ample support for the incumbents’ attempts to cling to power and stave off a pro-Western and pro-democratic opposition, while in Moldova, the same pattern was repeated, albeit on a much smaller scale and only during the 2001-2003 period. At the same time, however, Moscow pushed for greater geopolitical abidance and the facilitation of Russian investments and asset takeovers. When these demands were not met, the Kremlin consistently applied economic sanctions and political pressure to get what it wanted, but only as long as the main goal of keeping acquiescent regimes in power was not endangered. In all three cases, Russia completely refrained from the strategy of social learning, and instead tried to influence its neighbors through, primarily, reinforcement by reward (withholding benefits until the desired action has happened) or reinforcement by punishment (introducing sanctions in the hope of forcing the desired action). The EU, on the contrary, made much use of the strategy of social learning, relentlessly criticizing steps of autocratization and trying to convince the leaders of the three countries to change their behavior. But reinforcement by reward (promising more assistance and greater integration through, for example, the ENP) and reinforcement by punishment (sanctioning or threatening with sanctions in case of extremely repressive policies, as in Belarus and the PMR) was still applied. In general, trying to influence the non-democratic regimes, the EU made excessive use of political levers like diplomatic criticism, persuasion, visa blacklisting and support for opposition groups. This was most evident in Moldova and Belarus, while in Ukraine, democratic conditionality did not firmly settle until shortly before the Orange Revolution in 2004. Thus, during the 2000–2004 period, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova increasingly faced an external environment of competing, even incompatible, conditionalities. Russia and the EU increasingly tried to influence Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, using strategies and levers that differed starkly. Moscow’s approach was more tough, overtly supporting regimes willing to allow Russian economic and military control to expand, punishing those obstructing such attempts – but only as long as it did not risk triggering regime change. The EU, on the contrary, predominately pursued a persuasive, soft-power approach in combination with withholding economic and political benefits in order to pull the three countries towards

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Western integration and democracy. Facing two such antagonized external actors, a careful consideration of the pros and cons of different gatekeeping strategies was becoming more important than ever.

Notes 1 The economic boom was to a large degree facilitated by the economic reforms and the austere fiscal policy introduced in the late 1990s, and not least skyrocketing oil prices (McFaul & Stoner-Weiss 2008). 2 Only Bulgaria’s and Romania’s accession was postponed until 2007. 3 In fact, the initiative was mainly developed for the geo-strategically important Ukraine as a way of keeping the country on its pro-EU path (albeit mainly rhetorical) while, at the same time, staving off its wish to become a fullfledged member (Pentland 2008). Later that year, the proposal was extended to also include the countries in the Southern Mediterranean (Smith 2005: 759). 4 In the first months of 2001, he dismissed, first, his loyal head of the security forces, and then, his trusted minister of the interior, Yurii Kravchenko – both were deeply discredited by the Melnychenko tapings (Åslund 2009: 145). 5 Incredibly, she was freed in March by one of the few remaining independent judges, who, after three months, lost her position (Wilson 2005: 5960). 6 Altogether, the clone parties received 13.5 percent. Votes that would, otherwise, have gone to the anti-Kuchma parties. 7 This clearly reflected that most deputies were in the parliament to improve their business – a staggering 300 out of 450 (doubling the share from the 1998 parliament) were already millionaires and active businessmen when they were elected in March 2002 (Åslund 2009: 158). 8 Clearly, the oligarchs were eager to punish her for her attempts to take away their privileges in the murky gas business. 9 Yanukovych was governor of the Donetsk Oblast, and he had previously been convicted and served jail time for violent crimes. 10 The following, unless stated otherwise, builds on Wilson’s (2005) careful, comprehensive, and well-documented analysis of the Orange Revolution. Wilson has used a variety of data sources, including transcriptions of telephone-tappings from the office of the so-called Zoriany team taking care of the election campaign and controlling the rigging during the elections. 11 Clone candidates and virtual candidates were used to gain the upper hand in the Central Election Committee (as each candidate was allowed representation) and to detract votes from Yushchenko. Vote rigging through padding turnout with dead souls, abuse of absentee voting, and multiple voting all took place, and, in addition, exit polls compatible with the official results were produced to take the bite off the “real” ones produced by civil society organizations. 12 Most likely, Kuchma would have turned against the reformers anyway, but as Putin openly stressed the importance of energy politics and later showed a great interest in maintaining the murkiness of the bilateral gas business in order to extract large-scale rents, and as Kuchma’s critique of Tymoshenko, and

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her cleaning of the gas sector, surfaced immediately after the meeting with Putin, it seems likely that the Kremlin was pushing the Ukrainian president to act (Balmaceda 2008). 13 By this time ORT was under firm Kremlin control. 14 For examples of such statements and symbolic acts, see, e.g., Kuzio (2003: 447), RFE/RL Newsline 30 Jan. 2003); Haukkala & Moshes (2004: 45); Kuzio (2007: 91). 15 A CIS-based customs union, consisting of Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, which had changed its name, but still remained a malfunctioning free trade area lacking a firm institutional basis to enhance real cooperation (Rontoyanni 2005: 125). 16 The CES was an ambitious idea, but once again, its institutions were vague, and no conflict resolution mechanism was worked out (Dragneva & Dimitrova 2007: 177-8). 17 Political technologists are not just ordinary spin doctors, but also experts on manipulating elections through undemocratic and highly dubious means. 18 But only after relations had briefly turned cold in connection with the October 2003 crisis over the ownership of the Tuzla Island, a small strip of land in the Kerch Strait. 19 At the July summit in Yalta (Åslund 2009: 182-3), at the Sochi Summit in August (Wilson 2005: 89-90), and on three occasions in October before the first round on the last day of October (Wilson 2005: 94; Åslund & McFaul 2006; Balmaceda 2008: 30). 20 In the 2000-2002 period, TACIS provided a total of €469.6m to Ukraine. During 2002 and 2003, only €16m was allocated for improving civil society (EU Commission 2001). In comparison, the US put the Kuchma regime on ice. This, however, seems less the result of the ever-weakening democratic performance, but more a response to Kuchma’s apparent involvement in selling air-defense radar systems to Saddam Hussein in violation of the UN embargo in 2002 (the so-called Kolchuga-gate) (D’Anieri 2003: 59; Wilson 2005: 184). 21 See, e.g., Wilson 2005; Sushko & Prystako 2006; Åslund & McFaul 2006; Karatnycky 2005; Kuzio 2005a; Herd 2005; Bunce & Wolchik 2006a; 2006b; Kuzio 2006; Hale 2006; OSW Report 2006; McFaul 2007; Beissinger 2007; Kuzio 2008; Stewart 2009; Galbreath 2009; Ambrosio 2009; Kuzio 2010 22 E.g., Pora only received $130,000 in assistance from the West, whereas its Ukrainian funding stood at $5m (see, in particular, Wilson (2005: 183-90) for a sober assessment of the money spent on various activities). 23 Ballot tampering was widespread, in particular during the early voting period when observers were absent; clone candidates campaigned to attract votes from the pro-opposition or generally unsatisfied electorate; the opposition was targeted in a heavy smear campaign in the state-run media, and independent outlets were closed; security services detained more than a thousand people, broke up demonstrations, and intimidated campaign workers; the right to assemble was severely restricted by decree, and exit polls were banned; industrial elites were paid off to avoid defection, and voters were given promises of increasing salaries and the doubling of pensions (Eke 2002: 101; Potocki 2002; Padhol & Marples 2005: 83; Silitski 2005; Korosteleva 2005). 24 The allegations have later been verified by the PACE Pourgourides Report.

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25 During 2002, more than 40 percent of industrial enterprises were operating at a loss and only survived due to heavy subsidization (Zachev 2005: 10; Danilovich 2006: 128). At the same time salary and pension arrears grew alarmingly (Potocki 2002: 154). 26 In 2004, they constituted an incredible 40 percent of the state budget (Danilovich 2006: 149). 27 In 2001, turning Belarus into the sixth largest arms exporter in the world, generating a revenue equaling around 4.5 percent of national GDP (Kononczuk 2008: 48). 28 From 2002, producing around $1.3bn a year in profits for the Belarusian state budget (RFE/RL Newsline, 15 March 2006). 29 But as in earlier periods, the support was not always unequivocal. Russian TV channels, in particular ORT (at this point, not yet fully under Putin’s control), lambasted Lukashenka, to some degree contributing to a more nuanced media picture, thus in turn, positively affecting the political rights regime (B5). 30 In May and June 2001, ORT had even got interviews with opposition candidates and OSCE Ambassador Hans-Georg Wieck banned from Belarusian state TV (Rossiiskaya Gazeta, 16 June 2001; Padhol & Marples 2005: 87). 31 Broadcasts from RTR TV and the radio stations Mayak, Golos Rossii, and Yunost were halted (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 16 Jan. 2003; Bugajski 2004: 65), NTV lost its accreditation, its correspondents were extradited (Kommersant, 9 July 2003; Leshchenko 2004: 346), and the office of the TV channel Rossiya, which had covered an anti-Lukashenka demonstration, was closed (Kommersant, 26 July 2004). 32 He was kept behind bars until the 2006 presidential elections were over. 33 For documentation, see the wealth of declarations, resolutions, reports, and so on on the websites of the three organizations: www.europarl.europa.eu, www.consilium.europa.eu, http://ec.europa.eu, http://assembly.coe.int, www.osce.org/. 34 Only North Korea was subjected to the same quotas. 35 Once it succeeded, $50m was apparently made available for Hancharyk’s campaign. 36 This partly explains TACIS’ meager record of only implementing two €5m civil society programs between 2000 and 2003 (Jarabik 2006: 86). 37 E.g., on July 10 2001, a Russian-Moldovan joint military exercise was held. The purpose was to train neutralization of “illegal armed units”, which is exactly what Moldova terms the PMR troops (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 11 July 2001). 38 The Russian Duma had refused to even consider it throughout the 1990s. 39 The reduction in prices allowed the PCRM to significantly reduce housing costs for ordinary voters. 40 For example, he was granted the honorable Order of Russia’s Glory at a ceremony in Moscow (Moscow news, 21 April 2004; RFE/RL Newsline, 31 July 2004). 41 But Moscow did not resort to economic sanctions or energy cuts to further punish Voronin, the reason perhaps being that, in 2004, Moldova had, for the first time, paid for all deliveries (Bruce 2007: 41). 42 Support for EU membership ranged from 50 to 65 percent between 2000 and 2004 (Phinnemore 2006: 11; Roper 2008: 94).

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43 For instance, in June 2000, leaders of 23 parties and political movements signed a declaration endorsing eventual membership (Löwenhardt et al. 2001: 618). 44 In the form of IMF transactions and TACIS funding, still crucial for Moldova’s economy (McDonagh 2008: 150, 156) and favorable handling of outstanding debts (Crowther 2007: 282; Bruce 2007: 38).

7 The Return of Geopolitics: 2005–2010

The 2005–2010 period was heavily influenced by three important events. First, the period was marked by the legacy of the “color revolutions”, the popular protests that forced incumbents out of power in Georgia in 2003, Ukraine in 2004, and Kyrgyzstan in 2005. Following these revolutions, proponents of democracy throughout the former Soviet region felt encouraged. Authoritarian leaders, in contrast, circled the wagons and bolstered their autocratic systems, fearing that they would be next in line. Second, Russia’s military intervention in Georgia in August 2008 cast a shadow on developments in the region, pressuring the EU to take a more pro-activist stance, and making it clear to leaders of the CIS republics that Russia’s new assertiveness in foreign policy was dead serious. Finally, the financial crisis erupting just after the Russo-Georgian war added a stressful economic component to the increasingly difficult situation. In this context, the three cases under study developed quite differently. In Ukraine, the euphoria after the Orange Revolution was great, but the excitement quickly turned into despair. Personal squabbles paralyzed the political machinery and the economy, and gradually many of the achievements in democratic performance were reversed or undermined. In Belarus, President Lukashenka came under severe pressure when the opposition attempted to bring a color revolution to Minsk in 2006. Once again, however, the incumbent survived the attack, and for the rest of the period, he maintained a tight grip on political power though the financial crisis hit the country hard, forcing him to seek additional external assistance. Finally, in Moldova, the Communists continued to dominate politics, concentrate power, and harass the opposition. Only in 2009 did real changes in democratic performance take place, as the so-called “Twitter Revolution” forced Voronin to step aside for a pro-democratic, pro-Western alliance. As in Ukraine though, the rosy picture quickly blurred, and the

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lack of a clear parliamentary majority stalled political life, severely impeding the new coalition’s ability to implement reforms. Regarding the external actors, Russia’s development in the 2005–2010 period was in many respects similar to the trends in the first years of the new millennium. Domestically, Putin continued to concentrate political and economic power and eliminate all real and perceived threats, bolstering Russia against a color revolution that never came even close to materializing. At the same time, the party of power, United Russia, grew stronger and stronger, winning a constitutional majority in the biased and fraudulent December 2007 parliamentary elections (Sakwa 2008, 2011; Ambrosio 2009; Lipman & McFaul 2010; Remington 2010). The centralization of political power was made easier by Russia’s impressive economic growth rates, helped along by booming oil prices. Russian leaders appeased the population with material benefits, concentrated economic resources through widespread re-nationalization, and increasingly controlled political and economic elites through systems of patronage (Åslund 2007: 194, 250-2, 257; Remington 2010: 49-51). In 2008, the Kremlin felt secure enough to carry through a daring maneuver. According to the constitution, Putin was not allowed to run for a third term. So, as the deadline drew closer, he put out signals of his intention to step down; this unleashed insecurity and positioning among the ruling elites. The operation succeeded. Though Putin’s formal powers were passed on to a selected heir, Dmitri Medvedev, the winner of the presidential elections in March, Putin, as prime minister and leader of United Russia, managed to carry on his full control of Russian politics (Sakwa 2011). With full domestic control and a strong economy, the Putin regime was capable of continuing the more assertive foreign policy line cemented in the early 2000s. The US was strongly criticized for wanting to expand NATO and build a missile defense, and the EU’s attempts to construct a strong neighborhood policy were increasingly repudiated and countered. In August 2008, tensions climaxed in the Russo-Georgian war, during which Russia, despite worldwide disapproval, cemented its military presence in the Caucasus and effectively dealt with the attempts of the flamboyant, antiRussian president, Mikhail Saakashvili, to bring Georgia closer to the transatlantic axis (Asmus 2010). With regard to Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, Russia also continued its assertive line of the early 2000s. Authoritarianism was supported against the threat of popular uprisings, and pro-Western regimes in power in Ukraine and Moldova were destabilized. At the same time, in all three cases, the Kremlin tried to squeeze leaders for economic and geopolitical concessions through economic and political sanctions. The success in the Russo-Georgian war and the economic vulnerability of the three FSU republics, brought upon them by the financial

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crisis, only emboldened Russian efforts to influence events and make gatekeeper elites more receptive to Moscow’s pressure. For the EU, the 2005–2010 period was primarily a period of disillusionment and crisis. Most importantly, internal political crisis erupted as the ratification of the ambitious Constitutional Treaty proved much more difficult than expected. In May and June 2005, the French and Dutch voters surprised the political establishment in Brussels by voting against the Treaty, forcing the European leaders back to the negotiation table, in effect protracting final ratification to December 2009 (Blair 2010). Lengthy squabbles over the 2007-2013 budget further reinforced the sense of internal crisis, leading to an understanding that the EU seriously needed a consolidation phase (Gromadzki & Sushko 2005: 7-9). Just as this realization firmly settled, a new blow came with the devastating financial crisis in the fall of 2008, bringing several Southern European economies close to default, threatening to bury the whole financial integration project. With regard to external policy vis-à-vis the Eastern and Southern neighbors, Europe continued its enlargement process with Bulgaria and Romania in 2007 and proceeded to round up the Balkan countries for future accession. At the same time, however, internal crisis produced a sense of enlargement fatigue, consolidating the view that the ENP policy should be tightened in order to stave off further potential candidates. During 2005 and 2006, several action plans were concluded with ENP countries; in 2007, the new European Neighborhood Policy Instrument (ENPI) was launched, streamlining the EU’s tools of financial assistance; and finally, in May 2009, the Eastern Partnership Initiative (EaP) took off. With the EaP,1 a specific eastern dimension of the ENP was carved out, adding a multilateral dimension to the existing bilateral framework. The idea of the EaP was presented in May 2008 by Sweden and Poland, but the Russo-Georgian war sped up implementation. The EU clearly wanted to send a signal to the FSU republics that they had not been forgotten, despite Russia’s attempts to dictate developments (Verdun & Chira 2008: 437; Korosteleva 2011a, 2011b). Thus, throughout the period, the EU remained committed to supporting democratic reforms in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. But as the geopolitical conflict with Russia steadily increased, becoming fully evident with the August war in Georgia in 2008, EU leaders increasingly loosened democratic conditionality in order to draw the three countries out of the Russian orbit. So although Brussels largely remained a positive external actor in this period, remnants of the 1990s strategy dictated by geopolitics slowly seemed to resurface in the late 2000s. This made linkage-building with Europe less costly for autocratic incumbents, and as a close relationship seemed to be the only guarantees against Russian pressure,

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gatekeepers in the three countries increasingly facilitated ties to Brussels. However, as democratic conditionality was slackening, EU impact on democratic performance remained only marginally positive, even sometimes turning negative. Ukraine 2005–2010 The year 2004 had, for a large part of the Ukrainian population, ended in euphoria – the crony Kuchma regime had been defeated, fraudulent elections had been reversed, and a new energetic, pro-democratic, proWestern president had taken power promising to lead Ukraine back to Europe. However, during the 2005–2010 period, hope was replaced with disillusionment and apathy. The Orange Coalition quickly crumbled, and after a couple of years with political instability and repeated elections, the villain of the 2004 events, Viktor Yanukovych, was back in power, first as prime minister in 2006 and then as president in 2010. Simultaneously with Ukraine’s political meltdown, economic catastrophe once again hit the country as the financial crisis that erupted in 2008 took Ukraine as one of its first victims. Despite shattered hopes, the Orange Revolution managed yet to steer the political system away from Kuchma’s authoritarianism. During the 2005–2010 period, Ukraine’s democratic performance underwent several positive changes (cf. Table 7.1) with significantly improved free and fair elections, a substantial increase in media freedom, and the absence of government pressure. And the constitutional changes that came into effect in 2006 reduced the unchecked powers of the president, established under Kuchma, while strengthening the powers of the Rada and the prime minister. Nonetheless, a democratic culture was far from consolidated, and during the constant infighting between the three main actors, President Yushchenko and Tymoshenko and Yanukovych – each taking turns as prime minister throughout the period, constitutional provisions as well as the independency of both the Constitutional Court and individual parliamentary deputies were repeatedly tampered with. Finally, with Yanukovych’s victory in the 2010 presidential elections, pressure against democratic gains only increased. From Orange Euphoria to Political Paralysis and Disillusionment Not long after President Yushchenko had appointed Yulia Tymoshenko as his prime minister, the two personalities started positioning for the 2006 parliamentary elections. Tymoshenko personally tried to take control of the whole government, and Yushchenko increasingly criticized her for running an irresponsible, populist economic policy as well as attempting to carry

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through a re-privatization program targeted mainly at excluding her personal opponents rather than one that targeted murky oligarchic business in general (Wilson 2005: 165-6; Åslund 2009: 205, 207). In May 2005, Yushchenko began asking his former ally to resign, but she repeatedly refused. In September, the president decided to act, replacing Tymoshenko with longtime ally Yurii Yekhanurov. The move calmed the stormy political waters, but it also effectively put an end to calling big business into account. This was not a return to Kuchma’s oligarchic rule, but from this point on, the interests of the, albeit, now more pluralistic, economic elites were again listened to (Eberhardt 2009: 58-9). On January 1, 2006, the constitutional amendments agreed upon during the Orange Revolution came into effect. Key executive powers were transferred from the president to the prime minister, and the Rada gained more power regarding the appointment of the prime minister and how to hold him/her accountable. Hence, the super-presidency established under Kuchma was put under stronger parliamentary control and its most important prerogatives were scrapped – all in all substantially strengthening horizontal accountability (D9). Unfortunately, the amendments contained several ambiguities regarding the exact delineation of the competencies of the three institutions, leading to uncertainty over who was allowed to do what and, consequently leading to continuous strife over the interpretation of the constitutional provisions (Hale 2006: 86). Such poorly designed amendments might not have been a problem if only Ukraine’s politicians had been willing to compromise. But during the 2005–2010 period, Ukraine was far away from such a state. And though the elections on March 26, 2006 were considered free and fair, largely in line with OSCE standards (OSCE/ODIHR 2006b), they did nothing to produce a better functioning political landscape. Yanukovych’s newly established Party of Regions received 33 percent of the votes, Tymoshenko’s BYuT 22 percent, and Yushchenko’s Our Ukraine 14 percent, all of which preserved the balance between the orange and the blue camp but changed the one between Yushchenko and Tymoshenko in favor of the latter. To form a government majority, at least two of the three sharply antagonized political players had to align. Compromise was necessary but proved impossible to achieve (Åslund 2009: 213). Coalition negotiations protracted over the following months, ending in late July 2006 when Yushchenko was forced to accept a pact with all parties except BYuT. Yanukovych was made prime minister in return for promising support for the country’s Euro-Atlantic integration course (Åslund 2009: 216). Thus, less than one-and-a-half years after the Orange Revolution, the man known for widespread attempts to rig the elections was back in power.

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Table 7.1 Ukraine’s Democratic Performance, 2005–2010 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Free and fair elections 2006, 2007, 2010 (A4)

Biased local elections 2010 (A4)

B. Political Rights

Media freedom substantially improved 2005-2009 (B5)

Increased state control of media 2010 (B5)

No oppression of opposition politicians and NGOs 2005-2009 (B6)

Increased harassment of opposition politicians and NGOs 2010 (B6)

C. Civil Rights D. Horizontal Accountability

Constitutional reform, strengthening the parliament Vis-á-vis the presidency, comes into effect 2006 (D9)

Several incidents of bribing votes in the Rada 2005–2010(D9) Several incidents of violation of constitutional provisions 2005–2010 (D9) Several incidents of attempts to influence the Constitutional Court 2005–2010 (D9) Reintroducing a strong presidency and weakening the independence of the judiciary 2010 (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

Unfortunately, the period of co-habitation did not produce any progress. Yushchenko and Yanukovych constantly squabbled over, in particular, foreign policy issues, and the constitutional ambiguities were

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used and misused in an internal power struggle. The result was “turbulence, chaos, infighting and constitutional disarray” (Dangerfield 2011: 226). In 2007, the standoff continued, peaking in March and May with severe conflict and complete paralysis. As more and more deputies from Our Ukraine defected to the Party of Regions, Yushchenko decided to dissolve the Rada and call for early elections. Yanukovych refused to comply, and the Rada continued working. Protestors representing each side filled the streets, and in late May, the disagreements came close to a violent end when special forces of the prime minister and the president confronted each other in Kiev. Luckily, a compromise was reached, and new elections were set for September 30, 2007 (Copsey 2008: 298-9; Åslund 2009: 219; D’Anieri 2011: 37). Once more, the parliamentary elections were competitive and free and fair (OSCE/ODIHR 2007b) but again, did not resolve the political impasse, only further increasing apathy among the electorate. The three large parties looked more and more alike, converging on the democratic center-right, running campaigns full of populist pledges. Support for Our Ukraine and the Party of Regions remained stable – only BYuT increased its vote share from 22 percent in 2006 to nearly 31 percent (Copsey 2008: 300). Once more, coalition negotiations continued for months, until a new Orange government was approved in late November with Tymoshenko as prime minister and BYuT taking most of the heavy economic posts (Eastweek, 9 Jan. 2008). However, the political squabbles continued between the “big three.” Yanukovych lambasted both the government and the president, Yushchenko did everything to obstruct the work of the prime minister and the cabinet, and Tymoshenko herself time after time challenged the president on the competence issues that were ambiguously defined in the 2006 constitutional amendments. During 2008 and 2009, the constant power-bickering resulted again in a meeting between the president’s and the prime minister’s troops, though this confrontation never really escalated beyond threats (Eastweek, 23 April 2008; D’Anieri 2011: 37). The ruling coalition disintegrated and was re-formed. President Yushchenko repeatedly tried to dissolve the Rada, which in turn refused to follow his calls and tried to undermine his position.2 During the years of political chaos (2006-2009), Ukraine’s horizontal accountability (D9) received some serious blows: constitutional provisions were breached on several occasions (both by the president and the various prime ministers); constitutional judges, asked to arbitrate between the two sides, were put under severe political pressure; and in parliament, the alliances of many of the deputies were up for grabs – party affiliation and/or vote affiliation changed as bidders raised the stakes (Åslund 2009: 215, 218). Despite fairly clean elections and a much improved environment for

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independent media and opposition activity, Ukraine’s politicians still bitterly fought each other, still using non-democratic means of coercion and bribery Financial Crisis and Yanukovych’s Rise to Power From 2008, Ukraine was not only weakened by an ongoing political crisis but also had to struggle with deep economic crisis. The downturn was triggered by the global financial crisis but was really the result of eight years of booming progress in combination with a much too lax fiscal policy. With political leadership paralyzed, Ukraine, naturally, became one of the first victims of capital flight in Europe (Åslund 2009: 229-31).3 Consequently, the 2009 election year became one long struggle for Prime Minister Tymoshenko – keeping the economy afloat and satisfying the IMF, while trying to avert implementing necessary reforms, instead cutting expenditures and increasing gas prices (Eastweek, 3 Sep. 2009). Under these adverse circumstances, the Orange forces looked weaker than ever, paving the way for Yanukovych’s victory in the January 17, 2010 presidential elections (Kuzio 2011: 88). Again, the elections proved competitive, free and fair, and Yanukovych won the run-off with 48.95 percent against Tymoshenko’s 45.47 percent – Yushchenko was completely marginalized with only 5.45 percent supporting him in the first round (OSCE/ODIHR 2010). The tables had turned, and the new president now moved fast to undergird his power. Soon after, Yanukovych convinced the Rada to dismiss Tymoshenko, and a new majority coalition was formed between the Party of Regions, the Communists, the Lytvyn Bloc, and several defectors4 from the Orange parties, making possible the approval of a new government under Mykola Azarov (Eastweek, 17 March 2010). With control of both the presidency and the legislature, the road was paved for further concentration of power. First, the Party of Regions gained full control of the National Television and Radio Council, which grants licenses to media outlets and enforces media legislation (Eastweek, 30 June 2010). This allowed Yanukovych and his supporters to increase control over the main media, even issue “guidelines” for “constructive” reporting (Eastweek, 9 June 2010). Second, state control was tightened by handpicking the “right” people for higher positions in the administration and the judiciary, and Security Services was again used for political purposes, putting increasing pressure on Western-oriented NGOs (OSW Commentary, 29 Sep. 2010). Finally, in October, the constitutional changes of 2006 were reversed through a ruling of an increasingly politically-controlled Constitutional Court, thus reinstating the strong 1996 presidential system established under Kuchma (Eastweek, 6, 13 Oct. 2010). Simultaneously, an audit was started of corruption in the 2007-2010

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Tymoshenko government (Kuzio 2011: 93), and the local elections in October gave the Party of Regions clear majorities in most regions and large cities where significant administrative pressure was used (Eastweek, 4 Nov. 2010). Thus, in the last year of the 2005–2010 period, Ukraine seemed to be reversing its hard-won democratic gains, again attesting to negative changes in democratic performance. During Yanukovych’s presidency, the first signs of a more biased electoral regime (A4), a more controlled and repressive media and opposition environment (B5, B6), and a weaker horizontal accountability (D9) came to the fore. The Orange forces lost momentum, and the pro-democratic electorate again descended into apathy, leaving Yanukovych with few serious hindrances to his authoritarian course. Russia Turns to Destabilization Mode During the last years of the former President Kuchma’s rule, Moscow had put all its strength behind him and his efforts to secure the election of the chosen successor, Yanukovych. However, the trick did not pull off, and the Orange breakthrough left Russia bruised and humiliated, facing a proWestern regime wary of integration and reluctant to give concessions. As before, the Kremlin radically changed its policy, now again focusing on destabilizing the regime in power, trying to hinder its proclaimed integration with the West (particularly with regard to NATO), and at the same time preparing for future influence in a more pro-Russian regime by building ties to Yanukovych and the Party of Regions. In the first months of 2005, after the Orange Revolution, the air between Kiev and Moscow was colder than ever. In early January, Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov set the stage for what was to come, making clear that he respected the right of each state to choose its own partners, but that such choices had consequences, and that Kiev could, therefore, no longer count on privileged economic relations (Nygren 2008: 55). Meetings meant to soften the bad feelings between the new president, Yushchenko, and Putin, the man that had fought to keep him from power, did not improve relations in any way. The intense diplomatic activity of the Kuchma years was diminished to obligatory handshakes (Åslund 2009: 204). During the following four years, the level of linkages between the two countries remained fairly stable with Kiev trying not to further anger its neighbor, and Russia engaging in a strategy of damage control and destabilization, hoping only to minimize Ukraine’s newfound Western drive. This interaction affected three areas: Ukraine’s territorial integrity, the Crimean question, and not least, gas supplies, prices and trade sanctions.

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In an attempt to discredit not only Ukraine’s Western and democratic turn but also the color revolutions and people power in general,   Russia consistently criticized the Orange forces in power.5 At the same time, the Kremlin extended ties to Yanukovych and the Party of Regions and promoted them as the only sensible and viable alternative to Yushchenko’s “illegitimate” rule.6 By continuing to court Russia, Yanukovych and the Party of Regions gained a strong ally in the intense domestic political struggles taking place in these years. Not surprisingly, during the severe crisis between President Yushchenko and Prime Minister Yanukovych in spring 2007, the Russian Duma took a clear stand and denounced Yushchenko’s attempts to dissolve the Rada, calling it unconstitutional and beyond the framework of the law (RFE/RL Newsline, 6 March 2006). But Russia not only tried to de-legitimize the Orange forces in the face of Ukrainian voters, the Kremlin also ran a campaign trying to derail Ukraine’s Western turn, in particular with regards to the intensifying talks on possible NATO membership. A first sign of the return to the policy of territorial destabilization, Russian special forces from Chechnya landed to rest in Crimea without the permission of Kiev (Wilson 2005: 178); in February 2006, when Crimean legislators held a referendum on making Russian an official state language, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs responded by praising the move, and a campaign claiming political oppression of its compatriots on the peninsula was launched, culminating in December when Russian TV (still widely popular on the peninsula) aired a four-part series heavily criticizing Ukraine for its handling of the Russian speakers (Ambrosio 2009: 149); in June 2006, the Russian foreign minister made it clear that membership would undermine the hard-fought 1997 Treaty of Friendship (Nygren 2008: 56); in January 2007, Russia’s ambassador, Viktor Chernomyrdin, advised Ukraine not to join NATO or Russia would “reconsider its relations” (Sushko 2008: 26); finally, at the crucial NATO summit in Bucharest in April 2008, where it was decided that the two countries should not receive MAP status, Putin openly questioned Ukraine as a sovereign state and framed the Crimea transfer as illegal (Zerkalo Nedeli, 19 April 2008). By returning to the harsh rhetoric and interventionist actions of the 1990s, by re-raising the issue of Crimea and the rights of the Russian-speaking majority, and, more generally, by repeatedly questioning Ukrainian territorial integrity both in words and deeds, Moscow tried to further destabilize Ukraine and to portray the country as an unreliable partner in the sense that not only was it having problems with its own separatist regions, it also suffered from serious and unsettled disputes with the regional great power – Russia. A clever tactic since NATO was concerned about importing problems of such a magnitude into its own ranks.

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Finally, Russia, once again, added an economic component to the political and territorial destabilization of the forces in power in Kiev. First in the form of trade sanctions: in January 2006, imports of Ukrainian meat and dairy products were banned due to alleged problems with sanitary standards (Balmaceda 2008: 133), and in October, checks on Ukrainian alcohol exported to Russia were tightened, making the obtainment of export licenses even harder (RFE/RL Newsline, 16 Oct. 2006). But Russia also, throughout the 2005-2009 period, repeatedly turned to its most favored foreign policy tool: the gas issue. In summer 2005, Gazprom declared a threefold gas price for Ukraine, from its level of $50 per 1000cbm to world market prices (RFE/RL Newsline, 13 July 2006). In December, the gas price was hiked once more to $230, leading to a breakdown of negotiations. On January 1, 2006, gas supplies were completely halted. In return, Ukraine siphoned off export gas, which meant a drop in supplies to several European nations, causing uproar in the EU. Russia and Ukraine were forced to the negotiation table, and an agreement was struck.7 Gazprom showed its goodwill only while Yanukovych remained as prime minister. Deliveries were stable and prices were reasonable for 2007 (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 Oct. 2006). However, when it was clear, after the September 2007 parliamentary elections that Yanukovych would not continue as prime minister, Gazprom again threatened to cut gas due to alleged non-payment of debts as high as $2.2bn.8 Throughout 2008 and 2009, the gas issue continuously threatened to erupt, causing the new prime minister, Tymoshenko, to hold a series of meetings with Prime Minister Putin and Gazprom. Twice, in March 2008 and January 2009, the conflict over debts, gas prices and the distribution between various intermediaries resulted in gas cuts, compelling an ever more desperate Tymoshenko to finally strike a very unfavorable long-term contract according to which Ukraine was forced to pay gas prices at a level exceeding that paid by most other European nations, and accept quantities by far exceeding its needs (Eastweek 23 and 30 Jan., 19 March, 16 and 23 April, 8 Oct. 2008, and 7, 14, 21 Jan. and 11 March 2009). Summing up, Russian actions during Yushchenko’s presidency contributed to further political and economic pressure on a Ukrainian regime that was already struggling with political chaos and a severe economic crisis. The pro-Western, facilitative gatekeeping pursued by the Orange leadership led Russia to repeatedly discredit the political leadership, question Ukraine’s right to independence, attempt to, again, fan the flames on Crimea, and exert heavy economic pressure through trade sanctions, threats and implementations of gas cuts. Thus, throughout most of the 20052009 period, Moscow severely inhibited the ruling elites’ effective power to rule (E10). At the same time, Russia sought to strengthen bonds to the main

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opposition challenger, Viktor Yanukovych, and his Party of Regions, clearly signaling that Russia’s policy of destabilization was targeted at the proWestern Orange leaders, and that more acquiescent behavior would be rewarded. A President More of Moscow’s Liking and the Return to Stabilization Though Moscow did not try to meddle with Ukraine’s electoral regime during the parliamentary elections held in 2006 and 2007, the January 2010 presidential elections were different. In August 2009, Russian President Medvedev sent an open letter to Ukrainian President Yushchenko accusing him of being “anti-Russian”, urging Ukrainians to vote for a more cooperative leader. Furthermore, he announced that Russia would postpone sending a new ambassador to Kiev until after the election results were known (RFE/RL Newsline, 11 Aug. 2009). The months following were filled with threats of halts in gas and oil supplies, clearly signaling to Ukrainian voters that the current president was endangering secure, stable relations with Moscow (Eastweek 7 Oct. 2009; RFE/RL Newsline, 2 Nov. and 25 Dec. 2009). However, unlike the 2004 elections, Moscow did not put all its eggs in the same basket, signaling that it was ready to work with both Prime Minister Tymoshenko (praising her for her recent conciliatory stand on the gas issue (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Nov. 2009)) and Yanukovych. In this way, the Kremlin attempted to influence the elections – by overt discrediting the candidacy of incumbent Yushchenko and more discretely endorsing both of the main candidates Russia negatively influenced the impartialness of the electoral regime (A4). With Yanukovych in power, Russo-Ukrainian relations again changed dramatically. In contrast to his predecessor, the new Ukrainian president showed a willingness to grant important concessions to Russia. In return, Moscow halted its policy of destabilization, instead providing material benefits and political support. As a first and crucial signal of this change in gatekeeping strategy, a fleet-for-gas deal was struck in late April. In return for a 30 percent discount on gas, saving the Ukrainian state $4bn a year and significantly reducing its budget deficit, Russia was allowed to maintain the stationing of its Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol until 2042. This not only made further NATO integration most unlikely (Eastweek 28 April 2010; OSW Commentary, 15 Dec. 2010), it also made it clear to Moscow that the new president was ready to follow a pragmatic, non-ideological policy line in bilateral relations. Consequently, in May, Russia finally agreed to demarcate the land border between the two countries, signaling a full acceptance and recognition of Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity (Eastweek 19 May 2010). In early June, a $2bn loan was transferred on favorable terms to Ukraine’s Ministry of Finance, which was struggling to

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keep within its 2010 budget (Eastweek 16 June 2010), and agreements were made facilitating substantial Russian investments in nuclear and aircraft production (OSW Commentary, 15 Dec. 2010). Only a month later, Yanukovych repaid the generous Russian concessions by signing a law on the fundamental principles of the country's domestic and foreign policy stipulating Ukraine's non-aligned status and guaranteeing the protection of the Russian language (Eurasia Daily Monitor, 9 July). Hence, in the last year of this period, Russo-Ukrainian intergovernmental and economic linkage expansion again picked up. Also, while in opposition, Viktor Yanukovych had maintained and further developed ties between himself and the Kremlin, so once in power, he was able to quickly cash in on the benefits. In return for economic and geopolitical concessions, important to the leaders in Moscow but less significant to the powerbase of Yanukovych, the Ukrainian incumbent not only received crucial financial support and stability in gas and oil deliveries, but the harsh discrediting of the last five years stopped. This increased the incumbent’s popularity and political and financial maneuverability, indirectly easing the steps he was taking to concentrate power and rebuild, at least, remnants of the authoritarian system that characterized Ukraine under Kuchma. The EU: Increasing Cooperation but Decreasing Influence on Democratic Performance In the years following the Orange Revolution, bilateral relations between the EU and Ukraine flourished. The ruling elites in Kiev placed EuroAtlantic integration at the top of the agenda, pushing to significantly extend ties to the West (Gromadzki & Sushko 2005: 13; Nygren 2008: 55). Indeed, intergovernmental and economic linkage-building in this period was intensive and multifaceted. On February 21, 2005, the three-year Action Plan that Kuchma had evaded was signed between the EU and Kiev, and in April, the government adopted a roadmap specifying more than 300 concrete actions to be taken to implement the plan (Gromadzki & Sushko 2005: 13). Within the next four years, cooperation on trade, foreign policy, visa and readmission schemes, border checks and energy were pursued. During the same time, Ukraine was granted market economy status, joined the WTO, and engaged in negotiations on deeper political and economic cooperation with the EU.9 Finally, in May 2009, the country was included in the Eastern Partnership program. But despite the eager pro-Western policy of the new Orange leadership, EU influence remained only marginal (Wolczuk 2009: 188).

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There are two reasons for this surprising lack of success. Most importantly, political and economic chaos in Kiev strongly constrained the maneuverability of President Yushchenko, the most ardent supporter of the strategy of facilitative gatekeeping and democratic reforms. The continuing crisis in the country substantially slowed down the pace of reforms, and progress in most categories, therefore, remained only superficial (cf. EU Progress Reports 2006, 2008, 2009, and 2010). Second, while Brussels was supporting Ukraine financially and politically, Europe refused to take sides in the struggle between the country’s political elites, supporting a democratic process, not particular individuals. And as long as the political deadlock remained unresolved, Europe could do nothing more than advocate reforms. For example, the consolidation of the positive changes achieved after the Orange Revolution – such as increasing electoral, political, and media freedom – was in no way the product of the EU or any other external forces. Rather, these changes resulted from the fact that the new leaders in power were simply more reluctant to (and certainly also less able to) repress political opponents, muzzle critical journalists or rig elections. Neither was the EU pivotal in averting the violations of constitutional provisions (D9) or the political meddling with the rulings of the Constitutional Court (D9) during these peaks of recurrent political crises. Brussels consistently refused to take sides in the ongoing conflicts between the president, the prime minister, and the parliament, only urging each actor to use political negotiations and constitutional reforms to settle the matters.10 Without the EU scrutinizing events and promulgating compromise, the conflicts might have turned violent and repressive – on several occasions this was close to happening. Thus, Brussels may have contributed positively to Ukraine’s democratic performance, not by pushing through improvements but rather by, at the peaks of conflicts, indirectly contributing to restraint (B6, C7). Not even when Yanukovych became President in February 2010 and started concentrating power and increasing repression did Europe succeed in stopping or restraining the increasingly authoritarian tendencies. This time though, Brussels did not withhold pressure due to principles of nonintervention in democratic disputes but mostly due to a return to a strategy emphasizing stability and balancing of Russia. As the incursions on democracy were stepped up during the year, Brussels did retaliate with increasing criticism (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Sep. and 21 Oct. 2010; European Parliament 2010). But at the same time, political stability was praised as a vehicle for finally being able to push through, in particular, economic reforms. The EU therefore continued with business as usual, even initiating negotiations on an Association Agreement and a more liberal visa regime (Eastweek, 15 Sep. 2010; RFE/RL Newsline, 22 Nov. 2010). But the

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increased geopolitical competition between Moscow and Brussels took its turn on democratic conditionality. EU leaders were afraid they would force the new Ukrainian leadership into the arms of Russia, and so instead promulgated a strategy of constructive engagement. Hence, for Yanukovych, continued linkage-building to Europe was a free lunch, at least in the short run. Without constraining his own political ambitions, the president could extract economic benefits from deepened trade agreements (pleasing the business structures exporting to the West), maintain European support, if conflicts with Russia should arise, and simultaneously satisfy the moderately pro-European majority of the voters. Hence, for the EU, the 2005–2010 years was a period of missed opportunities. For the first time, one of the major post-Soviet republics had been serious about European integration and genuine democratization. But the political paralysis in Ukraine had left Brussels powerless. Without the will to offer more than a neighbor partnership and with the principle of nonintervention in the intense, albeit non-violent, domestic political struggle, the full potential of the window of opportunity that had been opened by the Orange Revolution never materialized. The long impasse followed by Yanukovych’s turn towards Moscow, pushed Brussels into changing its strategy – now promulgating, first and foremost, stability and economic reforms. As a consequence, the EU ended the first decade of the 2000s implicitly supporting the new president’s first steps towards rebuilding authoritarianism, providing him with important external legitimacy, geopolitical protection and concrete economic benefits. Belarus 2005–2010 The political developments in Belarus in the 2005–2010 years can best be described by breaking the period into two. During the first period (20052006), the Belarusian regime faced serious political opposition for the first time in a decade. Ukraine’s Orange Revolution inspired the democratic opposition to stand up to the dictator and protest against the fraudulent 2006 presidential elections. However, President Lukashenka had also learned from the events. And with ample Russian help, he successfully crushed the attempts to create a Belarusian color revolution, maintaining autocracy for yet another term. During the second period (2007-2010), Belarus entered a phase of deepening economic crisis, triggered by Russia rolling back substantial parts of its subsidization schemes and, later on, by the effect of the financial crisis on the country. As a consequence, Lukashenka loosened his grip on the economy, allowing for some privatization and economic liberalization. Furthermore, he changed his gatekeeping strategy, re-engaging the EU to

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secure financial assistance and to shield Belarus from an ever more antagonistic Moscow. Eager to draw Belarus out of the Russian orbit, Brussels developed a more lax policy of engagement and cooperation, hoping that the Belarusian incumbent would, in return, minimize repression. However, as Table 7.2 shows, Belarus remained a repressive autocracy, and most partial regimes of the country’s democratic performance were, as in earlier periods, routinely undermined. True, a few positive improvements were made in an attempt to court the EU. Yet, these positive changes did not represent real political liberalization, and they were only upheld for very short periods (consequently, they are not included in the table below).   Table 7.2 Belarus’ Democratic Performance, 2005–2010 Positive changes

Negative changes

A. Electoral Regime

Fraudulent and violent elections 2006, 2008, 2010 (A1, A3, A4)

B. Political Rights

Complete state control of media (B5) Brutal dispersal of demonstrations and oppression of opposition parties and NGOs (B6)

C. Civil Rights

Unjustified arrests and beatings of political opponents and protestors (C7)

D. Horizontal Accountability

Continued concentration of all power by Lukashenka (D9)

E. Effective Power to Rule

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Lukashenka Fights to Preserve Autocracy Following the Orange breakthrough in Ukraine in late 2004, Belarus entered a period of political suspense. The democratic opposition showed a hitherto unseen activity, hoping to end more than a decade of dictatorial rule in the 2006 presidential elections by uniting behind a single candidate, the veteran civil society organizer Alyaksandr Milinkevich. However, the opposition as well as Lukashenka had learned a lesson or two from the events in Georgia, Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan. Throughout 2005 and 2006, the president stepped up repression, trying to preempt a color revolution scenario from unfolding in the streets of Minsk. On January 7, 2005, immediately after the Orange Revolution in Kiev, Lukashenka made his intentions clear, stating that “there will be no pink, orange, or even banana revolution in Belarus” (cited in Burger & Minchuk 2006: 29). During the following year, a number of restrictions were implemented. A new housing code led to the closing of hundreds of local political party offices; the largest polling agency of the country, IISEPS, was closed down; and in order to conduct opinion surveys, a special permit was now needed. Moreover, leaders of pro-democratic parties and movements were sentenced to years of forced labor for organizing antiregime protests, and a reporter from the largest opposition newspaper, Narodnaya Volya, was found dead while overall repression of the independent media was intensified. New restrictions on foreign assistance to NGOs were implemented, the criminal code was changed so that all election-related civil society activities could be punished with years of imprisonment, and security organs were trained in quick suppression of street protests (RFE/RL Newsline, 1 June, 11 Nov., 2 Dec. 2005 and 14, 23 Feb. 2006; Silitski 2006: 140, 144; Burger & Minchuk 2006: 33; Silitski 2010: 290). Despite the heavy repression, the united opposition’s candidate, Milinkevich, and the Social Democratic candidate, Alyaksandr Kazulin, along with a large civil society machinery, ran strong campaigns urging people to come out to vote and demonstrate. Protests started picking up, eventually turning into mass demonstrations. And after Lukashenka, on March 19, declared himself the winner with a dubious 82.6 percent of the fraudulent and heavily biased vote (OSCE/ODIHR 2006a), a permanent tent camp was set up in central Minsk. Despite the significant upsurge in protest activity, the coercive apparatus was present, harassing and intimidating the demonstrators, and after a week, the crowds had been violently dispersed. All in all, the aftermath of the elections led to the arrests of over 600 people, beaten and detained for weeks. Moreover, opposition candidate Milinkevich was sentenced to 15 days of imprisonment while Social Democrat Kazulin got

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five-and- a- half years (RFE/RL Newsline, 20, 24, 25 March, 27 April, 13, 14 July 2006; Marples 2006; Silitski 2006, 2010). Thus, with severe infringements on the electoral regime (A1, A3, A4), the political rights regime (B5 ad B6), and the civil rights regime (C7), Lukashenka effectively smothered what came to be known as the Jeans Revolution, the dream of a Belarusian color revolution, long before it even got started. Dictatorship was preserved, and the belief in successful popular mobilization was crushed. Soon after the failed Jeans Revolution, Lukashenka learned that political instability was not the only threat to his rule. As the section below will show, Russia then started to withdraw its heavy subsidization of the Belarusian economy, triggering an economic crisis that only grew larger as the financial crisis rolled in over the country in 2008. Exports halved, the explosive GDP growth of earlier years halted, and inflation picked up (Yeremeyeva 2009). Moreover, the Belarusian ruble came under increasing pressure, and in January 2009, the National Bank announced a 20.5 percent devaluation, dramatically increasing the price of imports and diminishing the savings of the population (RFE/RL Newsline, 12 Jan., 17 Feb. 2009; Marples 2009: 759). Lukashenka, basing his authority on complete economic control and social stability, was forced to seek external assistance to avoid further popular dissatisfaction.11 To succeed in attracting aid, the Belarusian dictator saw no other solution than to somewhat slacken his firm grip on power. The result was partial economic reform but still only cursory political liberalization. For the first time, Belarus was taking steps towards opening up its economy to the outside world.12 But still, only the most needed economic reforms were pursued, signaling that Lukashenka was desperately trying to maintain economic resources under his own personal control. The same tactics were pursued with regard to political liberalization. During 2007 and 2008, repression was eased substantially, and all political prisoners were released one by one. However, periods with clampdowns on demonstrators, mass arrests, and raids on NGOs and independent media houses continued, and new political prisoners filled the prisons, clearly signaling to both the opposition and the elite that Lukashenka was in no way intent on slackening the reins (Marples 2009). Not only did the severe inflictions on political rights (B5, B6) and civil rights regimes (C7, C8) continue, horizontal accountability (D9) also remained non-existent, and the electoral regime (A1, A3, A4) remained completely tarnished. In the September 28, 2008 parliamentary elections, not a single opposition candidate won a seat (OSCE/ODIHR 2008; RFE/RL Newsline, 21, 24, 27, 29 Sep. 2008; Marples 2009), and in the more intense, violent and oppressive presidential elections in December 2010, the incumbent was re-elected with a comfortable margin followed by

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the arrest and beating of around 600 demonstrators, including several opposition candidates (Eastweek, 4 Nov., 15, 29 Dec. 2010; OSCE/ODIHR 2011b; Potocki 2011). Hence, despite being forced to make cursory concessions, Lukashenka maintained authoritarian rule, even in a context of economic hardship. Belarus’ democratic performance in 2010, therefore, looked very similar to that of 2005, before the democratic opposition had staked a lot on bringing political changes to Minsk. Though small changes that might otherwise have challenged Lukashenka’s authoritarian rule in the longer run had taken place, at the end of 2010, the power of the dictator remained unchallenged. Russia Prevents Democratization but Demands Self-Sustainability The gist of Russia’s policy towards Minsk in the 2005–2010 period was, by and large, a continuation of that during the early 2000s – but this time only with more determination and assertiveness. The Kremlin still made sure serious threats to the Belarusian regime were tackled, preventing the worst case scenario of a democratic breakthrough similar to that taking place in Ukraine. But at the same time, Russia pushed hard to roll back excessive financial privileges, aiming to make Belarus’ authoritarianism more selfsustainable and, if possible, replace Lukashenka with a more reliable partner. The Belarusian President reacted by reinforcing the obstructive gatekeeping strategy of the early 2000s while simultaneously engaging in linkage-building with the EU. This time, however, Lukashenka was unable to keep Russian investments and asset takeovers at arm’s length, and economic and intergovernmental linkages to Moscow were forcibly deepened. All along, the Kremlin, therefore, found it beneficial to continue undergirding Belarusian autocracy, making sure that the regime was never put in a situation where the democratic opposition could come even close to winning power. Putting a Halt to Color Revolutions In the first two years of the 2005–2010 period, all Russian actions were aimed at making sure that the wave of color revolutions flooding the postSoviet space was effectively stopped before it hit Russia as well. Accordingly, the Belarusian presidential elections on March 19, 2006 were seen as a test case for the sustainability and strength of the new revolutionary trend. In the period leading up to the elections, the Kremlin did everything possible to bolster the Belarusian regime (Ambrosio 2009). First, they sought to strengthen the political legitimacy of Lukashenka’s rule. As the rhetoric of the West had stepped up in the aftermath of the Orange Revolution, Putin and Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov defended

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the incumbent and rejected Western accusations in diplomatic meetings (RFE/RL Newsline, 22 April 2005) and in international forums, such as the CoE (Ambrosio 2009: 12). At the same time, Lukashenka’s strategy of portraying the West’s democracy promotion as attempts to overthrow him and take over the country was only reinforced by statements by the Russian FSB, “exposing” Western attempts to use terrorists organizations to finance the opposition (Silitski 2007: 11). Russian ministers warned the West not to meddle in the elections, impose “double standards” (RFE/RL Newsline, 27 Feb. 2006), or use the OSCE to produce an assessment “colored by ideology” (RFE/RL Newsline, 13 March 2006). After the vote, the Russian political support continued to flow. CIS Observers discredited the “biased claims and harsh evaluations” of the West and instead called the process “free, open, and transparent” (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 March 2006). Foreign Minister Lavrov accused the OSCE of “instigating mass disorders” in Minsk (Silitski 2007: 10), and Putin congratulated the Belarusian leader, regarding the elections as “evidence of the voters’ confidence in the course you [Lukashenka] have chosen to ensure rising prosperity for the Belarusian people” (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 March 2006). Moreover, Russian media portrayed Lukashenka positively during the whole process, conveniently reproducing the official line, characterizing opposition demonstrators as extremist bullies sponsored by the West (Silitski 2007: 11-12). In addition to political support, the Kremlin also granted the Belarusian dictator economic assistance and security-related support. Russian business provided ample financial assistance (Kononczuk 2008: 37), and already in early April 2005, Putin promised that gas prices would not be raised beyond the heavily subsidized 2005-level of $48 per 1000cbm. Even when Russian domestic gas prices were set to be raised in late 2005, Belarus was exempted, in effect paying less than in neighboring Russian regions. This allowed Lukashenka to hike public wages and show economic control (RFE/RL Newsline, 8 April 2006; Marples 2007: 95; Silitski 2007: 12). At the same time, the Russian FSB cooperated closely with the Belarusian KGB in targeting opposition activists, and Russian publishing houses were ordered to consequently shut out the Belarusian independent press, which had desperately tried to find someone daring to print their material (Silitski 2007: 12). Thus, Moscow was extremely active in trying to avert an Orange scenario in Minsk. By providing substantial political, economic and security-related assistance, Russia clearly affected the Belarusian democratic performance negatively. The electoral regime was impeded by the overt support for Lukashenka and the legitimization of the obviously fraudulent results (A1, A3, and A4), the brutal incursions of the political

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rights regime (B5 and B6) and civil rights regime (C7) were supported; though there were indications that the Kremlin may have promoted and financially supported the Social Democratic opposition candidate, Kazulin (Silitski 2006; Kononczuk 2008: 53), which conflicts with the picture of unconditional Russian support for the Belarusian incumbent. Perhaps Russia was positioning Kazulin in case a revolution forced Lukashenka out of power. Regardless, the Belarusian president must have sensed Russian support of Kazulin, which would explain why, in the aftermath of the elections, Kazulin was punished the hardest, by far, with a five-and-a-half year prison sentence. That is, the Kremlin was defending authoritarianism, and thereby its strong economic and geopolitical interests, against the democratic wave but not necessarily defending Lukashenka. Rolling Back Privileges but Still Supporting Authoritarianism Once the imminent danger of a democratic breakthrough in Belarus had passed, the Kremlin started to reformat relations with its neighbor, cutting back on the most excessive economic subsidization. Lukashenka intensively fought every rollback, trying to preserve the privileges that had allowed him to maintain exclusive control over the country’s economic resources. But in the end, the fiscal constraints imposed upon him, along with the global financial crisis, forced the Belarusian dictator to accept the new reality. Thus, the subsidies so beneficial to him were reduced and replaced by economic and intergovernmental linkages more favorable to the Kremlin. Less than two weeks after the March 19, 2006 presidential elections, a new era in Russian-Belarusian relations was initiated when Gazprom announced a rise in 2007 Belarusian gas prices to the European level (RFE/RL Newsline, 30 March 2006). At the latest possible deadline, December 31, 2006, a gas deal was signed, raising the price from $46 to only $100 per 1000cbm, which, though less than the European prices, meant that Belarus would pay $2.1bn instead of the $1bn it paid in 2007. In addition, a formula for reaching world prices by 2011 was agreed upon, and Lukashenka at last went along with Russia’s demand for gradually (over a four-year-period) acquiring a 50 percent share in the state gas distributor Beltransgaz for the price of $2.5bn (Eastweek, 4 Jan. 2007; RFE/RL Newsline, 4 Jan. 2007; Eurasia Daily Monitor, 21 May 2007; Marples 2007: 97; Kononczuk 2008: 43).13 However, Russia’s gas subsidies were not the only benefit suddenly withdrawn. In December 2006, an export duty was imposed on oil sold to Belarus, putting to an end the lucrative scheme by which enormous amounts of cheap Russian oil had been re-exported. In 2006 alone, profits from this scheme were estimated at more than $5.4bn, since oil products accounted for nearly 40 percent of total exports (Eastweek, 14 and 21 Dec. 2006;

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Kononczuk 2008: 53). The hard-pressed Lukashenka protested at first, imposing an oil transit fee and obstructing the free flow of Russian cargo transit in retaliation (RFE/RL Newsline, 4 Jan. 2007; Kononczuk 2008: 42). But when all oil supplies were terminated, on January 7, 2007, Lukashenka was forced to give in, agreeing to gradually phase in the Russian requirements (Eastweek, 10 and 18 Jan. 2007; RFE/RL Newsline, 13 Jan. 2007).14 Thus, the Kremlin pushed through a radical change in economic links, creating more “normal”, market-based relations, beneficial for companies closely associated with Russia’s ruling elites but much less beneficial for the Belarusian president’s ability to maintain a firm grip on the country’s economic resources. Despite being a very powerful gatekeeper, Lukashenka could no longer resist the pressure, and he was forced to accept both less subsidies and more Russian investment, only further diminishing his control over economic resources. Though the Belarusian economy was hit hard by Moscow’s moves, the Kremlin was in no way intent on bringing the Belarusian dictatorship to a full collapse. A $1.5bn stabilization loan that Lukashenka lobbied Moscow for (Eastweek, 1 March 2007) was finally provided at a meeting with Putin in December 2007; another $2bn loan was promised; and the scheduled price rise in gas for 2008 was lowered by around 20 percent (Eastweek, 9 Jan. 2008; Kononczuk 2008: 44). Furthermore, throughout 2008 and the first part of 2009, Russian-Belarusian relations improved dramatically in the sense that no major disagreements took place. Lukashenka was granted peace and freedom to manage the September 2008 parliamentary elections in the usual way – this time without open Kremlin interference (which wasn’t necessary anyway), and in the following months several compromises were reached.15 However, just as the extension of economic and security-related intergovernmental linkage-building had picked up again, relations once more turned cold, as Moscow pressured Minsk into recognizing the independence of the two Georgian separatist republics, South Ossetia and Abkhazia. In the Russo-Georgian war in August 2008, Russia had defended the de facto independence of the two regions, and now the Russian leadership was trying to push its closest allies into supporting the territories’ de jure separation from Georgia. Lukashenka refused, fearing that an acceptance could lead to a dangerous precedent for military annexation in the area. Again, political disagreements spread to other arenas, with Russia again intensifying economic pressure,16 and in August 2009, the former presidential candidate, Kazulin,17 allegedly supported by the Kremlin, was invited to Moscow for consultations (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 Aug. 2009). Lukashenka, however, did not budge on the issue of recognizing the Georgian separatist republics. But the dramatic downturn in the economy

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and Russia’s pressure, further endangering his ability to maintain stability, forced him into accepting the expansion of linkages that he, hitherto, had refused. On November 27, he conceded to Moscow’s demands for finally realizing the customs union with Russia and Kazakhstan by promising to close checkpoints with Russia by July 1, 2010 (RFE/RL Newsline, 25 Nov. 2009; Eastweek, 2 Dec. 2009). If fully implemented, this would mean an end to the protectionist measures that were keeping Russian goods and capital out of the Belarusian market, but as such it would further undercut Lukashenka’s full control of his country’s economy.18 Until the final ratification on July 5, 2010, Lukashenka eagerly tried to cash in on additional benefits, such as a re-installment of oil subsidization, but Moscow reacted sharply, cutting deliveries instead in early January (RFE/RL Newsline, 3 and 4 Jan. 2010). Moscow was becoming wary of the obstructive Belarusian dictator. Not even the prospect of Lukashenka facing voters in the December 19, 2010 presidential elections could soothe the bad relations. In July, the state-controlled Russian media ran an extremely critical documentary about the incumbent entitled “The Godfather.” It claimed that Lukashenka was involved in political killings and corruption and that he was mentally ill, and provided former opposition presidential candidate Kazulin generous speaking time (RFE/RL Newsline, 8 July 2010). In the following months, Russian media continued to broadcast critical reports, and Russian President Medvedev and the Duma launched further accusations against Lukashenka (OSW Commentary, 27 Oct. 2010). Even during the elections and the repressions following it, the Russian media remained critical, with lengthy reports covering clampdowns on demonstrators, documenting vote rigging. Though Russia again contributed positively to the political rights regime (B5) by partially breaking Lukashenka’s information monopoly, it was decided, in the end, not to completely undermine the Belarusian incumbent. Echoing the earlier years of the 2005–2010 period, President Medvedev congratulated Lukashenka on his victory, declaring that the violence was the internal affairs of Belarus (Eastweek, 29 Dec. 2010), thus silently accepting the biased and fraudulent elections (A1, A3, and A4) and the brutal repression following it (B6 and C7). So, from March 2006, with the successful aversion of a color revolution, until the presidential elections in December 2010, Russian influence differed significantly from what it had been in earlier periods. Political support was granted only rarely, and the excessive financial support of earlier times was substantially lower. Moscow was trying to make Belarus self-sustainable while also hoping to win a more reliable leadership in Minsk. However, no risks were taken. Substantial financial support was still granted; subsidies were phased out only gradually and

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multibillion dollar loans were transferred in exchange for Lukashenka’s reluctant accept of the deepened geopolitical and economic concessions unfavorable to his ability to maintain his exclusive, personal rule but favorable to the Kremlin and its cronies. Thus, despite obstructive gatekeeping, linkages between Russia and Belarus continued to expand, and Moscow continued to indirectly undergird the ailing dictatorship. Without this support, Lukashenka would have had far more difficulties maintaining political control in a period where the economy of Belarus was heading down a slippery slope into a deeper and deeper crisis. Again, therefore, Russia’s indirect negative influence on the democratic performance of Belarus is beyond discussion. Europe Increases Cooperation but Slackens Democratic Conditionality Emboldened by the favorable developments in Ukraine in late 2004, the West intensified its pressure on the Belarusian regime, hoping to help bring about yet another color revolution. The critique of Lukashenka’s rule turned sharper19 and financial and political assistance to the democratic opposition and the emerging civil society was increased.20 In addition, Minsk was repeatedly warned that sanctions would follow if the March 2006 presidential elections were not deemed free and fair (RFE/RL Newsline, 7 Nov. 2005, 30 Jan., 16 March 2006), and in an attempt to level the playing field before the vote, the EU started broadcasting 60-minute daily radio and 30-minute weekly TV programs to the Belarusian electorate in late February 2006 (RFE/RL Newsline, 23, 24 Feb. 2006). However, Lukashenka’s rule proved resilient not only to the domestic challenge but also to the pressure from the West. And even though the EU, and later the US, imposed visa bans on Lukashenka and more than 30 officials (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 April 2006) and froze their assets in Western banks (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 May 2006; RFE/RL Newsline, 19 June 2006),21 the Belarusian president continued his repression of political opponents. As before, the EU and the US mattered mostly by helping maintain a minimum of pluralism. Through radio and TV broadcasting, Belarus’ political rights regime (B5) was marginally positively affected,22 and through the constant monitoring and criticism, Lukashenka’s actions were de-legitimized, occasionally restraining him. As an example, repression against some of the political opponents (C7) challenging his rule was somewhat minimized. Milinkevich’s relatively mild two-week sentence, compared to Kazulin’s opaque five-and-a-half year imprisonment, amply illustrates how the strong intergovernmental linkages built with Brussels protected him against Lukashenka’s “house-cleaning.” Moreover,

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some restraint with regards to the dispersals of demonstrations (B6) (allowing the tent city in central Minsk to stay for almost a week) and some toleration of critical journalists (B5) may indeed be attributed to the close watch by the EU and the US. However, these effects were marginal and did not substantially change democratic performance. As before, neither linkages nor other domestic actors were strong and important enough to force Lukashenka to adhere to Western pressure. And as Russia continued to belittle democratic incursions and counterbalance Western criticism and sanctions, the Belarusian incumbent had no reason to change his autocratic ways. Changing Strategy but Gaining Nothing During the latter part of 2006, the EU policy of sanctioning the regime and supporting the opposition continued.23 This was democratic conditionality and shaming at its highest. However, the lack of results was starting to seriously worry Brussels. But in early February 2007, EU-Belarusians relations took an unexpected positive turn. As Russia started phasing out oil and gas subsidies, Lukashenka suddenly proclaimed Belarusians “willing pupils” of Western Europe and even expressed interest in joining the EU (cited in Ambrosio 2009: 128). To show his good will, the Belarusian leader reversed a decision to evict the human rights NGO the Belarusian Helsinki Committee from its Minsk office after staunch criticism from the EU and the US (RFE/RL Newsline, 30 and 31 Jan. 2007). Moreover, on April 25, after years of pressure from Brussels, Minsk agreed to let the EU Commission open a representation and start negotiations on its privileges (RFE/RL Newsline, 25 April 2007), and in May, a Belarus-EU Business Council was set up in an attempt to promote exports (Economic News, March 13 2008). At first, the EU remained skeptical, and because only cursory improvements in workers’ rights had been made, GSP preferences were withdrawn in June. Lukashenka reacted with anger, decrying the EU publicly, again attacking the opposition and independent media (Racz 2010: 7). The first rapprochement with Europe since 1996 was put on hold, and relations with Russia, in the meantime, improved. Nonetheless, the financial situation in Belarus continued to deteriorate, and Belarus was in desperate need of cash. Consequently, from early 2008, Lukashenka made new attempts to engage the EU, releasing six of eight political prisoners, discontinuing lawsuits against opposition organizations and parties, stepping up economic liberalization, and signing a memorandum of mutual understanding concerning the opening of the Commission representation office in Minsk (Itar-Tass, 7 March 2008; Eastweek, 12 March 2008).

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But political liberalization remained superficial and periodic. In late March, an opposition demonstration was harshly dispersed and was followed by a wave of arrests and raids of offices (Eastweek, 12 April 2008). In addition, Kazulin, Lukashenka’s main opponent due to the Kremlin’s support of him, was still not set free. The Belarusian president was only willing to marginally lessen his firm grip on power, and only for shorter periods, to secure the financial injections he so desperately needed. With the Russo-Georgian war in August, however, the rules of the game between Belarus and the EU changed. Lukashenka now needed not only financial assistance but also an ally willing to balance Russia should the Kremlin leaders decide to turn to more violent measures to oust him from power. Immediately Kazulin and two other remaining political prisoners were released (Eastweek, 3 Sep. 2008). Brussels, now also paying more attention to the geopolitical game in the post-Soviet region, welcomed the steps and from then took on a more pragmatic stance toward Belarus. Though European leaders made an improvement in relations conditional on free and fair parliamentary elections in September, the election campaign and the vote itself made it crystal clear to everyone that Lukashenka was willing to accept only marginal improvements and slight reductions in his oppressive policies. Brussels, nonetheless, stepped up cooperation efforts. On October 13, the EU Council suspended the visa ban for 36 of 41 officials, framing it as a gesture for the release of political prisoners, but kept assets frozen (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 16 Oct. 2008; Marples 2009: 770), and later in the month, the EU facilitated the beginning of negotiations between Minsk and the IMF (RFE/RL Newsline, 26 Oct. 2008). Isolation was broken, and throughout 2009 and 2010, diplomatic contacts proliferated, and political and economic cooperation expanded.24 During this period of economic and intergovernmental linkagebuilding, Lukashenka indeed made political changes. But as described above, they remained cursory and inconsistent. When political prisoners were set free, others were jailed; when opposition parties or organizations were allowed to register, others were harassed and denied this right; when independent newspapers were allowed access to printing facilities, others were raided or forced to close; and when electoral and media laws were liberalized, they were later amended or simply ignored (Racz 2010; Rotman & Veremeeva 2011; Potocki 2011; Ioffe 2011). That is, the EU was capable of restraining Lukashenka only for shorter periods or in special cases, occasionally positively affecting the political rights (B5, B6) and civil rights regimes (C7). The dominant trend, however, was one of continued repression. And because the more cooperative stance pursued by Brussels crowded out criticism of these democratic incursions, the EU contributed to casting a legitimizing glance over Lukashenka’s autocratic regime and

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helped to facilitate some of the financing that made it possible for the Belarusian incumbent to survive politically, even in economically hardpressed times. Moldova 2005–2010 During the 2005–2010 period, Moldova again underwent important political changes. As Table 7.3 shows, during the first four years, President Voronin and the Communists continued their soft authoritarian rule with biased elections, harassment of independent media and political opponents, and a distorted horizontal accountability. But with the onset of the financial crisis, the democratic opposition coalesced, increasingly gaining popular support. The PCRM reacted by stepping up repression, culminating in the somewhat manipulated 2009 parliamentary elections. Major demonstrations followed, only to be brutally crushed by the authorities. However, forced by Western international society, Voronin showed restraint by agreeing to hold new elections – which in turn paved the way for an alliance of pro-democratic and pro-European opposition parties to come to power. As in Ukraine, though, the opposition did not control both the presidency and the parliament, and for the last one–and-a-half years of the 2005–2010 period, Moldova descended into political paralysis but with a substantially improved democratic performance, as political pluralism and clean elections were reinstated. From Soft Authoritarianism to “Twitter Revolution” and Political Instability On March 6 2005, the Communists and Voronin faced voters in parliamentary elections. The major opposition force at this point was the BMD – an electoral coalition of three parties headed by Chisinau Mayor Serafim Urecheanu, former Prime Minister Dumitru Braghis, and former Speaker Dumitru Diacov – all believed to have accumulated considerable wealth while in public office (RFE/RL Newsline, 19 May 2004; Eurasia Daily Monitor, 3 March 2005; March 2005). The only other serious opposition party, the pro-Romanian CDPP, led by Iurie Rosca, continued to attract only scattered support, despite its high-profile involvement in orchestrating the demonstrations against Voronin in the early 2000s. Hence, these two parties did not seriously threaten the PCRM. In addition, the Communists’ chances of maintaining power were further boosted by the positive economic situation.25

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Table 7.3 Moldova’s Democratic Performance, 2005–2010

A. Electoral Regime

B. Political Rights

Positive changes

Negative changes

Free and fair elections in 2009 (July) and 2010 (A4)

Biased local elections 2007 (A4)

Media freedom substantially improved after 2009 (July) (B5)

Continued state control of media 2005-2009 (April) (B5)

No oppression of opposition politicians and NGOs after 2009 (July) (B6)

Oppression of opposition politicians and NGOs 2005-2009 (April) (B6)

C. Civil Rights

D. Horizontal Accountability

E. Effective Power to Rule

Biased and manipulated parliamentary elections in 2009 (April) (A1, A4)

Brutal clampdown on demonstrators in 2009 (April) (C7) Less political pressure on the judiciary after 2009 (July) (D9)

Continued state control over the judiciary 20052009 (April) (D9) Still no control of Transnistria (E10)

But keenly aware of events in neighboring Ukraine, the Communists did not take any chances. In the period leading up to the elections, opponents were discredited by legal investigations,26 and the Coalition 2005 – including almost 200 civil society groups created to observe elections (Sulima 2007: 125) – was accused of bias towards the opposition and was threatened with having its international funding confiscated. Competition was further warped through strong media bias in favor of Voronin and harassment through the use of administrative resources, such as tax auditing and other inspections (US Dep. of State 2006). Thus, authoritarian tendencies continued to characterize Moldova. Though democratic

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incursions did not come even close to the horrible brutality exerted in the Belarusian 2006 elections or the massive fraud and pressure of the Ukrainian vote in 2004, the fairness of the electoral regime (A4) was definitely violated,27 and the political rights (B5) and civil rights (C7) regimes were clearly tampered with. With no charismatic challenger leading the opposition, a good economic record, and a biased campaign, the Communists easily re-won power, gaining 56 seats against the BMD’s 34 and the CDPP’s 11. This time, however, the party in power did not hold enough votes to singlehandedly elect a president or change the Constitution (Sulima 2007: 129). But Voronin, surprisingly, managed to coopt his hitherto staunchest opponents, the CDPP, securing the necessary parliamentary support for his re-election (Crowther 2008: 285-6). During the next three years, Voronin and the PCRM maintained power as Moldova experienced few changes in its democratic performance. On one hand, the PCRM continued trying to control the country’s media and to obstruct anti-regime NGO activities, and the police continued using very hard-handed measures. Occasionally, investigations of targeted opposition politicians were initiated but never led to actual sentencing or, even worse, abduction or killing, as had happened in Belarus and Ukraine. On the other hand, Voronin also showed a liberal mind: he agreed to sell two of the largest government-owned newspapers, Moldova Suverena and Nezavisimaya Moldova, media laws were somewhat improved, and the independent ombudsman institution was strengthened (RFE/RL Newsline, 21 Feb. 2007; US Dep. of State 2006-2009). Nevertheless, the local elections in June 2007 were biased as the 2005 parliamentary elections had been (OSCE/ODIHR 2007a). Regardless, the Communists lost severe ground to the opposition – from controlling 29 districts to only 11 (MungiuPippidi & Munteanu 2009: 138). Thus, from 2005-2008, the general trend was one of restrained infliction upon democratic performance. However, concomitantly, slight improvements in overall pluralism seemed to be evolving. In 2008, the financial crisis hit the country, and it hit hard. Trade deficits grew more than 50 percent in 2008 and GDP contracted by 6.5 percent in 2009 (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Nov. 2008; EU Commission 2011). With the economic crisis taking its toll on public support for the regime, and with the 2009 parliamentary elections approaching, Voronin saw a need to again curb emerging pluralist tendencies: the electoral code was changed, deeming electoral blocs illegal and raising the electoral threshold from four to six percent; parties trying to register or demonstrate were obstructed (RFE/RL Newsline, 14 Nov. 2008, 6 Feb. 2009; US Dep. of State, 2009); state prosecutors charged one of the main opposition figures, Vlad Filat, with cigarette-smuggling (RFE/RL Newsline, 6 Nov. 2008); and the most

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popular independent TV station, Pro TV, critical of the Communists, was denied an extension of its license, until Western pressure and demonstrations in the streets of Chisinau forced Voronin to revoke the decision (RFE/RL Newsline, 11, 17 and 21 Dec. 2008). With the deck well stacked in advance, and with some ballot tampering and administrative pressure exerted during the April 5, 2009 parliamentary elections, the Communists secured another victory. According to official results, the PCRM won 60 seats against the total 41 won by the three rightwing parties, Alliance Our Moldova (AMN), Liberal Democratic Party of Moldova (LDPM), and the Liberal Party (LP). The opposition, however, cried foul, documenting major irregularities, in particular with regard to voter lists. Large demonstrations with demands for repeat elections swelled the streets. Because of the widespread use of social media to organize the protests, the events were dubbed the “Twitter Revolution”, clearly putting it in the same box as the other color revolutions taking place within the last decade throughout the post-Soviet space. On April 7, demonstrations grew larger, and the parliament and presidential buildings were stormed and set on fire. Voronin ordered police and special forces to forcefully end the protests, and a massive campaign was carried out against all dissenters, detaining and abusing more than 1,000 demonstrators. Three persons even died during the most brutal clampdown in the history of independent Moldova (Rodkiewicz 2009; Mungiu-Pippidi & Munteanu 2009; Renner 2010; Senyuva 2010; US Dep. of State 2010). Thus, the Communist attempt to manage the April 2009 elections had dear consequences for democratic performance, weakening not just the electoral regime through a biased and somewhat manipulated vote (A1, A4) but also the political rights regime and the civil rights regime through early harassment of media and opposition politicians (B5 and B6) and, not least, the inhumane clampdown on demonstrators following the elections (B6 and C7). With the electoral victory secured, the PCRM clearly counted on easily regaining the presidency as well. Voronin had already held the post for two terms in a row, so he could not, according to the constitution, run again. The plan, therefore, was to follow the Russian example of managed power transfer, letting the loyal former Prime Minister Zinaida Greceanu take over as president but with Voronin continuing to pull the strings as speaker of the parliament. Again the Communists could not singlehandedly elect the president. With one parliamentary seat short, Voronin probably thought that he, as in 2005, could buy off the last necessary vote from the ranks of his opponents. But the opposition, surprisingly, stood firm, twice boycotting the presidential vote, and thereby forcing new parliamentary elections (Rodkiewicz 2009: 62).

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Due to intense international pressure, the repeat elections in late July 2009 were much more democratic and peaceful, overall, living up to international standards (OSCE/ODIHR 2009). The PCRM remained the largest party, winning 48 seats, but the right-wing opposition parties (which now included the Democratic Party of Moldova) gained a majority of 53 seats. The tables had turned after almost a decade of Communist rule. The new majority formed the Alliance for European Integration (AEI), committing itself to democratic and economic reforms as well as EU integration. In late September, a new government under the leadership of Vlad Filat was approved (Eastweek, 7 Oct. 2009). But just as with the Communists, the pro-reform parties did not hold the 61 votes needed to elect a president, and even though the PCRM suffered from defections, they continued to block all efforts to find a new head of state (Tudoroiu 2011). Constitutional rules and a complete lack of willingness to compromise among political actors made breaking the political deadlock impossible. In 2010, a constitutional referendum and a new parliamentary election were held – both considered free and fair (OSCE/ODIHR 2011a) but none of them solving the political impasse.28 As had happened in Ukraine, political paralysis had hit Moldova. The reformdrive was slow, the economy suffered, and the electorate grew more and more wary of politicians making grand promises but delivering close to nothing. Nevertheless, the Twitter Revolution had made a difference by significantly improving democratic performance. Under the Filat government, the electoral regime was again brought back in overall compliance with international standards (A4), oppression and harassment of critical media and political opponents were stopped (B5, B6, and C7), and the attempt was made to resurrect horizontal accountability (D9) through a lessening of political pressure on the judiciary (US Dep. of State 2010, 2011). Moldova had broken the trend of increasing authoritarianism, but what was to come remained unclear at the end of 2010. Russia Sanctions, Supports, and Sanctions Again As explained in the previous chapter, Russian support of President Voronin was abruptly halted when he refused to sign the Kozak Memorandum, creating a public humiliation for Putin. Between 2005 and 2007, the consequences of this choice were laid bare. The Kremlin initiated a period of very intense pressure, seriously affecting both the electoral and the effective power to rule regime of Moldova’s democratic performance. The first sign of Russia’s attempts to remove, or at least weaken, Voronin came with the parliamentary elections in 2005. Moscow openly

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supported the main opposition bloc: the BMD and the left-wing, proRussian Rodina party. Political strategists were sent to Moldova to help plan the campaign, the party leaders were invited to official talks with prominent members of Putin’s presidential administration, and the two parties were applauded on Russian state-TV broadcasted in Moldova. At the same time, Voronin and the party in power were openly discredited, and Russia made it crystal clear that a Communist victory in the elections would result in economic sanctions as well as visa restrictions for the substantial number of emigrants working in Russia, who in 2004 sent home remittances roughly equaling 16 percent of national GDP. Russian authorities even made no-cost phone lines available to their Moldovan guest workers so they could call their families and tell them to vote for the BMD or Rodina (Eurasia Daily Monitor, 2 and 3 March, 2005; Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 5 March 2005; RFE/RL Newsline, 7 March 2005; March 2005; ICG 2006: 13). Thus, by openly supporting certain parties at the expense of others, and by trying to scare the electorate into voting for Moscow’s preferred choice, Russia clearly impeded negatively upon the fairness criterion of Moldova’s electoral regime (A4). Following the re-election of Voronin and the Communists, the Kremlin increased its negative impact on the effective power to rule regime (E10), deliberately tampering with those economic links that would hurt the Moldovan economy the most. Immediately after the vote, Moscow banned imports from Moldova; first, meat products, plants, fruits and vegetables, and then, in March and April 2006, wine, brandies and sparkling wines (Crowther 2007: 292, 296; Bruce 2007: 42). As a result, the value of Moldovan exports to Russia declined from $353m to $182m between 2004 and 2006 (Rodkiewicz 2009: 69), a heavy blow to a country with an annual GDP of $2-3bn. Moreover, Gazprom resorted to drastic price-change negotiations in order to increase pressure. In early 2006, a 16-day full gas cut was imposed, and the gas price rose from $80 to $110 and, then in the second half of 2006, to $160. Moldovan authorities were only able to restrain further price increases by allowing Gazprom to increase its shareholding in the national distributing company Moldovagaz from 50 percent to 64 percent, and later offering shares in the country’s electricity provider (RFE/RL Newsline, 2 and 16 Jan., 22 June, and 3 July 2006; Logos Press; 7 April 2006; ICG 2006: 3). With regard to the Transnistrian conflict, Russia stepped up its support of the PMR in this period. In March 2006, after intense pressure from the EU (see the section below), Ukraine finally implemented its customs deal with Moldova, but accepted goods from the PMR only if accompanied by Moldovan customs documents. This threatened the many murky businesses in the region. Transnistria’s President Smirnov desperately looked to

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Moscow for help, trying to strengthen economic and intergovernmental linkages necessary for keeping the regime afloat given increasing economic and political pressure from Moldova proper, Ukraine and the EU. The Kremlin responded. During the following months, Russia heavily criticized what they called economic sanctions and provided the PMR $50m in direct aid and another $150 in credits in addition to the regular implicit subsidies of approximately $40m a year. Moreover, the Kremlin took steps towards further recognition of the PMR. In May, during the signing of a cooperation protocol, Smirnov was, for the first time, recognized by Russia as president of the break-away republic. And when, in the same month, he proposed a referendum on independence (and possible later inclusion in the Russian Federation) to be held in September 2006, Russian officials warmly supported the idea. When the clearly non-transparent vote was over and 95 percent had allegedly voted for independence, Moscow recognized the elections and urged the international community to do the same (RFE/RL Newsline, 9 and 10 March, 14 Sep., 6 and 25 Oct. 2006; ICG 2006; Eastweek, 21 Sep. 2006, 16 May 2007). Obviously, the attempts to subdue the defiant Voronin did not directly affect the incursions on democratic performance brought about by the Communists. But, Moscow’s destabilizing measures had a devastating impact on the free maneuverability of the governing party. Through economic sanctioning and gas-blackmailing, Chisinau’s effective power to independently rule over the economy (E10) was diminished, and by upgrading the financial and political support of Smirnov’s autocratic regime, all attempts to force the secessionist regime to negotiate were refused, and Chisinau continued to lack effective power to rule over the whole territory of the republic (E10). Back to Supporting Voronin During 2007, Voronin proved more and more willing to grant concessions, and the Russian pressure on Moldova proper started to ease. Also facing increasing domestic pressure and mounting economic problems, he became more accommodating toward Russian interests,29 hoping to reinstall support before the 2009 parliamentary elections. Russia’s economic sanctions towards Moldova proper and the increased support for the PMR regime had once again proved effective tools in subduing the Moldovan leadership. With Voronin becoming more and more afraid of losing power, Moscow eyed an opportunity to try once again to settle the Transnistrian conflict on Russian terms. From early 2007, unconditional support for Transnistria was stopped in an attempt to make the PMR leadership soften its refusal to negotiate. The Kremlin, at first, suspended all financial aid to the region (Eastweek, 12 April 2007). At the end of the year, the aid was

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restored through a $27m non-refundable loan, but this time, Moscow demanded that it be put under control of the less reform-averse parliament that increasingly challenged Smirnov’s monopoly on power. In this period, rumors abound that Moldova’s President Voronin was very close to accepting a marginally revised Kozak Memorandum on several occasions (Eastweek, 12 April 2007; RFE/RL Newsline, 3 May 2007). Thus, from 2008, a modus Vivendi was again worked out between Chisinau and Moscow. Russia put an end to all of its punitive actions and even came around and gave full support to the incumbent in the April 2009 vote and during the heated days of the Twitter revolution following it. Before the elections, a high-profile meeting with Russia’s President Medvedev on the Transnistrian conflict was orchestrated, signaling that a solution had been reached, and financial help in the form of Russian fuel oil was distributed as humanitarian aid to Voronin’s voter base – the farmers (RFE/RL Newsline, 18 and 19 March 2009). After the voting, Medvedev congratulated Voronin on his electoral victory before the electoral commission had even announced the official results (Rodkiewicz 2009: 67), and the Duma found the manipulated and biased elections to be “in full correspondence with democratic and legal norms” (Korosteleva 2010: 1280). Finally, on the day that Moldovan authorities chose to repress demonstrators, Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov encouraged Voronin to “take measures” to stop the demonstrators, and Russian media supported Voronin’s framing of events as a coup d’état instigated by Romania (Eastweek, April 8, 2009). Also, before the new elections in late July 2009, Moscow sought to boost the popularity of the PCRM. In a high-profile setup, Voronin met with both Prime Minister Putin and President Medvedev, who promised a $500m loan and, additionally, $20m to overhaul the burned parliament. Later on, Voronin was publicly promised that if the Communists remained in power, Russia would further remove its barriers to Moldovan agricultural exports (RFE/RL Newsline, 29 June 2009; Rodkiewicz 2009: 67). Thus, from 2008 until the Communist defeat in July 2009, Voronin again pursued facilitative gatekeeping towards Moscow, and Russia, in turn, again acted as a negative external actor, fulfilling the role of supporting and legitimizing Voronin’s incursions on Moldova’s electoral regime (A1 and A4), the political rights regime (B5 and B6), and the civil rights regime (C7), and attempting to affect the vote by granting the incumbent overwhelming political and economic support, thus further negatively affecting the impartialness of the electoral regime. Once the pro-Western government took office in 2009, bilateral relations again changed dramatically. Russia returned to its policy of destabilization of the effective power to rule regime (E10), drastically

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raising gas prices in 2010 from $193 to $233 (RFE/RL Newsline, Jan. 5, 2010), in March 2010, again imposing bans on wine, vegetables and fruits (RFE/RL Newsline, 10 April 2010; Eastweek, 18 Aug., 1 Sep. 2010), and once again fiercely supporting the Transnistrian leadership, while at the same time maintaining close political ties to Voronin, even on several occasions calling him to Moscow for consultancies on how to maintain the political stalemate in Chisinau (RFE/RL Newsline, 25 Aug. 2009; Eastweek, 18 Aug. 2010). That is, Russian actions again turned punitive, destabilizing the fragile democratizing regime emerging in Moldova. As in Ukraine, Moldova’s pro-Western turn was heavily punished, and the Kremlin maintained close contact with Voronin and the PCRM, trying to strengthen their chances of regaining power in Chisinau. The Supportive EU As with Belarus, the Orange Revolution emboldened the EU to step up its efforts to influence events in Moldova. The pressure on the Transnistrian leadership was increased, and the Communist’s soft authoritarianism was duly criticized. But while Russian sanctions threatened to bring the small Moldovan state to another economic collapse, Brussels increasingly granted economic and political support, crowding out efforts to really push democratization forward. As before, European pressure remained pivotal only with regard to restraining Voronin at times, making him reverse autocratizing acts, and minimizing the negative repercussions of Russian actions. In fact, the EU seemed to accept President Voronin as long as he did not go too far in repressing political opponents. For example, the prodemocratic forces, which gained strength during 2008 and 2009, were not actively supported until the brutal clampdown on demonstrators in the days of the Twitter Revolution had taken place. During 2005-2009, Europe helped avert democratic incursions on only a few occasions – in 2005 and in 2008. In the run-up to the 2005 parliamentary elections, the EU and the CoE strongly criticized the harassment of one of the main opposition leaders, Serafim Urecheanu (RFE/RL Newsline, 17 Jan. 2005), and the attempt to confiscate external financing from the civil society alliance, Coalition 2005 (US Dep. of State 2006). In both instances, Voronin, who was under hard pressure from Moscow as well, decided to back down, allowing the opposition and civil society to continue challenging his power. In late 2008, when Voronin again tried to smother opposition voices before the 2009 parliamentary elections, by closing the popular and independent Pro-TV, the EU and the OSCE exerted strong diplomatic pressure (RFE/RL Newsline, 17 Dec. 2008), in the end leading the Moldovan incumbent to allow the channel to continue its

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broadcasting. Thus, on only a few occasions, the EU had a positive impact on democratic performance, making sure that further deterioration of the political rights (B5) and civil rights regimes (C7) did not materialize. The overall picture of EU-Moldovan relations in this period, however, was not one of constant pressure by Brussels on Chisinau for democratic reforms but rather one of increasing cooperation and linkage-building, despite the continuance of soft authoritarianism. During the entire 2005– 2010 period, intergovernmental linkage-building between Chisinau and Brussels was intense, and at no time was it conditioned on specific demands regarding democratization: Moldova’s Action Plan for the ENP was adopted just two weeks before the 2005 parliamentary elections (Buscaneanu 2006: 21); In late 2005, a Commission delegation was finally opened after years of Moldovan requests (Phinnemore 2006: 16); A border cooperation program, EU BAM, aimed at minimizing smuggling from the PMR, was established (ICG 2006); In May 2006, Moldova was accepted as a member of the South East Europe Cooperation process, viewed as one more step toward EU integration; And, finally in January 2008, a visa facilitation and readmission agreement went into force (Korosteleva 2010: 1274-5). All along, economic linkage-building progressed as well, with the EU supporting state finances and facilitating better conditions for exports to the EU. In July 2005, Moldova was among the first countries to be covered by the new GSP+ preferential trade scheme, which abolished quotas on agricultural and fish products, estimated to save the country $20m over two years (Nezavisimaya Moldova, 28. Dec 2005; Phinnemore 2006: 19), and in March 2008, Moldova was attributed Autonomous Trade preferences, further boosting exports (Korosteleva 2010: 1275). A total of €83m was issued to Moldova during 2005 and 2006 through various programs, and from 2007 to 2010, €209.7m was allocated for supporting democracy, good governance and economic growth (EU Commission 2006). Apart from these deliberate attempts to strengthen economic interdependence, the general level of linkages between Moldova and the EU was lifted significantly with the new membership of Romania and Bulgaria in January 2007. From 2006 to 2007, the EU’s share of Moldovan imports jumped from 31.2 percent to 45.6 percent, and the share of exports to Moldova increased from 35.1 percent to 50.9 percent.30 As a further attempt to boost bilateral relations with the new neighbor, Brussels stepped up its engagement in the Transnistrian conflict that was now, given Romanian accession, located only a few hundred kilometers from the EU borders. During 2005, both the EU and the US officially became partners in the conflict settlement group. The pressure on the PMR leadership was increased significantly. The existing visa ban was renewed (Vahl 2005: 2), and the pressure on the PMR elites to legalize their business

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intensified with the introduction of the anti-smuggling institution of the EU BAM and diplomatic efforts aimed at pushing Ukraine to stick to its customs agreement with Moldova were increased (ICG 2006; Crowther 2007: 293). At the same time, Russia was repeatedly criticized for not contributing to finding a solution to the conflict (RFE/RL Newsline, 25 Oct. 2006), and, when Voronin again turned to Moscow, giving up NATO rapprochement and coming close to accepting the marginally revised Kozak Memorandum (“version 2”), EU High Representative Javier Solana reacted promptly, traveling to both Moscow and Chisinau, making it clear that going behind Brussels’ back once more was unacceptable (RFE/RL Newsline, 3 May 2007). Again, this pressure made Voronin think twice, and he decided not to go along with the Russian suggestion. Overall, the economic and political support extended to the Moldovan ruling elites in this period had two kinds of effects on democratic performance. First, economic support and political legitimization extended through the continued increase of cooperation indirectly provided the Communists with crucial support that made it easier to maintain the stability of the soft authoritarian system. One can argue that the EU did not need to punish Voronin because his repression was limited and, as the examples above show, he mostly complied when criticism got strong. But, on the other hand, supportive European actions did not strengthen the motivation for really implementing democratic reforms. Instead, by implicitly accepting the status quo, they helped maintain Voronin’s management of elections (A4) and restrictions upon pluralism (B5 and B6). At the same time, however, the very same actions balanced Russia’s attempts to destabilize Voronin’s Moldova, and in this way, they minimized the negative repercussions on the effective power to rule regime (E10). Without the EU’s economic support, facilitation of trade, and opposition to Russia on the Transnistrian issue, the Moldovan economy would have been hit much worse, and the leaders in Chisinau would have been left with little choice other than to accept a Russian-drafted peace plan. Again therefore, the Moldovan president had no reason to cut linkages to Europe. The ever denser ties facilitated substantial economic support and geopolitical protection, and they were crucial for staving off a pro-European opposition courting a pro-European electorate. Eventually Securing A Positive Outcome of the Twitter Revolution Fearful of again loosing Voronin to Moscow, EU leaders prepared themselves to accept another round of communism after the April 2009 parliamentary elections. Consequently, during this period of political crisis, the reaction in Europe was somewhat mixed. First, the OSCE and other European organizations recognized the elections as generally free and fair,

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thus legitimizing the manipulated electoral process (negatively affecting the electoral regime (A1 and A4)).31 However, once ballot tampering transformed into political violence, silence was no longer an option (Mungiu-Pippidi & Munteanu 2009: 138; Senyuva 2010: 192). Unlike Russia, the EU and the CoE had clearly denounced repression all along – an European Parliament fact-finding mission even called it “acts of horrible violence” (RFE/RL Newsline, 27 and 30 April 2009), and once new elections were called, Europe pushed very hard for a free and fair process (Senyuva 2010: 192-194). Thus, Brussels only marginally influenced the important events taking place in spring 2009. At first, it did not question the legitimacy of the elections and therefore did not spur or support the demonstrations. Only when the Communists tried to squash its opponents did the EU strongly criticize the actions. But still, there was no talk of sanctions, and the EU, therefore, did not prevent the violence from happening. However, without the continued diplomatic pressure from the EU leadership, Voronin might not have accepted new elections, and definitely not the unbiased, competitive variant that actually took place in July. It is highly likely that he would have tried to circumvent the constitutional rules for electing the president, thereby maintaining power in the hands of the Communist Party. Of course, this is only speculation, and we will never know for certain. But the assertiveness with which demonstrations were crushed in the aftermath of the April elections definitely points in that direction. Thus, the pressure from the EU again seems to have had a restraining effect on the Moldovan leadership, negating any constitutional fiddling (D9), facilitating the peaceful transfer of power. The Twitter Revolution was clearly a wake-up call for Europe, reminding Brussels that democratic breakthroughs were still possible, even in times of increased geopolitical competition. Once the pro-Western government had taken office, the EU, therefore, again fully exerted the role of a positive external actor. Its influence strategy, however, had not changed. As before, financial and political support was supplemented with ever deeper cooperation (RFE/RL Newsline, 30 Sep., 8 Oct., 10 Nov. 2009, 2 Feb., 16 June, 16 Nov. 2010; Secrieru 2010; Renner 2010). But now the assistance no longer went to Voronin’s soft authoritarian regime but rather undergirded a reform-oriented coalition willing to conduct free and fair elections and allow pluralism and freedom to flourish. And as such, Brussels’ overall indirect influence turned from negative to positive. However, as in post-Orange Ukraine, the political liberalization pursued by new leaders in power can hardly be attributed to Brussels alone. The improved democratic performance was predominately the result of new movements in the streets of Chisinau, not the EU dictating developments.

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Comparing Gatekeepers and External Impact The 2005-2010 period reflected an increase in the level and perception of competition between the EU and Russia vis-à-vis the post-Soviet republics. This was a clear return to “geopolitics matter.” Two staunchly opposed views for the future development of the region consolidated. On the one hand, Russia resorted to extremely punitive measures trying to keep Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova away from Euro-Atlantic integration, in the process strongly supporting autocratization processes and fiercely opposing democratization. Once again the strategies of reinforcement by punishment and reinforcement by reward dominated. Moscow punished non-cooperative regimes through gas price hikes, gas cuts, trade sanctions and political criticism, and rewarded cooperative regimes through cheaper gas, credit provisions and political support. On the other hand, the EU called for democracy, transparency and market reforms but increasingly showed signs of a willingness to sacrifice democracy on the geopolitical alter to keep Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova out of Moscow’s grip. No doubt, Brussels still played an important positive role by restraining ruling elites ready to use repression to prolong political survival, and its political and economic support still proved crucial for reducing the most negative repercussions on the effective power to rule regime brought about by Russia’s punitive sanctions. But, compared to the 2000-2004 period, the EU no longer strictly adhered to its own democratic principles. Rather, stability, economic cooperation with the EU and creating distance from Russia was emphasized and rewarded. Hence, the EU continued using reinforcement by reward and social learning, dangling benefits to boost reforms and diminish non-democratic behavior. But at the same time, Brussels increasingly used reinforcement by support as well, simply paying off regimes through political cooperation, financial aid and the facilitation of market access to make them refuse Russia and turn to Europe. With ruling elites in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova facing increasingly assertive and conflicting external actors, obstructive gatekeeping was becoming more and more costly. Nonetheless, such a strategy was pursued at different periods in all three cases. Whether it was worth defying one external actor at the expense of the other, was again, to a large degree, determined by the domestic power configuration among the main political elites but this time definitely also by the overall values of the most prominent gatekeepers. In Ukraine, the turns in foreign policy of, first, President Yushchenko and, then, President Yanukovych showed exactly how important the receptiveness of ruling elites are for external actors’ influence to have

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effect. President Yushchenko’s turn to the West made the kind of negative influence exerted by Russia during Kuchma’s last years of presidency completely impossible. Instead, Moscow’s only option was punitive destabilization measures that mainly affected the effective power to rule regime. In the same way, the EU was now able to go beyond merely restraining extreme repression and instead undergird the positive pluralist tendencies. But the political crisis that paralyzed Ukrainian politics meant that this window of opportunity could never fully be exploited, and thus democratization was not further pursued. When Yanukovych became president in 2010, Russia’s negative influence could once again penetrate beyond the effective power to rule regime, while EU influence was reduced to merely shaming and denouncing. Much the same pattern ensued with the sharp policy turns taken by ruling elites in Moldova and Belarus, clearly showing that linkage-building is determined to a large degree by the direction in which the ruling elites look for support. Furthermore, throughout the period, oppositional and civil society elites demonstrated that linking up with external actors meant they could magnify the pressure they could exert upon a ruling regime as such, and use it to provide them security against these regimes. Ukraine’s Yanukovych (before 2010), Belarus’ Kazulin, and Moldova’s Urechean (in 2005) and Voronin (in 2009/2010) are good examples of opposition gatekeepers turning towards Russia in order to strengthen their chances of (re-)gaining powers. Belarus’ Milinkevich and civil society groups from both Belarus and Moldova are examples of gatekeepers turning to the EU for protection, thus forcing a minimum of pluralism upon the leadership. Again, however, gatekeeping was also shown to have its limits. The financial crisis affected the ruling elites in all three countries, forcing them to be more susceptible to the kind of linkage-building they had earlier tried to avoid. In Belarus, Lukashenka was forced to let Russian capital penetrate his state-controlled economy. In Ukraine, Tymoshenko agreed to a very unfavorable gas deal in order to calm the financial waters before the 2010 presidential elections, and in Moldova Voronin came very close to once again legalizing Russian military presence through the modified Kozak Memorandum, all supporting the idea that defiant gatekeeping is much more difficult in periods of deep economic crisis, because ruling elites, intent on maintaining political power, simply become more vulnerable and acquiescent to external demands when they lack sufficient resources. Summing up, gatekeepers in all three cases affected the way in which the two external actors influenced their country. The ease or difficulty with which they could manifest this influence in each country can be explained, for the most, by the values of the gatekeepers, their relative strength to other gatekeepers, and their dependence upon the external actors. Value-driven

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behavior clearly mattered in this period, and it largely explains Ukraine’s and Moldova’s facilitative turn towards Europe and their obstruction of Russian influence. The Orange leadership in Ukraine held clear pro-Western preferences – in their mind, their country simply belonged in the West, not the East. The same seems to hold for the pro-European alliance that took power in Moldova in 2009. Had they, instead, been interested in concentrating power, they could just have turned to Russia and adhered to its demands of geopolitical abidance and increased economic cooperation. But clearly, the European choice was also a way to outperform domestic political elites. In all three cases, enlisting external support proved a viable strategy for boosting political legitimacy and economic resources, both crucial weapons for defeating political opponents. Sometimes, however, as in Lukashenka’s attempt to avoid Russia’s transformation of existing linkages, the costs of maintaining external support were very high. But, as this was the only way for the Belarusian incumbent to remain at the helm in Minsk, he tolerated those costs. He could have chosen not to and could have continued his rapprochement with the EU, but this would, with time, have meant the end of Lukashenkanism. Hence, ruling elites once again proved highly important for understanding the molding of linkages. And the choices they made had consequences, not just for their own political career but also for the countries they were leading or vying to lead.

Notes 1 The EaP consists of Moldova, Ukraine, Belarus, Azerbaijan, Georgia and Armenia. Forums on several levels were established – a level for state leaders, a ministerial level and a civil society forum bringing together activists from all six countries and strengthening their relations to Brussels. 2 See Eastweek, 3, 10, and 17 Sept., 15 Oct., 5, 19, and 26 Nov., and 10 Dec. 2008. 3 In 2008, GDP growth fell to 2.1 percent, and during the first three quarters of 2009, real GDP contracted 17.8 percent, while industrial output decreased by 28.4 percent. At the same time, the budget deficit rose from 3.2 percent of GDP in 2008 to 8.6 percent in 2009 (EU Commission 2010). 4 Thus breaching constitutional regulations holding that deputies were tied to the party whose list they had been elected on. 5 E.g., in May 2005, Secretary of the Russian Security Council Igor Ivanov lambasted the Orange Revolution, calling it an “undemocratic” and “unconstitutional” regime change (Ambrosio 2009: 145), and the Duma proposed a resolution to PACE, condemning not just Ukraine, but also Georgia and Kyrgyzstan for political repression against the opposition and attempting to establish control over journalists and the media (Kuzio 2005b: 511-514). 6 E.g., in early July 2005, a formal cooperation agreement between the Party of Regions and United Russia, the Russian party of power, was signed to

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facilitate assistance in the upcoming elections. In November, Yanukovych took part in United Russia’s party congress, and a few days before the March 2006 parliamentary elections, the youth wings of the two parties signed a cooperation agreement in Kiev (Ambrosio 2009: 146-7). 7 Russia forced through a price increase ($95 for Turkmen gas and $230 for Russian gas), barter payments were stopped, Gazprom achieved de facto monopoly on reselling Turkmen gas to Ukraine, and the intermediary company, RosUkrEnergo that was skimming incredible profits for both Gazprom and its Ukrainian owners ($500m in 2005 alone), was given the monopoly on providing gas to Ukrainian customers. With this deal, Russia maintained a strong grip on Ukraine’s gas sector, and rents from the murky business were allowed to continue flowing to selected persons close to authorities in both Kiev and Moscow (Balmaceda 2008: 125-7; Eastweek, 13 Feb. 2008). 8 Ironically, the debts had been accumulated by the very intermediaries skimming staggering profits (RFE/RL Newsline, 11 Oct. 2007). 9 These were first termed the New Enhanced Agreement and then the Association Agenda. 10 Evident, for instance, in the events surrounding the political conflict in spring 2007 (RFE/RL Newsline, 17 and 28 April 2007), and in the wordings of EU Progress Reports (2006, 2008, 2009, and 2010). 11 The lending in turn resulted in a dramatic increase in foreign debts, peaking at a dangerously high level equal to 45 percent of GDP in 2010 (Rácz 2010: 24-26). 12 Starting in February 2007, plans for partial privatization of many of the larger state-owned enterprises were drawn up (Eastweek, 1 March 2007), and during the following years, a more favorable investment climate was sought (Eastweek, 12 March, 23 April, 26 Nov. 2008; Racz 2010; Ioffe 2011: 227), and scattered privatization was implemented (Eastweek, 8 Nov. 2007, 23 July 2008; RFE/RL Newsline, 3 June 2008). As a result, foreign direct investment grew fivefold, in 2009, constituting 10 percent of GDP (Yeremeyeva 2009: 21-25). 13 In November 2011, Gazprom won the full ownership of the company in exchange for sharply reduced gas prices until 2014 (RFE/RL Newsline, 29 Nov. 2011). 14 On top of this, in late March, continued Russian assertiveness forced Belarusian authorities to lift the 146 constraints imposed on imports of Russian goods in an attempt to protect domestic producers. The removal of these constraints resulted in an additional loss of some $500m (Eastweek, 8 Aug. 2007; Kononczuk 2008: 40). 15 In November, the first $1bn tranche of the promised $2bn stabilization loan was released, and it was agreed that the cash-strapped Belarus could pay for gas and oil in Russian rubles in 2009 instead of its own quickly depreciating currency (Eastweek, 19 Nov. 2008); in December, an acceptable price rise to $148 for gas in 2008 was agreed upon, and the prospect of yet another $2.96bn loan was held out (Eastweek, 4 Feb. 2009); in February 2009, an Air Defense Treaty was signed, for the first time officially sanctioning the already existing joint regional air defense between the two countries (RFE/RL Newsline, 3 Feb. 2009); and finally, in March, Russia released a $500m tranche of the $2bn stabilization loan agreed upon in November 2008 (RFE/RL Newsline, 12 March 2009).

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16 At first the Kremlin withheld the last $500m tranche of the $2bn loan, and further talks of the additional $2.96bn loan were halted (RFE/RL Newsline, 8 April, 29 May, 10 and 14 June 2009). Then, on June 6, the “milk war” broke out, when Russia banned the imports of 1300 Belarusian dairy products within a couple of days (and a month later meats), almost completely blocking the exports of this vital commodity group yielding a yearly income of more than $1bn to the Belarusian state budget (RFE/RL Newsline, 14 June 2009; Eastweek, 17 June 2009). Later that month, Gazprom threatened to cut gas supplies unless Belarus paid $230m in arrears (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 June 2009). 17 Kazulin had been released in August 2008 after intense pressure from the EU. For details, see the section below. 18 In return for this long-term concession, Gazprom softened the situation in the short term, agreeing to raise gas prices only 12 percent to $168 in 2010, much lower than the price paid anywhere else, and well below the $300 paid in Ukraine (RFE/RL Newsline, 1 Jan. 2010). 19 US Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice included Belarus in the group of “outposts of tyranny” along with Cuba, Iran, North Korea, Burma and Zimbabwe (Marples 2009: 756), and the EU called it a “dictatorship” (RFE/RL Newsline, 15 April 2005). 20 Leaders in Washington and Brussels were regularly meeting with opposition representatives (RFE/RL Newsline, 22 April 2005, 30 Jan 2006, 27 Feb. 2006), clearly signaling that Lukashenka’s regime was considered illegitimate; and financial support for civil society was stepped up (during 2005, the EU and the US allocated €12m and $11.8m respectively (Shepherd 2006: 76; Jarabik 2006: 90; Rakova 2008: 4)). 21 The US list included far fewer persons. 22 But the intervention came too late and was too limited to really make a difference. 23 On October 23, four judges and prosecutors involved in the trial against Kazulin were added to the visa blacklist (RFE/RL Newsline, 23 Oct. 2006), a month later, the EU Commission launched a so-called “non-paper” stating what the EU could bring Belarus in if the country started implementing democratic reforms (RFE/RL Newsline, 21 Nov. 2006), and finally, in December, the European Parliament awarded Milinkevich the Sakharov price for Freedom of Thought (RFE/RL Newsline, 12 Dec. 2006), and the EU Council decided to suspend import-duty reductions through the GSP system from June 2007 if workers’ rights, which the country had agreed to uphold through membership in the International Labor Organization (ILO), were not improved (Rakova 2008: 6). 24 The Belarusian foreign minister visited European capitals, Lukashenka went to Rome to see Italian President Silvio Berlusconi and the Pope, and the EU High Representative Javier Solana and ministers from several member states visited Minsk (Ioffe 2011: 221); a framework for facilitating technical assistance from the EU was signed (Economic News, 23 Dec. 2008), and Belarus was invited to participate in the high-profile Eastern Partnership (RFE/RL Newsline, 28 March 2009); the IMF approved a $3.5bn loan (Eastweek, 1 July 2009, 31 March 2010; Yeremeyeva 2009: 17); PACE restored the country’s “special guest” status (RFE/RL Newsline, 27 May 2009); and during the presidential campaign in late 2010, when Russia was running a fierce anti-Lukashenka campaign, the Lithuanian president as well as the foreign

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ministers of Germany and Poland kindly paid the Belarusian incumbent visits, trying to boost economic relations (Marples 2009: 770; RFE/RL Newsline, 27 May 2009; Eastweek, 27 Oct., 4 Nov. 2010). 25 Starting in the early 2000s, GDP had been on the rise, reaching a yearly growth rate of seven percent in 2005. At the same time, the poverty rate was reduced from 70 percent in 1999 to 27 percent in 2004 (Crowther 2007: 286). 26 The most prominent examples were the investigations into the business and leadership activities of opposition leaders Rosca and Urecheanu (Kommersant, 17 Dec. 2004; US Dep. of State 2005). 27 The OSCE deemed the elections free, but not truly competitive (OSCE/ODIHR 2005). 28 The referendum was invalidated because political apathy and the Communists recommending boycott produced a turnout too low, and the new parliamentary elections in November, indeed, saw lower support for Voronin, but his party still secured 42 seats, leaving the pro-European alliance two votes short of the necessary majority (Eastweek, 1 Dec. 2010). 29 For example, in late December 2006, Moldova agreed to a gradual increase in gas prices up to the European level by 2011, in 2007, the protocol approving Russian WTO membership was finally signed (RFE/RL Newsline, 20 Dec. 2006), alternative geopolitical alliances like NATO and GUAM were put on ice, and Voronin showed a willingness to grant concessions on the Transnistrian issue (RFE/RL Newsline, 31 May, 2 July 2008; Verdun & Chira 2008: 438). 30 Not only did the enlargement boost bilateral trade substantially, it also markedly increased people-to-people contact, reflected in the fact that 600,000 Moldovans alone in the first weeks after admission fielded requests for Romanian citizenship as a way to enter the EU (Mungiu-Pippidi & Munteanu 2009: 137). 31 At this point, the EU was most keen not to let the Moldovan events disturb the high-profile launch of the Eastern Partnership the following month. Voronin tried to make use of this asset, blackmailing Brussels to keep a low profile by threatening to boycott the grand opening ceremony (RFE/RL Newsline, 4 May 2009; Rodkiewicz 2009: 72-3).

8 Overall Trends in Russian and EU Influence

So, what have we learned about external actors and democratization? Are external actors truly capable of influencing democratization and autocratization processes in other countries? How do they do it? Is it true, as Robert Kagan (2009) argues, that the West and autocratic great powers are each trying to shape other nations in their own image, and that the efforts of doing so have been so significantly stepped up, that we are now witnessing an invigorated great power competition for influence? That is, are democratic actors increasingly trying to democratize other states, and are autocratic actors increasingly promoting autocracy? These were among the main questions I set out to answer. To investigate the matter in depth, I have focused on one great power scenario – the triangular drama between two external actors: a democratic Europe and an authoritarian Russia, and three states in between: Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. In preparation for the case analyses, I embarked upon a more general trajectory, developing a rigorous approach to the study of the external dimension of democratization. Moreover, a theoretical modification, adding the concept of gatekeeper elites to leverage and linkage in Levitsky and Way’s renown theory of how external actors influence other states was proposed. This last chapter draws all the analyses together. First, I compare the findings of the various time periods and country cases studied, presenting and categorizing overall trends of Russian and EU influence. Second, based on the case findings, I evaluate the validity of the theoretical claim proposed in Chapter 3, asking whether or not the notion of gatekeeper elites improves our understanding of differences in Russian and EU influences. Based on these overall comparisons and assessments, I turn to the question of generalizability. Are the findings and concepts inferable? Can we say

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something more general about external actors and democratization? If so, what are the lessons to be learned, and where do we go from here? Russian and EU Influence in Ukraine, Belarus, and Moldova The preceding four chapters contained the analyses of the extent to which external actors could and did influence political developments in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova over the two decades after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. In the following, I will isolate the main findings concerning Russian and European influence, attempting to put idiosyncrasies aside and look for more general patterns. Applying the analytical framework laid out in Chapter 2 and used throughout the empirical chapters, I sum up developments in the external actors’ impact on democratic performance and account for changes in influence strategies and levers used. Furthermore, the motives behind the actions of the external actors are sketched. Russian Influence Throughout the 1991-2010 period, Russia exerted enormous influence on the overall political development of the three cases analyzed. All along, the Kremlin showed strong interest in its neighboring republics, and as a consequence, Ukrainian, Belarusian and Moldovan political actors paid due attention to all signals coming from Moscow. However, the relevance of the multifaceted Russian impact on democratization and autocratization is difficult to apprehend unless clear categorization principles, such as the ones developed in Chapter 2, are followed. In Tables 8.1 and 8.2, direct and indirect Russian influence on democratic performances in all three cases in all four time periods are summarized. Several observations are worth further discussion. Most importantly, Russian actions, both those directly affecting democratic performance and those indirectly affecting it, can be characterized as predominantly negative. Through a wide array of military, political and economic levers, Moscow undergirded authoritarian regimes, opposed democratizing regimes, and, in addition, on numerous incidents, directly intruded upon the impartialness of the electoral regime (A), and the strength of the political rights regime (B), the civil rights regime (C), and the effective power to rule regime (E). However, the picture is far from black and white. On some occasions, Russia also performed actions that directly strengthened democratic performance, or at least indirectly inhibited authoritarian leaders from further impinging upon democratic performance. Nonetheless, the overall characterization of Russia as a negative external actor in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova still seems to

!"#$%&'()&*+,%-.&/011+"2&324$0%2-%&& 1991-1994

1995-1999

2000-2004

2005-2010

Ukraine

+

Election support for Kuchma 1994 (A4)

Election support for pro-Kuchma parties in 2002 and for Yanukovych in 2004 (A1, A3, A4)

÷ Economic destabilization (E10)

Economic destabilization (E10)

Economic destabilization (E10) Restraining Lukashenka’s repression (B6, C7)

+ Belarus

Election criticism of Yushchenko in 2010 (A4)

Strengthening media freedom (B5) Election support for Kebich in 1994 (A4)

÷

Strengthening media freedom (B5)

Strengthening media freedom (B5)

Election support for Lukashenka in 2000 and 2001 (A1, A3, A4)

Election support for Lukashenka in 2006 (A1, A3, A4)

Legitimization of nonindependent parliament in 1996 (D9)

Assistance with postelectoral repression in 2006 (B5, C7)

Election support for Lucinschi and Sangheli (A4)

Election criticism of Voronin in 2005 (A4)

Moldova

+

Election support for the PCRM in 2009 (April and July) (A1, A4)

÷

Legitimization of postelectoral repression in 2009 (April) (B5, C7) Territorial intervention (E10)

Economic destabilization (E10)

!

239

Economic destabilization (E10)

!"#$%&'()&*+,-.%/0&1233-"+&*+4$2%+/%& 1991-1994

1995-1999

2000-2004

2005-2010

+

Ukraine

Weakening Yushchenko’s democratic statebuilding (A, B, C, D) Strengthening Kuchma’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

÷

Territorial destabilization (E10)

Territorial destabilization (E10)

Strengthening Yanukovych’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D) Territorial destabilization (E10)

Belarus

+

Strengthening Kebich’s Strengthening authoritarianism (A, B, Lukashenka’s C, D) authoritarianism (A, B, ÷ C, D)

Strengthening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

Weakening Voronin’s authoritarianism 2005-2007 (A, B, C, D)

+

Moldova

Strengthening Voronin’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D) ÷

Strengthening Voronin’s authoritarianism 20082009 (A, B, C, D) Weakening democratic state-building 20092010 (A, B, C, D)

Territorial destabilization (E10)

Territorial destabilization (E10)

& !

Strengthening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

&

240

Territorial destabilization (E10)

Territorial destabilization (E10)

Overall Trends in Russian and EU Influence

241

apply. Going through the various effects of Russian influence, I review first the direct ones, then the indirect ones. First, in all three countries throughout both decades analyzed, Moscow impacted upon the electoral regime, trying to influence outcomes by granting overt support to favored candidates, strongly opposing other candidates, and defending rigged and biased elections or discrediting free and fair elections (A1, A3 and A4). Support was granted by timing the signing of high-profile agreements during campaign periods, granting loans, boosting the popularity of candidates through diplomatic statements and positive media coverage, and even sometimes sending political consultants to assist with campaign strategies. To oppose incumbents, economic and political sanctions were applied, energy supplies were cut off, regime leaders were discredited in the Russian media and by Russian officials, and at times, alternative candidates were brought forward as more suitable for facilitating good relations with Moscow. Thus, Russia used a wide spectrum of levers to influence elections, and it did so repeatedly throughout the period studied. Second, starting with Ukraine’s Orange breakthrough in late 2004, Moscow sought to make sure that the color revolution scenario did not spread any further. In elections, with massive crowds protesting against manipulated elections, as in Belarus in 2006 and Moldova in 2009, Russia intervened, urging, legitimizing and, in the Belarusian case, even assisting with repression of demonstrators. Through positive media coverage and the use of supportive diplomatic statements at both the bilateral level and in international fora, Moscow defended repressive steps of incumbents, and thereby directly influenced the very processes aimed at squashing antiregime upheavals that negatively affected both the political rights (B6) and civil rights (C7) regimes of democratic performance. However, in Lukashenka’s Belarus, Russia also affected these two partial regimes in a direct, positive way. On one occasion, in 1996, Yeltsin successfully talked Lukashenka out of violently dispersing anti-regime protests, thus, for a while, restraining the incumbent from further incursions on the political rights (B6) and civil rights regimes (C7). Furthermore, in the late 1990s, Moscow, through bilateral diplomatic condemnation and even political isolation, staunchly promoted the right of critical Russian journalists to work freely in the country, and during the 2000s, Russian TV occasionally covered clampdowns on demonstrations and even allowed opposition politicians speaking time. Such interferences helped provide Belarusian voters with information that they did not normally receive and, thereby, positively affected media freedom (B5). Nonetheless, these attempts at restraining and counterbalancing the Belarusian autocrat’s incursions on the political rights and civil rights regimes were pursued only

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occasionally or selectively. That is, they seem to have been pursued not to maintain the principle of media freedom, but rather to maintain a hold on Lukashenka. No matter what, the direct impact of the actions was positive influence on democratic performance. Third, in both direct and indirect ways, Russia negatively influenced the effective power to rule regime (E10), affecting either the target country’s territorial integrity or economic stability. One example of the former is Russia’s intervention on the side of the Transnistrian elites during the armed conflict in the early 1990s. With one strike, it dealt a serious blow to the leaders of Moldova proper. With the use of the 14th army stationed there, Moldovan troops were resolutely driven out, and the conflict was ended on Transnistrian – and Kremlin – terms, thereby effectively circumscribing Chisinau politicians of a decisive say over that part of the country. Then, as it also does today, the Kremlin more or less consistently supported the region in three ways: militarily, by preserving its troops in the region as “peacekeepers”; economically, by offering low gas and electricity prices, generous credits and loans, and favorable trade terms; and politically, by regularly supporting the leadership by legitimizing rigged elections and making light of human rights violations and repression of the political opposition. In Ukraine, Moscow indirectly weakened leaders’ effective power to rule by providing separatists in Crimea with political, economic and even military ammunition for opposing central governments. In addition, the effective power to rule regime was further impinged upon in both Ukraine and Moldova through periods of intense economic destabilization brought about by, primarily, energy supply cuts and extensive trade sanctions – that is, by a dense set of highly important economic linkages. These multiple sanctions proved to be not just a marginal disturbance factor, but, indeed, on several occasions, a serious threat to economic growth in the two cases. In this way, these Russian actions worked as shocks, which in effect deprived elected leaders of their ability to at least somewhat control the economy. In Belarus, during the 2000s, we witnessed much of the same dynamic, but there, economic destabilization resulted as a consequence of Russia’s withdrawal of various privileges and subsidization schemes, not due to their imposition of “unjustified” sanctions. Finally, in all three cases, Russia exerted more long-lasting, less context-specific, indirect influence on overall democratic performance (see Table 8.2). Such actions took one of two forms: general support or punishment. Support was granted through extensive political, economic and military cooperation; diplomatically at the bilateral and multilateral levels; through Russian state media; and most importantly, financially, in the form of stable and subsidized energy supply, favorable loans and credits, and

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preferential trade agreements. Punishment was applied by means of political isolation and diplomatic condemnation, critical media coverage, political and financial support for opposition groups, and economic sanctions in the form of trade embargos, supply cut-offs, and arbitrary and non-transparent hikes in energy prices. The choice Moscow made to support or punish, and the degree to which it did so, had great importance for political developments in all three countries. While strong support strengthened incumbents’ grip on power and improved their ability to crush domestic opposition (as in Lukashenka’s Belarus), the more punitive actions directed at weakening the economy and splitting elite unity made governing much more difficult, thereby decreasing incumbents’ chances of maintaining power and perhaps sidetracking a focus on democratic and economic liberalization (as in post-Orange Ukraine). Table 8.2 reveals that overall Russian support was not conditional on regime type alone; that is, it did not prop up authoritarian regimes for the sake of those regimes. Once said, however, a clear pattern emerges – not once did Moscow grant support to democratizing regimes, and never did it bring an authoritarian system down, despite clearly holding the means do so. Hence, both direct and indirect Russian influence was overwhelmingly negative in all three cases, in all four periods analyzed. Overall Assessment of the Impact of Russia As the above shows, Russian actions towards Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova definitely mattered for democratic performance, and mostly so in a negative fashion. Without Russia financially undergirding the Belarusian regime throughout the first three periods studied, President Lukashenka simply would have faced much more difficulties establishing and maintaining his dictatorship, and without Russia repeatedly recognizing and legitimizing the fraudulent and repressive elections, he would have faced a united external and internal pressure that would most likely have forced him to step down at some point, or at least make serious concessions. Without Russian support to Ukraine’s Kuchma and Yanukovych in the first period of the 2000s, the electoral campaign preceding the Orange Revolution would most likely have been less dirty and manipulative, and without Moscow’s consistent economic and territorial destabilization of Kravchuk and Yushchenko, democratization might have in fact continued, instead of ending in instability and authoritarian decline. With Moldova, had it not been for Russia’s military intervention in the early 1990s, Russia’s subsequent support of the Transnistrian regime, and its continued efforts to destabilize Moldova, the little country on the doorstep of the enlarged EU, showing such good results regarding democratic performance, might have turned into more of a democratic success story than it did. So clearly, Russia

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mattered to the development of these three republics, not least with regard to democratization and autocratization. Thus, strategies of, first and foremost, reinforcement by reward (withholding rewards until certain criteria have been fulfilled), but also reinforcement by support (ex ante offering extra benefits), were used to prop up cooperative regimes or regimes important to sustain, and strategies of, first and foremost, reinforcement by punishment (ex-ante imposing extra costs), but also reinforcement by reward, were used to force regimes considered non-cooperative into line with Kremlin interests. But why did Russia pursue such actions? Did the Kremlin hold a strong preference for authoritarianism, or were other issues more pertinent? As inferred from the analyses made in in the previous chapters, Russia did not necessarily prefer authoritarianism over democratic regimes. But most often, the non-democratic countries were the ones most willing to thwart off the West and accept the illicit economic deals that Kremlin elites pursued. At the same time, though, there is no doubt that preserving authoritarian regimes in the neighborhood gained more and more significance for Russia’s leaders. Most often, democratization meant not only rapprochement with the West and a stronger will to end corrupt actions, but it also questioned the legitimacy of non-democratic rule in general. And this, of course, was poison to the increasing authoritarianism that characterized Putin’s Russia. EU Influence During the two decades analyzed, the EU became more and more active in its dealings with Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova; with the eastern enlargement in 2004, the three countries now constituted the immediate neighborhood of the new Europe. In line with this development, the EU impact on democratic performance also grew, but witout a clear membership perspective there was obvious limits to European democracy promotion. Tables 8.3 and 8.4 summarize the main findings concerning European influence. As a first observation, the tables indicate that Brussels postured as a predominantly positive external actor. But the EU was far from consistent in strengthening democracy throughout the period. In fact, on several occasions and in all three cases, the EU exerted a negative influence on democratic performance. Nonetheless, positive actions outnumbered negative ones. Three types of actions dominated. First and foremost, Brussels successfully influenced democratic performance in all three countries using concrete situations to restrain nondemocratic leaders: forcing them to minimize repression of independent media, demonstrators and political opponents (B5, B6 and C7), at least for a

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while, or to cancel further power concentration (D9). This was done, primarily, through strong diplomatic pressure and condemnation, threats and postponements of political and economic cooperation, and occasional sanctions such as political isolation and visa bans. Most often, Brussels achieved success by applying its actions during elections, constitutional crises, or strong popular protests. In such events, the authoritarian leaders were already under intense domestic pressure, and additional pressure from the EU forced the incumbent to, at least, somewhat restrain himself, calm the internal conflict and/or avoid a new upheaval. That is, the European push for restraint seems to have been most effective when domestic forces were pushing too. Second, the EU served to contain and counterbalance Russian negative actions, in particular vis-à-vis the effective power to rule regime (E10) in Moldova and Ukraine. As shown, the Kremlin attempted to destabilize not just the two countries’ economy, but also their territorial integrity, and it is the negative repercussions of these attempts that Brussels minimized, thereby indirectly strengthening democratic performance. With regard to economic destabilization, the EU, along with the IMF, provided ample economic support to both countries in periods of severe pressure, in effect minimizing Moscow’s punitive sanctions. With regard to territorial destabilization, in particular, Moldovan territorial integrity was repeatedly affirmed at both the bilateral and multilateral levels: the EU heavily criticized Russia’s lacking willingness to withdraw troops and work out a political settlement of the conflict, and the EU put the authoritarian regime in Transnistria under severe political and economic pressure (through visa bans, diplomatic condemnation and export sanctions). That way Brussels was able to offer Moldova genuine geopolitical protection, partly preventing Russia from pursuing further destabilization attempts, thus minimizing additional negative consequences of the frozen conflict in Transnistria. Furthermore, on two occasions, the direct intervention of EU officials contributed to Moldovan President Voronin’s reversal on his decision to sign agreements (Kozak Memorandum, original and modified) that would legally have cemented Russian intrusion on the effective power to rule regime for many years to come. Brussels did not manage to solve the territorial conflict and fully resurrect the effective power to rule regime, but it made sure that no further incursions upon it were forced upon Moldova proper. Finally, as with Russia, the EU exerted a more long-term, indirect influence, generally supporting or constraining ruling elites. It repeatedly criticized repression, manipulative elections, power concentration, and so on, in non-democratizing regimes, and consistently withheld economic and political cooperation on several occasions if democratic incursions

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Ukraine

1991-1994

+

2000-2004

2005-2010

Reversing fraudulent presidential elections in 2004 (A1, A4)

+

Election support for ÷ pro-Kuchma parties in 1994 (A4)

Belarus

1995-1999

Obstructing postelection repression in 2004 (B5, B6, C7) Election support for pro-Kuchma parties in 1998 (A4) Restraining Restraining Restraining Lukashenka’s Lukashenka’s Lukashenka’s repression (B5, B6, C7) repression (B5, B6, C7) repression (B5, B6, C7) Strengthening media freedom (B5)

÷

Moldova

Restraining Voronin’s Restraining Voronin’s repression (B5, B6, C7) repression (B5, B6, C7) +

Stopping Kozak Memorandum (E10)

Stopping Kozak Memorandum v. 2.0. (E10) Legitimizing fraudulent elections in 2009 (A1, A4)

÷

!

246

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1995-1999

2000-2004

Ukraine

Weakening Kuchma’s authoritarianism 20032004 (A, B, C, D)

2005-2010 Strengthening democratic statebuilding after 2005 (A, B, C, D) Restraining main political actors from repression after 2005 (B6, C7)

+

Offsetting economic destabilization (E10) Strengthening Kuchma’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

Strengthening Kuchma’s authoritarianism 20002003 (A, B, C, D)

Strengthening Yanukovych’s authoritarianism 2010 (A, B, C, D)

+

Weakening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism 19961999 (A, B, C, D)

Weakening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

Weakening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism 20052008 (A, B, C, D)

Strengthening Kebich’s authoritarianism ÷ (A, B, C, D)

Strengthening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism 19951996 (A, B, C, D)

Belarus

÷

Strengthening Kravchuk’s authoritarianism (A, B, C, D)

Strengthening Lukashenka’s authoritarianism 20082010 (A, B, C, D)

Moldova

Weakening Voronin’s authoritarianism 20052007 (A, B, C, D) Strengthening democratic statebuilding 2009-2010 (A, B, C, D)

+

Offsetting territorial destabilization (E10)

Offsetting territorial destabilization (E10)

Offsetting territorial destabilization (E10)

Offsetting territorial destabilization (E10) Strengthening Voronin’s authoritarianism 20082009 (A, B, C, D)

÷

247

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continued. This way, the EU contributed to de-legitimize and thus weaken non-democratic leaders. Such actions may not necessarily have resulted in democratization and liberalization, but it surely made authoritarian statebuilding more costly and difficult, thus indirectly affecting democratic performance positively. With regimes where more democratically inclined leaders were in power, as Ukraine was from 2005 to 2009 or Moldova was in the late 2000s, Brussels supported them through diplomatic appraisements, the upgrading of political and economic cooperation, the granting of improved market access and the provision of economic and technical assistance. Again, such support did not necessarily make the countries implement further democratic reforms, but it strengthened their ability to maintain democratic achievements and keep the pro-reform forces in power, at least, for a while, minimizing the risk of democratic backsliding. Turning to the actions that negatively affected democratic performance, it is notable that the EU exerted a direct negative impact on only three occasions, impinging, albeit only marginally, on the impartiality of the 1994 and 1998 parliamentary elections in Ukraine, and in 2009, in Moldova, legitimizing the biased and, to some extent, manipulated parliamentary elections that led to the Twitter Revolution. However, looking at the indirect effects in Table 8.4, it becomes clear that the picture of the EU as the white knight, consistently promoting freedom and democracy, is not entirely right. On several occasions, Brussels supported non-democratic regimes by granting ample economic and political support. This happened in the early 1990s, when the EU silently accepted incursions on democracy in both Ukraine and Belarus, continuing efforts to increase political cooperation and financially prop up the ever more authoritarian regimes. Brussels for a long time restrained its criticism toward Ukraine, in particular, thus indirectly strengthening Kuchma’s authoritarian state-building. During the latter part of the 2000s, the EU was reluctant to criticize democratic impingements, instead emphasizing cooperation with even hard autocracies like Lukashenka’s Belarus, thus providing the non-democratic regimes with a glance of Western legitimacy, making the maintenance of authoritarianism less costly and less difficult, in effect adding more negative influence to Brussels’ “scoreboard.” Overall Assessment of the Impact of the EU As can be seen, the EU made a difference in the three post-Soviet republics. For the most part, it affected democratic performance positively – not so much in the sense of pushing through democratic improvements, but more often as a restrainer of repressive policies and a vital counterbalance to Russian impingements on state leaders’ effective power to rule. Had it not

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been for the actions of the EU, Moldova would have been left alone with a sanctioning, dominant Russia, and President Voronin and his Communist party would have had more freedom to consolidate authoritarianism. Without Brussels, repression in Belarus would, most likely, have been even worse, as Lukashenka would have had completely free hands to jail political opponents for long periods and consistently crack down even harder on popular protests. Finally, with regard to Ukraine, the EU played a pivotal role in facilitating and securing the Orange breakthrough in 2004. Had it not been for the mediation of Brussels, repeat elections and a peaceful political settlement would have been highly improbable. Unlike Russia, the EU did not maintain a consistent policy towards Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova throughout the two decades analyzed. Brussels moved from a policy of support and, in the Moldovan case, outright neglect, to strict democratic conditionality to more active engagement characterized by pragmatic cooperation and selective application of conditionality. Clearly, the policy line of the early 1990s was dominated not by a wish to secure democracy, but rather by a wish to ensure that de-nuclearization was implemented and that the newly independent states did not fall apart, risking further destabilization in the whole postSoviet space. In these early years, European leaders, therefore, relied primarily on reinforcement by support (ex-ante giving benefits to elicit desired actions), trying to promote economic and political stabilization. From the beginning, Ukraine was given special attention and most substantial support, as it was considered an important geopolitical partner in a tumultuous region. Up through the 1990s, the EU gradually introduced democratic conditionality, making more and more use of the strategies of reinforcement by reward (using possible benefits as a carrot) and social learning (ex-ante and ex-post diplomatic persuasion and criticism), only occasionally resorting to reinforcement by punishment (cf., visa sanctions against Belarus). However, even during this period, Ukraine was treated differently – cooperation proceeded, and in spite of serious democratic encroachments, criticism remained inconsistent. Only late, in 2003 and 2004, with enlargement set to happen and President Kuchma resorting to more and more repressive measures, did Brussels bring its Ukraine policy fully in line with the principle of democratic conditionality. Clearly, with the enlargements in 2004 and 2007, the EU became more and more interested in strengthening relations with Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. And with Russia’s increasingly hard-handed approach, culminating with the war against Georgia in 2008, European leaders again toned down criticism and conditionality, instead pursuing pragmatic cooperation, trying to drag the three republics out of the Russian orbit by

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invigorating remnants of the supportive policy pursued in the early 1990s. Even though geopolitical considerations again played strongly in the minds of Brussels leaders, it would be wrong to completely reduce European motives to power politics. A strong urge to democratize and liberalize neighboring states still figured high on the agenda. Main Empirical Results Moving to a more general level, these case studies have produced four important findings. First, external actors do matter. The external impact may not have been the only factor driving developments, nor was it necessarily the most important. But definitely, Russia and the EU made a real difference regarding democratization and autocratization in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. Both external actors influenced all five partial regimes of democratization, and they produced varied and important changes in the three countries’ democratic performance. Second, the two external actors did not always act according to Kagan’s essentialist groupings of good and bad guys. True, the EU generally acted as a positive external actor, and Russia has, for the most, had a negative impact. But this only reflects overall tendencies. At several points in time, the influence of the EU was negative, and although Russia only occasionally influenced positively, this happened. Thus, essentialist groupings of external actors may be useful as preliminary guidelines, but they can blind us. Third, the external actors under investigation here showed themselves to have two kinds of impact on the democratic performance of the target states. Either, they indirectly affected the political developments through long-term political, economic and military support or sanctions, thus strengthening or weakening the general capacity and maneuverability of the ruling elites. Or they directly influenced the course of particular events by making it easier or more difficult for decision makers to carry through their intended actions. Russia’s punitive intervention in Moldovan affairs in the 1990s is a good example of the first, while the EU influence on averting the complete monopolization of power by the Moldovan Communists in 2002 reflects the latter. Indeed, for the most, the positive impact of the EU has been one of preventing autocratization rather than really pushing democratization forward, while Russia’s negative influence has been targeted not at promoting authoritarianism per se, but rather at stabilizing cooperative, pro-Russian leaders and de-stabilizing non-cooperative, proWestern governments. Finally, the game Russia and the EU engaged in became more and more competitive with time in the three countries analyzed. Efforts to exert influence were on the rise throughout the period, and as Brussels stepped up

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its attempt to push democratization forward, Moscow retaliated by bolstering authoritarian regimes and undermining democratizing ones. Thus, on this point, with respect to this time period, Kagan was right – great power competition was on the rise. But competition did not increase only as a result of Russia’s sudden defense of autocracy. Rather, the cases show that Moscow was doing this all along – only with more vigor toward the end. A better reason for the more competitive environment derives mostly from the fact that the EU stepped up its efforts to positively influence states that they earlier on only gave patchy attention to. Thus, as the EU grew and its foreign policy became more streamlined, Brussels moved into a region that had for long been under sole Russian influence. It was Europe that increasingly challenged Moscow’s dominance, not the other way around. Evaluating the Concept of Gatekeepers In Chapter 3, I presented a theoretical explanation of how external actors can influence democratization and autocratization based on Levitsky and Way’s leverage-linkage model. Can this theoretical model help us understand when, how, and why external influence happen? To begin with, variation in external leverage has, indeed, proven highly crucial for the degree to which external actors influence democratic performance. In general, external leverage is reduced by two factors, as Levitsky and Way have rightly emphasized. The first is the existence of alternative policy goals. This is illustrated in, for example, EU-Ukraine relations, where Brussels, up through the 1990s and the early 2000s, was very reluctant to impose democratic conditionality upon Kiev simply fearing to lose an important geopolitical partner in the post-Soviet space. The second factor centers on the very theme of this book – the degree to which the target state is in good standing with another external actor and thus capable of seeking alternative protection and support. The ability to influence regimes that hold such a position is simply harder, as these regimes can more easily withstand political and economic pressure. Two obvious examples are Russia’s consistent shielding of President Lukashenka until late in the 2000s and the EU’s geopolitical protection of Moldova during the 1990s and 2000s. Both cases illustrate how the leverage of one external actor gets reduced, and sometimes even deflated, by the countervailing support of another external actor. However, leverage is not everything. Without dense linkages, external pressure can never go beyond diplomatic shaming. On numerous occasions, Russian and EU pressure succeeded exactly because of well-established economic, intergovernmental or other types of ties. And in cases where ties were sparse, as with EU-Belarus relations, the external actor faced

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difficulties imposing changes. Thus, so far, Levitsky and Way are right – leverage and linkages truly are important for explaining variances in external influence. But as I have argued, this is not enough. Gatekeeper elites must be accounted for as well. Does Gatekeeping Matter? All three case studies have shown that gatekeeper elites do, indeed, affect the density of linkages to the surrounding world. At the point of independence in 1991, Ukraine’s, Belarus’s and Moldova’s levels of linkages to Russia and the EU were fairly similar – all three countries had very strong links to Russia and only marginal links to Europe. However, similarity quickly turned into diversity as ruling elites of the three countries chose different paths. Belarusian elites instantly turned towards Russia, building economic and intergovernmental ties that, in turn, facilitated military, economic and political support useful for concentrating power and limiting political opposition. Ukraine’s leaders, in contrast, refused such reintegration with Moscow. Instead, Kiev courted the West, eager to channel military, financial and political support in return for geopolitical abidance. In Moldova, wariness of Russia’s imperial ambitions was understandably great, and links were only cautiously built, while ruling elites approached Europe, desperate to establish ties strong enough to counterbalance Moscow. Over the next ten years, this development continued. By the turn of the millennium, Belarus had established extremely strong ties to Russia, while bonds to Europe remained marginal. In Moldova and Ukraine, links to Russia were still strong, but integration with Europe had, at the same time, developed significantly. However, from the turn of the millennium, the growing disparity between the three countries reversed, as ruling elites in both Moldova and Ukraine reoriented towards Russia, strengthening integrative measures in return for political and financial protection. And from then on, ruling elites in all three countries halted linkage-building in some periods and intensified them in others, both toward Russia and the EU. Ipso facto, linkages come about not only as a consequence of geography and history, but also because leaders of states want them to develop. But what about the persistency of linkages? If gatekeepers are capable of deciding whether or not to build linkages, are they then also able to cut linkages already established? The answer to this question is less clear. As stated in Chapter 3, not all linkages are equally amenable. A telling example from the case studies here is the energy ties to Russia, which remained a crucial influence lever for Moscow throughout the four time periods

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analyzed. All three countries tried to find other suppliers, but their geographical location and Russian commitment to maintain monopoly status deprived each country of viable alternatives. Hence, in this case, a crucial linkage, through which Moscow exerted tremendous influence and forced through the expansion of other linkages, simply proved non-amenable for the gatekeepers in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova. Other linkages, however, proved more flexible. For example, Belarusian President Lukashenka, on several occasions, successfully cut critical information linkages to Russian TV, reduced technocratic linkages to Russian military and security service structures, obstructed civil society linkages to the EU and hindered the opposition in further developing ties to both external actors. Also in Moldova and Ukraine, such linkage-cutting took place. Moreover the major, important economic and intergovernmental linkages, not just these “small” ties, were subject to gatekeeper intervention. As a rule, intergovernmental linkage-cutting in the form of stopping diplomatic ties or unilaterally breaking out of bilateral or multilateral organizations only rarely happens, not just in the three cases analyzed, but across the world. However, Ukrainian, Belarusian and Moldovan leaders all showed that diplomatic activity within existing forums can be upgraded or downgraded significantly following the whims of the leader in power. Just think of Kuchma’s, Yushchenko’s, Voronin’s and even Lukashenka’s dramatic foreign policy turns. In addition, ruling elites also proved that external economic ties to the opposition can be hindered, investment flows can be obstructed, and trade flows can indeed be redirected so that exports and imports to one external actor are discouraged, while trade to other external actors is encouraged. For example, this is what happened in Ukraine in the early 1990s. Summing up, then, gatekeepers have been found to be important for understanding both why linkages are expanded and why they are reduced. However, as hypothesized in Chapter 3, not all linkages have proved equally amenable, and linkage-cutting has indeed proved more difficult to pursue than linkage-building. That is, gatekeepers are not always capable of successfully pursuing the strategy of their choice – several factors constrain them. In the following section I will elaborate further on these factors. Opening the Lid of the Black Box: What Determines Gatekeeping? Linkages transport influence, and sometimes, as with the example of Russian energy supplies, this is enough. With such a linkage, an external actor can always exert influence without risking that domestic elites in the target country cut it. Most often, however, linkages can only be formed, or kept, if a consenting receiver is there to form the link with. So, if we are to

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fully understand the impact of external actors on democratization, we must look deeper into the general receptiveness of the domestic environment. In these cases, the external influence is conditioned, primarily, by the receptiveness of the ruling elites. As hypothesized in Chapter 3, and validated in all three cases analyzed, the ruling elites were the ones setting the overall foreign policy course, determining which external actors to link to and which to turn down. Oppositional elites and civil society elites in all three countries also proved capable of independently nurturing economic, diplomatic and civil society links to the outside world.1 Not only were the ruling elites the most active gatekeepers, they have also proved crucial for determining other elites’ gatekeeper powers. So the main question seems to be this: what determines the openness of ruling elites to links with external actors? As noted in chapter 3, four factors stand out: their general values, their power vis-à-vis other domestic elites, their power vis-à-vis the external actor, and the degree to which the population they rule holds particularly strong preferences for increasing or reducing cooperation with one or another external actor. The first two factors bring us back to the discussion of elite motives, distinguishing between rational and ideational variants. On the one hand, the clear pro-Russian orientation taken in Belarus and anti-Russian posture in Ukraine in the formative period of the early 1990s seems to indicate ideational reasoning. On the other hand, judging from the evidence of the three case studies, the value-driven motives look inferior in, by far, most incidents. The frequent changes in policy orientation in all three countries are proof that the “sense of belonging” subsequently played only a minor role. This does not mean that post-Soviet leaders did not hold preferences regarding compatibility with external actors and their value systems. The distinct pro-European course taken by the Orange forces in Ukraine and the Alliance for European Integration in Moldova clearly illustrates that some of them do. Rather, most often, such preferences are less distinct, and they are, therefore, crowded out by pragmatic concerns of how to maintain power. Hence, when leaders determine whether to let external actors in or to defy them, they, as Yilmaz (2002) suggests, most often do it out of consideration for what they expect to gain and lose, both with regard to the external environment and with regard to domestic supporters and opponents and the population at large. Therefore, the configuration of power between various elite groups, the preferences of the electorate, and the density of existing linkages to external actors are important. As a rule, ruling elites respond positively to external impetus or allow external actors to intervene if they believe that such actions will ultimately strengthen their grip on power by either allowing them to satisfy or repress oppositional elites and

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dissatisfied voters, or if they calculate that not doing so will result in external consequences even more severely weakening their domestic stand. On the contrary, rejections of external actors are pursued when external consequences of doing so remain tolerable, when external impact threatens to undermine the relative power between ruling elites and domestic opponents, and when the population at large does not disapprove strongly. In Belarus, linkages to the West were kept to a minimum at the beginning of independence, the electorate never held particularly strong preferences for European integration, and the gatekeeping powers of the democratic opposition, the civil society and independent economic elites were effectively curbed already in the mid-1990s. Consequently, President Lukashenka could afford to consistently reject EU linkage-building and refuse the repeated calls for restraint and liberalization that threatened to reduce his personal power. At the same time, no strong domestic forces opposed his rapprochement with Russia, and as he benefited tremendously from the cooperation, he eagerly engaged in broad and comprehensive linkage-building. Even when Moscow demanded stronger economic influence in Belarus, he, albeit foot dragging, accepted it, fearing the consequences of completely losing support more than the consequences of letting Russia have a larger say in the Belarusian economy. For Lukashenka, this was the only way he could preserve power, at least in the short run. In Ukraine and Moldova, President Kuchma and President Voronin tried to mimic the trick of their Belarusian counterpart, rejecting EU criticism and enlisting Russian support for bolstering authoritarianism. However, unlike Lukashenka, they faced various constraints that made such a policy less likely to succeed. In Ukraine, the ruling elites had, despite no such demands being clearly articulated by the electorate, built up strong links to the West. Furthermore, concentration of power à la Belarus had proved impossible due to the pluralistic elite configuration inherited from the Soviet era. The democratic opposition emerging in the early 2000s was, therefore, allowed to build political ties to Brussels and Washington. So when Kuchma turned to Russia for help, he remained vulnerable to European pressure. Completely refusing Europe was simply too costly, despite Russia’s clear show of readiness to fully compensate for the loss of EU support. In Moldova, Voronin faced an opposition, a civil society and a population truly committed to European integration. Furthermore, he was not just economically dependent on Europe but also needed Brussels for protection against Russia-sponsored aggression from Transnistria. Consequently, he could not just wave off EU criticism, as it would have resulted in more demonstrations and more disapproval from Brussels, ultimately cutting him off from the majority of the electorate and leaving

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him completely dependent on Russian goodwill. Thus, he also acted rationally, trying to walk the tightrope between attracting Kremlin support for maintaining power and satisfying Europe by keeping repression at a minimum. Summing up, in order to understand how external influence comes about, we need to analyze three factors: leverage, linkages and the receptiveness of gatekeeper elites. These three variables may not be easily operationalized, but they, nevertheless, appear to be crucial for determining not just the degree to which external actors can exert their influence, but also the character of the influence. Indeed, successful external pressure is often grounded in asymmetric power relations, but one should not forget that during specific events, state leaders are the ones deciding whether or not to give in to the pressure. Hence, understanding elite receptiveness is simply critical for deciphering when, where and why external influence succeeds. Through these analyses of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, we have come a generous way. Generalizing the Findings The findings recapitulated above are interesting in their own right. They substantially improve our understanding of the political development of Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, and they provide a good overview of the foreign policy effects of the two great powers, the EU and Russia. However, social science is not just concerned with understanding and explaining idiosyncrasies, but also aims at generating more nomothetic lessons. Therefore, I now turn to the broader implications of this study. First, as both Russia (usually brought forward as the example par excellence of a negative actor) and the EU (probably holding the cleanest reputation of external actors, usually regarded as positive) have mixed records of positive and negative impact, there is good reason to believe that other external actors will produce mixed influences as well. Pure negative and positive external actors only reflect ideal types, not actors of the real world. Secondly, in general, one can say that external actors are only rarely the sole determinants of political development. Rather, they work either as accelerators, strengthening or weakening autocratization or democratization, or as balance-tippers, tilting the outcome of intense, conflict-ridden situations by empowering some actors at the expense of others. Hence, even though Russia and the EU represent special external actors, the way in which they have influenced Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova carry nomothetic traits that are transferable to other external actors around the globe.

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Finally, in terms of generalizing the theoretical notion of gatekeepers, the intense cross-pressure from the external actors in these cases somewhat biases the attributes of gatekeeper elites. With the freedom to choose one external actor at the expense of another in these cases, the domestic gatekeepers are allowed a freedom of maneuverability that is uncommon elsewhere. In cases where only one external actor exists to influence linkage-building, linkage-cutting and linkage-refusal, costs will most likely be greater, as there is no “natural” alternative external force ready to counter these offers. Thus, all things equal, we should expect gatekeeping activities of domestic elites to be lower in scenarios without these cross-pressures. However, there is no reason to doubt that gatekeeping will not still take place. Facilitative gatekeeping will be pursued in cases where enlisting an external actor gives ruling or oppositional elites a comparative advantage in their struggle for power. Building linkages to an external actor may increase their chances for outperforming political rivals, either by improving their standing with the electorate or by boosting their resources. Even unwanted external influence will most likely be obstructed by ruling elites elsewhere as well, and in cases where the development of a very strong set of linkages has been avoided, where opposition elites are not strong enough to independently enlist external support, and where the population does not hold strong preferences for increasing cooperation with the external actor, pursuing obstructive gatekeeping is definitely possible and indeed highly rational. Hence, even though this book has only dealt with the most-likely scenario of cross-pressured states, I will hold that gatekeeper elites are a universal concept with global applicability. Gatekeeping takes place everywhere. The remaining question, however, is how often it happens and exactly under which circumstances it takes place. Where to Go From Here? Politics does not usually play out in a national vacuum – and this is, not least, the case when we talk about transition, democratization and autocratization. In this book, I have tried to cast light on the somewhat overlooked subject that borders IR and comparative politics. This study has added to the literature on the external dimension of democratization in three ways. First, this book is an empirical contribution in the sense that, for the first time, a study has been made of both positive and negative external influences of both Russia and the EU on the democratic trajectory of three post-Soviet cases over a 20-year period. In this way I have added to our understanding both of “Europeanization beyond Europe” (Schimmelfennig 2007) and of the behavior of non-Western external actors like Russia.

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Second,  this volume has provided a clear analytical framework that is useful for studying the impact of external actors in other regions and other time periods. In this way, I have addressed the main weak point of the literature: the lack of clear concepts and stringent methods. Finally, with the concept of gatekeeper elites, I have qualified Levitsky and Way’s theory, which currently dominates the field. I have shown that structural factors alone cannot explain differences in the impact of external actors within and across regions of the world. Rather to fully understand the diversity of the impact of external actors, actor-centered explanations must be included as well. What we need to examine now is how much gatekeeping differs from case to case and why it does so. Clearly, external actors do not drive political development alone, and rarely are they alone decisive in determining political outcomes. Nonetheless, the comparative analysis conducted here shows that external actors are important for understanding both changes and non-changes in democratic performance. However, in a wealth of cases, systematic analyses of external influence have never been carried out, comparisons of the behavior of different external actors in various settings have been even fewer, and systematic treatment of gatekeeper elites is completely lacking. This imbalance must be rectified. Here I have provided the theoretical framework and the analytical approach to do so. What we now need is the hard work of comparativists. Only by fully grasping the importance of the international dimension for democratic development will we be able to understand what drives political development, and only in this way will we be able to explain the striking regime diversity that molds the political world we live in.

  *********   The case studies conducted in this book ends in December 2010. Since then, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova have experienced yet another couple of bumpy years, and Russia and the EU have not ceased to attempt to influence developments on the ground. Even though the Euro crisis has forced Brussels to focus more on internal problems, and the surprising authoritarian breakdowns in the Arab World have redirected attention towards the Southern neighborhood of the Union, the EU has still tried to uphold the principle of political conditionality as a way of forcing the three former post-Soviet republics to adhere to democratic principles. Russia has also been occupied with internal challenges – for the first time in a decade a real opposition movement has emerged and the Russian populace, albeit still

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a very small proportion of it, has awaken from its political slumber to protest against an increasingly authoritarian and corrupt leadership. Nonetheless, Moscow has continued to exert heavy pressure on its neighbors – in particular with regards to boosting prestigious integration projects like the Customs Union and the more ambitious, but still much less concrete, Eurasian Union. In Ukraine, President Viktor Yanukovych has continued his attempts to revive the authoritarian system, characteristic of the Kuchma-era, in which a secluded group of political elites and business men concentrate power and economic resources. The main opposition figure, Yulia Tymoshenko, has been put to prison for the gas deal made with Russia in 2009, according to which Ukraine is obliged to each year buy more gas than it actually needs, and this to a very unfavorable price. Most recently, she has also been charged with embezzlement and complicity in the 1996 murder of Yevhen Shcherban, a business rival from Donetsk. In the absence of a powerful opposition, Yanukovych and the Party of Regions have been able to further strengthen, but still not monopolize, political power. While domestic challenges have been effectively dealt with, Ukraine’s ruling elites still must walk a tightrope between EU-leaders for now refusing to give up on political conditionality2 and a Russia set on forcing Ukraine into the Customs Union with Belarus and Kazakhstan. As of mid2013, the gatekeeper elites in Kyiv are clearly wary towards taking a definitive stand between the two external actors. But Ukraine is facing severe economic problems, so President Yanukovych and his supporters may be forced to give into Russian pressure and accept some sort of association with the Custom Union in exchange for a more favorable gas agreement. Giving democratic concessions to please Brussels seems very unlikely. In Belarus, autocracy remains untouched. Opposition and civil society activists are routinely harassed, beaten up, fined and/or put to prison. President Lukashenka is still firmly in power, and no real political rivals exist. But Lukashenka too faces the challenge of an unreformed and extremely inefficient economy hit hard by the global financial crisis and the gradual withdrawal of Russian subsidies. As a result of yet another violent and deeply flawed parliamentary election in 2012, the EU has stepped up its pressure on the Lukashenka regime, now sanctioning not just people from the political system but also persons from business groups closely affiliated with the regime. Russia, on the other hand, has continued to protect Belarus from external criticism, while at the same time strengthening economic integration in an attempt to draw Belarus even closer and to exploit the advantages of privileged access to takeovers, investments, etc. So while Lukashenka hangs on to power, links to Russia are slowly, but steadily,

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being strengthened, securing that the Kremlin will maintain significant influence in Belarus, also when Lukashenka is no longer at the helm in Minsk. Only in Moldova do we see a positive development. In 2012, the political stalemate was finally broken when Parliament approved Nicolae Timofti as president. The Alliance for European Integration, by and large, continues to adhere to democratic principles and European integration still figures on top of the agenda. This also means that Moldova’s ruling elites has shown a willingness to undertake political and economic reforms, and this even in years where the small open economy of the country suffers tremendously. Brussels, on its hand, has signaled that it is ready to support such steps both financially and politically. As of mid-2013, Moldova’s main obstacle to democratization seems to be the Transnistrian problem. However, small positive changes have happened here too. In the December 2011 presidential elections, Yevghenii Shevchuk surprisingly defeated not just Vladimir Smirnov, the leader of the region for the past twenty years, but also Anatolii Kaminsky, the candidate promoted and financially supported by Russia. This signals a new relationship between Tiraspol and Moscow. Russia will surely continue to be the most important partner for Shevchuk, but unlike his predecessor, Shevchuk and his supporters advocate a more pragmatic policy towards Moldova proper. They want to be able to do business with the outside world, and therefore they are also less resistant towards normalizing relations with the EU. Though Russia will certainly do everything possible to maintain its de facto veto power in the region, the changes in the composition of the Transnistrian ruling elites may be the first step towards, if not solving the Transnistrian conflict, then at least making the issue less of a problem for Moldova proper. No matter what happens in each of the three cases under study, the conflict between Russia and the EU is destined to continue for many years to come. The only game changer, as I see it, is regime change in Russia. If Russia underwent rapid democratization, the relationship with the EU would certainly improve. Great power competition would of course still exist, but the Kremlin would no longer perceive authoritarian breakdown or a strengthening of democracy in its neighborhood as a direct threat to its authority. Sadly, however, autocracy does not seem to be on the vain in Russia. Rather, the Putin regime is turning more repressive and power is becoming more and more concentrated. Hence, the prospects for an external environment more conducive to democracy remain bleak for Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova.

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Notes 1 Only economic elites made no difference with regard to independently linking with external actors. For the most, economic elites interested in exerting real influence simply went into politics to protect their interests, in effect transforming themselves from economic to political elites. The high proportion of businessmen in the Ukrainian Rada illustrates this point. 2 As a result of the declining democratic performance in Ukraine, Brussels has refused to sign the fully-negotiated Association Agreement, offering deeper political and economic cooperation and a Free Trade agreement.

Acronyms

BMD BPF BYuT CDPP CEEC CES CIS CoE EaP ECHR ENP EU EU BAM EurAsEC FSB FSU GDP GSP GUAM IMF LDPR MAP MPF NATO NGO ODIHR OSCE PACE PCA PCRM PfP PMR RAO UES

Bloc Moldova Democrata Belarusian Popular Front Bloc Yulia Tymoshenko Christian Democratic People’s Party Central and Eastern European countries Common Economic Space Commonwealth of Independent States Council of Europe Eastern Partnership European Court of Human Rights European Neighborhood Policy European Union EU Border Assistance Mission Eurasian Economic Community Federal Security Service of Russia Former Soviet Union Gross Domestic Product General System of Preferences Political organization comprising Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova International Monetary Fund Liberal Democratic Party of Russia Membership Action Plan Moldovan Popular Front North Atlantic Treaty Organization Non-Governmental Organization Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe Partnership and Cooperation Agreement Party of Communists, Republic of Moldova Partnership for Peace Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic Unified Energy System of Russia

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RDK SSR START TACIS UESU UN USSR WTO

Republican Movement of Crimea Soviet Socialist Republic Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty Technical Aid to the Commonwealth of Independent States United Energy Systems of Ukraine United Nations Union of Soviet Socialist Republics World Trade Organization

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Index 210, 213, 218; in Moldova, 83, 86, 128, 175, 181, 184, 220, 221, 222, 226, 228; in Ukraine, 58, 60, 61, 100, 104, 110, 144, 147, 149, 152, 156, 161 Civil society elites, 38, 41, 42, 46, 124, 187, 232, 254. See also gatekeeper elites Common Economic Space (CES), 152, 153, 154 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), 94, 140, 193; and Belarus, 75, 77, 78, 79, 115, 116, 166, 167, 212; and Moldova, 86, 88, 89, 90, 92, 130, 180; and Ukraine, 60, 64, 65, 66, 68, 69, 71, 72, 105, 107, 108, 151, 153, 155 Congress of People’s Deputies, 56, 66, 79, 88, 94 Constitutional court: in Belarus, 111, 113, 121; in Moldova, 83, 86, 124, 125, 126, 127, 177; in Ukraine, 148, 196, 198, 200, 206 Council of Europe (CoE), 29, 30; and Belarus, 121, 122, 123, 172, 173, 212; and Moldova, 130, 131, 182, 183, 184, 186, 187, 227, 230; and Ukraine, 72, 108, 109, 110, 151, 157, 158 Crimea, 62-64, 65-67, 69, 70, 72, 87, 92, 99, 105-106, 107, 108, 134, 202, 203, 242. See also Black Sea Fleet Cross-pressure, 11, 12, 257. See also conditionality, cross

Actor-centered theories of external influence, 4, 10, 35, 42-43, 258 Agrarians, Moldova, 84, 86, 90, 111, 125, 126, 129 Aid. See credits Alliance for European integration (AEI), 223, 254, 263 Asset takeover. See investments, Russian Association Agreement, 130, 206, 261 Bagrov, Mykola, 63, 63 Barter trade, 116, 166, 234 Belarus, 54, 73-82, 111-124, 162174, 207-219 Belarusian Popular Front (BPF), 54, 73, 75, 76, 111, 113 Beltransgaz, 78, 170, 213 Bender, battle of, 85, 87, 88 Bessarabian church, 175, 176, 183184 Black Sea Fleet, 53, 65-67, 72, 78, 87, 99, 105-106, 107, 132, 134, 204. See also Crimea Bloc Moldova Democrata (BMD), 219, 224 Bloc Yulia Tymoshenko (BYut), 147, 197, 199 Braghis, Dumitru, 127, 176, 179, 219 Clans of Ukraine, 52, 60, 101, 102, 147, 148. Chechen war, 98, 140, 202 Chernomyrdin, Viktor, 78, 118, 119, 153, 155, 202 Chernovil, Viacheslav, 57, 104 Christian Democratic People’s Party (CDPP), 175, 176, 177, 182, 183, 219, 221 Ciubuc, Ion, 126, 127 Civil rights regime, 25, 27, 28; in Belarus, 112, 113, 114, 119, 122, 124, 163, 164, 165, 174, 208,

Democracy assistance, 6, 162 Democracy, definition of, 23-26 Democracy promotion, 2, 5, 6, 17, 24, 38, 39, 212, 244 Democratic performance, 3, 9, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 23, 29, 32, 33; definition of, 26; changes in, 58,

289

290

Index

74, 83, 100, 112, 125, 144, 164, 175, 198, 208, 220 Democratization, literature on, 1, 3, 7, 13, 14, 24 Diaspora, Russian, 53, 105, 106 Diffusion, 5, 36, 48 Eastern Partnership, 195, 205, 235, 236 Economic elites, 38, 41, 42, 46, 101, 107, 117, 162, 187, 194, 197, 255, 261. See also gatekeeper elites Effective power to rule regime, 24, 25, 28; in Belarus, 79; in Moldova, 83, 87, 90, 91, 125, 129, 131, 132, 175, 181, 182, 185, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 229; in Ukraine, 58, 62, 67, 68, 69, 70, 72, 100, 105, 106, 203 Election observers, CIS, 155, 167, 212 Electoral regime, 24, 25, 27, 28; in Belarus, 74, 76, 80, 82, 112, 122, 123, 163, 164, 165, 174, 208, 210, 212; in Moldova, 83, 86, 125, 126, 128, 130; 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 226, 230; in Ukraine, 58, 61, 70, 95, 100, 103, 104, 144, 145, 147, 149, 161, 175, 176, 198, 201, 204 Embedded democracy, 23-26, 27, 28. See also Merkel, Wolfgang Enlargement of the EU, 57, 98, 99, 140, 141, 159, 182, 195, 244, 249 Essentialist trap, 2, 9, 250 Eurasian Economic Community (EurAsEC), 152, 166, 179 European Commission, 91, 98, 108, 141, 182, 217, 228, 235 European Council, 71, 91, 122, 141, 157, 158, 159, 173, 218, 235European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 6, 20, 141, 159, 173, 182, 188, 195, 228 European Parliament, 122, 183, 206, 230 European Union (EU) influence, 9194, 132-136, 186-189, 231-233, 244-250; in Belarus, 81-82, 120-

124, 172-174, 216-219; influence in Moldova, 90-91, 130-132, 182186, 227-230; influence in Ukraine, 70-73, 108-111, 156162, 205-207; membership in, 98, 109, 130, 141, 159, 191, 192, 228, 244 Europeanization literature, 6, 8, 24, 31, 35, 257. See also Schimmelfennig, Frank and Ulrich Sedelmeier External actors, actions of, 10, 18, 19, 24, 32; effects of, 9, 29, 33 External incentives model, 31-32 Federation Council, Russian, 94, 106, 137 Filat, Vlad, 221, 223 Financial crisis, 97, 117, 126, 131, 137, 193, 195, 196, 200, 207, 210, 213, 219, 221, 232, 259 FSB, Russia, 98, 151, 169, 171, 212 Gas relations to Russia: Belarusian, 53, 78, 79, 80, 116, 117, 166, 168, 169, 170, 171, 212, 213, 214, 217; Moldovan, 53, 129, 138, 178, 179, 180, 181, 224, 225, 227, ; Ukrainian, 53, 66, 68, 69, 101, 102, 106, 107, 143, 146, 151, 152, 153, 154, 189, 200, 201, 203, 204, 205, 234, 259 Gatekeeper elites, 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 35, 36, 38-47, 48, 51, 67, 91, 186, 187, 195, 237, 252, 256, 257, 258, 259. See also civil society elites; economic elites; oppositional elites; ruling elites Gazprom, 69, 78, 80, 106, 107, 129, 137, 138, 152, 170, 171, 179, 181, 203, 213, 224, 234, 235 Georgia, war in, 193, 194, 195, 214, 218, 249 Gongadze, Hryhorii. See Kuchmagate GUAM, 152, 236 Hancharyk, Uladzimir, 163, 191 Horizontal accountability regime, 24, 25, 27; in Belarus, 74, 75, 77, 82, 112, 113, 114, 119, 120, 121,

Index 291

122; 164, 165, 174, 208, 210; in Moldova, 83, 86, 125, 126, 127, 128, 131, 174, 175, 176, 181, 219, 220, 223; in Ukraine, 58, 60, 61, 100, 101, 103, 110, 144, 145, 148, 161, 197, 198, 199, 201 International dimension, 2, 3, 4-8, 18, 23, 32, 33, 35, 258 International Monetary Fund (IMF): in Belarus, 81, 82, 121, 135, 218, 235; in Moldova, 91, 130, 131, 132, 135, 192, 245; in Ukraine, 108, 109, 110, 200 Investments, Russian: in Belarus, 166, 169, 214, 232, 259; in Moldova, 179, 180; in Ukraine, 63, 69, 107, 132, 150, 151 Itera, 107, 152 Jeans revolution, 210 Kagan, Robert, 1, 2, 3, 20, 237, 251 Kazulin, Alyaksandr, 209, 213, 214, 215, 218, 232, 235 Kebich, Vyacheslau, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 86, 93, 94, 111, 115 KGB, Belarus, 82, 171, 212 Khasbulatov, Ruslan, 56, 87 Kozak memorandum, 178, 181-182; 185, 187, 223, 245; revised, 226, 229, 232, 245 Kozyrev, Andrey, 88, 98, 105 Kravchuk, Leonid: in domestic politics, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 92, 94, 95, 99, 101; relations to Russia, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 79, 92; relations to the EU, 70, 71, 72, 73, 92, 94 Kuchma, Leonid: in domestic politics, 59, 60, 61, 62, 99-104, 143-150, 196, 197, 200, 201, 205, 259; relations to Russia, 62, 64, 69, 72, 95, 104-108, 137, 150156, 178, 180, 243, 255; relations to the EU, 94, 108-111, 156-162, 249 Kuchmagate, 136, 143, 145-146, 147, 151, 157, 158, 163, 169, 189

Language issues: in Moldova, 82, 83, 84, 86, 89, 177, 181; in Ukraine, 53, 58, 60, 106, 202, 205 Lavrov, Sergei, 201, 211, 212, 226 Lazarenko, Pavlo, 102, 103, 104, 143 Lesson-drawing model, 31-32 Leverage, 10, 11, 14, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 47, 52, 98, 133, 237, 251, 252, 256. See also Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way, 2, 5, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 35, 37, 38, 39, 44, 45, 237, 251, 252, 258. See also leverage; linkage Linkage, 11, 14, 35, 37, 39, 40, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 237, 251, 252, 253, 255, 257; civil society, 40, 45, 122, 173, 253, 254; economic, 39, 40, 41, 62, 65, 67, 69, 70, 71, 78, 79, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 107, 108, 109, 116, 130, 132, 133, 171, 173, 178, 179, 182, 186, 187, 205, 214, 224, 228, 242, 253; information, 40, 41, 88, 106,119, 120, 170, 253; intergovernmental, 40, 41, 45, 64, 70, 71, 73, 77, 88, 105, 108, 109, 115, 120, 150, 152, 159, 166, 167, 211, 213, 214, 216, 218, 225, 228, 252, 253; social, 40, 41, 48, 53, 54, 55, 67, 70, 87, 88; technocratic, 40, 171, 253. See also Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way Logic of appropriateness, 31-32 Logic of consequences, 31-32 Lucinschi, Petru: in domestic politics, 86, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 174, 175,176; relations to Russia, 130, 138, 178, 179; relations to the EU, 130, 132 Lukashenka, Alyaksandr: in domestic politics, 13, 20, 76, 77, 111-115, 162-165, 209-211; relations to Russia, 80, 116-120, 165-171, 211-216; relations to the EU, 82, 120-124, 172-184, 216-219 Luzhkov, Yurii, 105, 138, 167, 168

292

Index

Medvedev, Dmitri, 153, 154, 194, 204, 215, 226 Melnychenko, Mykola. See Kuchmagate Merkel, Wolfgang, 24, 25, 27, 28. See also embedded democracy Meshkov, Yurii, 62, 63, 66, 105 Milinkevich, Alyaksandr, 209, 232, 235 Minority, Russian. See diaspora, Russian Moldova, 54-55, 82-91, 124-132, 174-186, 219-230 Moldovagaz, 138, 179, 224 Moldovan Popular Front (MPF), 55, 84, 86, 87, 177 Moroz, Oleksandr, 104, 146, 147 National Bank: in Belarus, 111, 113, 210; in Ukraine, 95, 104, 143 NATO, 194; and Belarus, 121, 122; and Moldova, 229, 236; and Ukraine, 108, 109, 201, 202, 204 Negative external actors: definition of, 26; literature on, 4, 6-7 Non-proliferation. See nuclear weapons Nuclear weapons, 52, 54, 55, 70, 71, 73, 81, 99, 106, 137 Oil relations to Russia: Belarusian, 53, 78, 79, 166, 169, 213, 214, 215, 217, 234; Moldovan, 53, 226; Ukrainian, 53, 68, 69, 102, 137, 150, 151, 155, 204, 205 Oppositional elites, 38, 41, 42, 43, 46, 47; comparison of, 92, 93, 132, 133, 135, 187, 254, 257; in Belarus, 111, 113, 116, 121, 173; in Moldova, 87, 128; in Ukraine, 60, 62, 70. See also gatekeeper elites Orange revolution, 139, 144, 148150, 153-156, 157, 159-162, 243; effects of, 187, 188, 193, 196, 197, 201, 205, 206, 207, 209, 211, 227, 243 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE): in Belarus, 122, 123, 135, 162, 165,

167, 168, 172, 173, 174, 209, 210, 211, 212; in Moldova, 90, 91, 94, 130, 131, 132, 135, 176, 179, 181, 185, 223, 227, 229; in Ukraine, 61, 109, 197, 199, 200 Our Ukraine, 147, 197, 199 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA), 71, 71, 81, 82, 91, 109, 110, 121, 122, 130, 131 Party of Regions, 197, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204, 233, 259 Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE), 110, 157, 168, 183, 190, 233 Party of Communists of the Republic of Moldova (PCRM), 126, 174, 176, 177, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 187, 191, 219, 221, 222, 223, 226, 227 Political rights regime, 24-25, 27, 29, 48; in Belarus, 74, 76, 77, 82, 112, 113, 114, 122, 123, 164, 166, 174, 191, 208, 210, 215, 216, 218; in Moldova, 83, 86, 125, 128, 175, 176; in Ukraine, 58, 60, 100, 103, 144, 161, 163, 198, 220, 221, 222, 226, 228 Positive external actors: definition of, 26; literature on, 4-8 Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic (PMR). See Transnistria Primakov, Yevgenii, 98, 139, 179 Regional elites. See oppositional elites Reinforcement by punishment, 31-32, 93, 135, 188, 231, 244, 249. See also external incentives model Reinforcement by reward, 31-32, 93, 135, 188, 231, 244, 249. See also external incentives model Reinforcement by support, 31-32, 93, 94, 135, 231, 244, 249. See also external incentives model Rent-seeking, 43, 59, 95, 101, 103, 117, 153, 159, 189, 234 Reserved power domains. See effective power to rule regime

Index 293

Romania, 12, 82, 180, 184, 185, 195, 226, 228 Ruble zone, 64, 66, 68, 78, 92 Ruling elites: comparative evaluations of, 92, 93, 97, 134, 135, 136, 143, 186, 194, 231, 232, 233, 245, 250, 252, 253, 254, 255, 257, 259, 260; in Belarus, 111; in Moldova, 86, 87, 89, 90, 91, 128, 133, 177, 184, 229; in Ukraine, 62, 63, 70, 107, 143, 146, 147, 149, 150, 153, 159, 161, 203, 205; theoretical, 38, 39, 41, 43, 46, 47. See also gatekeeper elites Russian influence, 91-94, 132-136, 186-189, 231-233, 238-244; in Belarus, 77-81, 115-120, 165171, 211-216; influence in Moldova, 87-90, 128-130, 178182, 223-227; influence in Ukraine, 64-70, 104-108, 150156, 201-205 Rutskoi, Aleksandr, 56, 65, 87, 88 Sanctions, 20, 28, 31, 63, 160; EU, 121, 122, 158, 168, 172, 173, 174, 182, 216, 217, 230, 245, 249; Russian, 58, 100, 107, 108, 129, 133, 134, 135, 169, 188, 191, 194, 201, 203, 224, 225, 231, 241, 242, 243 Sangheli, Andrei, 85, 86, 89, 125, 126, 130 Schimmelfennig, Frank and Ulrich Sedelmeier, 29, 30, 31, 32 Seccessionism: in Moldova. See Transnistria; in Ukraine. See Crimea Separatism: in Moldova. See Transnistria; in Ukraine. See Crimea Shortcoming: methodological, 7, 910, 23, 25; substantial, 6-7, 8, 23; theoretical, 7-8, 10 Shushkevich, Stanislau, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77; relations to Russia, 77, 79, 80; relations to the EU, 81, 93 Smirnov, Igor, 85, 128, 129, 179, 180, 182, 184, 185, 224, 225, 260

Social learning model, 31-32, 135, 188, 231, 249 Solana, Javier, 157, 160, 229, 235 Snegur, Mircea, 84, 85, 86, 125, 126, 176; relations to Russia, 89, 90, 130; relations to the EU, 90, 91, 93, 130, 132 Structural theories of external influence, 10, 12, 14, 35, 36-38, 42, 43, 44, 47, 48, 258 Supreme Soviet: Belarusian, 73, 75, 76, 77, 81, 111, 113, 114, 119, 121, 123, 133; Moldovan, 84; Russian, 94 Tarasyuk, Borys, 151, 158 Technical Aid to the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS), 71, 81, 91, 109, 121, 131, 190, 191, 192 Ties. See linkage. Transnistria, 55, 82, 83; the conflict, 84-85, 87, 124, 125, 133, 134, 136, 175, 220; and Russia, 87-89, 128-129, 179-180, 181-182, 225226; and EU, 90-91, 184, 245, 255 Twitter revolution, 193, 219, 222223, 226, 227, 229, 230, 248 Tymoshenko, Yulia: in domestic politics, 102, 103, 104, 136, 143, 146, 147, 148, 149, 196, 197, 199, 200, 201, 259; relations to Russia, 151, 155, 156, 189, 203, 204, 232 Ukraine, 51-53, 57-73, 99-111, 143162, 196-207 Union, Russian-Belarusian, 115, 167, 179 United Energy Systems of Ukraine (UESU), 102, 103, 136, 143, 146 United Nations (UN), 66, 90, 140, 168, 190 United Russia, 140, 194, 233 United States of America, 29, 30, 33, 36, 44, 46, 48; in Belarus, 81, 121, 123, 166, 172, 174, 216, 217, 235; in Moldova, 185, 228 ; in Ukraine, 70, 71, 72, 73, 104,

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Index

108, 109, 110, 160, 161, 186, 187, 190, 235 Voronin, Vladimir: rise to power, 139, 174, 176; time as president, 176, 177, 186, 193, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 232, 236; relations to Russia, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 187, 191, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 232; relations to the EU, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 227, 229, 230, 246, 249 Western positive bias. See shortcoming, substantial Wider Europe, 141, 158 Wieck, Hans Georg, 114, 122, 123, 173, 191 World Bank: in Belarus, 81; in Moldova, 91, 130, 131; in Ukraine, 108, 109, 110 Yanukovych, Viktor: in domestic politics, 139, 148, 189, 196-201,

259; relations to Russia, 150, 154-156, 201-205, 231-232, 234, 243, 259; relations to the EU, 161, 206-207, 231-232, 259 Yeltsin, Boris: in domestic politics, 56, 94, 97, 98, 137, 139; relations to Belarus, 79, 80, 82, 115, 118, 119, 120, 135, 241; relations to Moldova, 85, 87, 88, 89; relations to Ukraine, 60, 65, 66, 68, 69, 72, 95, 105, 106, 107, 137 Yushchenko, Viktor, 104, 143, 145, 146, 147, 148; rise to power, 148, 149, 150; time as president, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201; relations to Russia, 150, 151, 155, 156, 201, 202, 203, 204, 232, 243; relations to the EU, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 186, 205, 206, 232 Zyuganov, Gennadii, 97, 139, 167

About the Book

Do Russia and the European Union have any substantial influence over the political trajectories of post-Soviet states? Shedding new light on the interplay between domestic and external drivers of regime change, Jakob Tolstrup analyzes the impact of Russia and the EU on the democratization and autocratization processes in Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine. Jakob Tolstrup is assistant professor of political science at Aarhus University.

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