Nationalist Movements Explained: Comparisons from Canada, Belgium, Spain, and Switzerland 2020003599, 2020003600, 9780367271459, 9780429295096

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Nationalist Movements Explained

This book examines nationalist movements in four ethnically plural countries, one of which has no previous experience of such movements at the national level. Presenting comparisons of the cases of Canada, Belgium, Switzerland, and Spain, including descriptions of the social, economic, and political contexts in each country, the author investigates the various determinants of each movement, shedding new light on what accounts for ethnic conflict and harmony. With attention to the degrees of equality and inequality among the various ethnic groups in each society, the extent to which these segments are fragmented and the degree to which there is internal communal integration, this volume also examines the particular roles played by political parties and resources in nationalist movements. A unique contribution to social movement theory based on important comparative analyses, this work will appeal to scholars of sociology and politics with interests in ethnic mobilization and contemporary social movements. Maurice Pinard is Emeritus Professor in the Department of Sociology at McGill University, Canada. He is the author of The Rise of a Third Party: A Study in Crisis Politics and Motivational Dimensions in Social Movements and Contentious Collective Action.

The Mobilization Series on Social Movements, Protest, and Culture Series editor: Professor Hank Johnston San Diego State University, USA.

Published in conjunction with Mobilization: An International Quarterly, the premier research journal in the field, this series publishes a broad range of research in social movements, protest and contentious politics. This is a growing field of social science research that spans sociology and political science as well as anthropology, geography, communications and social psychology. Enjoying a broad remit, the series welcome works on the following topics: social movement networks; social movements in the global South; social movements, protest, and culture; personalist politics, such as living environmentalism, guerrilla gardens, anticonsumerist communities, anarchist-punk collectives; and emergent repertoires of contention. Social Movements, Nonviolent Resistance, and the State Edited by Hank Johnston When Citizens Talk About Politics Edited by Clare Saunders and Bert Klandermans Social Stratification and Social Movements Theoretical and Empirical Perspectives on an Ambivalent Relationship Edited by Sabrina Zajak and Sebastian Haunss Protesting Gender The LGBTIQ Movement and its Opponents in Italy Anna Lavizzari Nationalist Movements Explained Comparisons from Canada, Belgium, Spain, and Switzerland Maurice Pinard Racialized Protest and the State Resistance and Repression in a Divided America Edited by Hank Johnston and Pamela Oliver For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/The-Mobilization-Series-on-Social-Movements-Protest-and-Culture/ book-series/ASHSER1345

Nationalist Movements Explained Comparisons from Canada, Belgium, Spain, and Switzerland

Maurice Pinard

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Maurice Pinard The right of Maurice Pinard to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Pinard, Maurice, 1929- author. Title: Nationalist movements explained : comparisons from Canada, Belgium, Spain and Switzerland / Maurice Pinard. Description: 1 Edition. | New York : Routledge, 2020. | Series: The mobilization series on social movements, protest, and culture | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020003599 (print) | LCCN 2020003600 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367271459 (hardback) | ISBN 9780429295096 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Social movements--Psychological aspects--Case studies. | Social action--Psychological aspects--Case studies. | National liberation movements--Case studies. | Ethnic relations--Case studies. Classification: LCC HM881 .P556 2020 (print) | LCC HM881 (ebook) | DDC 303.48/4--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003599 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003600 ISBN: 978-0-367-27145-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-29509-6 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books

Contents

List of illustrations Preface Abbreviations 1

vi vii ix

Theoretical perspectives on nationalist movements: a summary presentation

1

2

Comparative overview of recent nationalist movements

6

3

Social-psychological determinants of nationalist conflict I: motivational components

51

Social-psychological determinants of nationalist conflict II: framing, values and beliefs, protest cycles

98

4 5

6

Structural determinants: broad transformations, opportunities, and segmental, organizational, and resource mobilization structures

133

Conclusions: significant findings

168

References Index

171 187

Illustrations

Figures 3.1 Spain: preferred constitutional options in Catalonia, 2005–18 4.1 American freshman: selective life objectives (percentages), 1966–2014 4.2 Cycle phases of Parti Québécois (PQ) electoral support, 1970–2018 4.3 Cycle phases of the Bloc Québécois (BQ) electoral support in Quebec, 1993-2019 4.4 Popular support for the sovereignty of Quebec, 1988–2017 4.5 Cycle phases of the Flemish Volksunie (VU) electoral support, 1954–99 4.6 Cycle phases of the Rassemblement Wallon (RW) electoral support, 1968–81 4.7 Cycle phases of the Front Démocratique des Francophones (FDF) electoral support, 1965–2014 4.8 Cycle phases of the Catalan Convergència i Unio (CiU) electoral support, 1980–2015 4.9 Cycle phases of the Partido Nacionalista Vasco (PNV) electoral support, 1980–2016 4.10 Cycle phases of the Bloque Nacionalista Galego (BNG) electoral support, 1985–2015

84 116 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127

Tables 3.1 Switzerland: occupations of active members of the labor force according to their main language, 2000 5.1 Growth rates of Quebec main occupational groups, males, 15 and over, 1911–81 5.2 Growth rates of Quebec white-collar groups, males, 15 and over, 1911–81

89 137 160

Preface

The concern of this book is with the nationalist conflict or harmony observed in four ethnically plural countries. In the last half century, nationalist movements and conflicts have developed in three of them, Canada, Belgium, and Spain. But the fourth one, Switzerland, had no such experience at the national state level. A comparison of the last and the previous three is expected to provide rare contrasting situations which could throw new light on the important factors accounting for the lack of harmony in the first three and harmony in the last one. A description of the social, economic, and political situations prevailing in each of them opens the narratives to launch our detailed investigations of the various determinants of each movement, not only by contrast with the fourth country, but also in terms of the similarities and differences between the other three. To give but a few examples of the questions which are raised, we ask what are the degrees of economic, political, and social equalities and inequalities prevailing between the various ethnic segments within each of these societies, despite the overall similarity of their goals. To what extent are these segments highly pillarized or fragmented, separated from one another, and to what extent do some forms of communal integration persist? An important question is, what roles do ethnic political parties play in each case, and how persistent, or prone to relatively short cycles, are they when compared to existing traditional parties, and why? What kind of roles do what kind of resources play in this? And do political opportunities really exert the primordial effects they are often claimed to play? My main objectives are not so much to provide separate descriptions of these movements, but to compare them in order to explain what could be learned from their similarities and differences, from their successes or failures, and to examine what our current social science theories are arguing about those movements, and conversely, how the stories of these movements could possibly lead to revisions of those theories. Practically all the theories brought up in our discussions turned out to be in need of at least some revisions. Moreover, I wanted to bring in as much empirical evidence as possible to justify the reformulations I suggest. In short, the book would not be simply descriptive, but descriptive and theoretical.

viii

Preface

I became very grateful for the detailed comments I received from Axel van den Berg on the complete manuscript, and for many discussions on specific issues I held with Valérie-Anne Mahéo and Éric Bélanger. These comments and discussions proved very helpful. I also profited much from the competent research assistance provided by Christine Proulx, Sean Waite, Alissa Mazar, and Emre Amasyali at McGill, as well as from Spanish assistants, Pau Aragay Marin and Marc Duran Riera. All of these assistants greatly help me to carry various duties in a spirit of warm and friendly cooperation. But above all, most helpful were the very positive encouragement, support, and suggestions of Hank Johnston, series editor of Mobilization, Routledge Series on Social Movements, Protest, and Resistance, as well as the assistance of Neil Jordan, senior editor for sociology, and Alice Salt, editorial assistant for sociology, both from Routledge. I also remain most indebted to the Max Bell Foundation and to McGill University for the generous funding provided over the years to support my research. Finally, I feel that I owe to Minola and Pierre an immense debt of gratitude for their exemplary patience in the pursuit of my academic activities, in this as well as in all previous ones.

Abbreviations

AL BNG BQ CAQ CDC CiU EA ERC ETA FDF GDP HB N-VA PG PNV PQ PR PRQ RIN RN RW UDC VB VU WWI WWII

Alliance laurentienne, Quebec Bloque Nacionalista Galego, Galicia Bloc Québécois Coalition avenir Québec Convergència Democràtica de Catalunya Convergència i Unio, Catalonia Eusko Alkartasuna, Basque Country Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya Euzkadi Ta Azkatasuna, Basque Country Front Démocratique des Francophones, Brussels gross domestic product Herri Batasuna, Basque Country Nieuw-Vlaamse Alliantie, Flanders Partido Galleguista, Galicia Partido Nacionalista Vasco, Basque Country Parti Québécois proportional representation Parti républicain du Québec Rassemblement pour l’indépendance nationale, Quebec Ralliement national, Quebec Rassemblement Wallon, Wallonia Unio Democràtica de Catalunya Vlaams Blok, later Vlaams Belang, Flanders Volksunie, Flanders World War I World War II

1

Theoretical perspectives on nationalist movements A summary presentation

The ends of World War II and of the last century were marked by a resurgence of contentious politics and the emergence of a large number of neoliberal issues movements as well as communally based movements. As is usually the case, such developments monopolize for long the attention of social scientists, but now that these movements have generally lost much of their drive, when they are not on a decline, the academic attention towards them is no longer what it was. Indeed, now that their full development cycles have most often been observed, it can be argued that this is an excellent time for a reexamination of some of those movements, since now a study of all of their phases could contribute to fuller understandings of them. The goal of this study is to go in that direction, with confrontations of current theoretical perspectives with the full empirical realities of movements having frequently run their course. This will be done by considering in depth some challenging nationalist movements in the Western world – Canada, Belgium, and Spain – and to contrast them with the rather harmonious linguistic relations in Switzerland at the national level, although not in specific cantons. The central ethnopolitical goals of all such movements are the pursuit, through constitutional reforms or otherwise, of degrees of political self-determination when it does not exist, or of greater degrees of it when already present. This can take the form of political autonomy in various areas of social, economic, and political life, up to and including full federalist arrangements, and even complete autonomy through secession. The purpose of this chapter is to present a synopsis of the theoretical perspectives deemed to be relevant for the analysis of all such nationalist movements and parties 1 which emerged in Western societies during the last 50 years or so. This will not ignore, as will be seen, that these movements represented stronger and wider reemergences of ethnic revivals often initiated at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century – when not earlier (A.D. Smith 1981). All too often, the literature on the more recent revivals is derived from studies bearing on a single movement and their analyses examine a limited number of idiosyncratic factors specific to that movement and its unique circumstances. While such factors could be relevant – and many will be discussed as we go along – it is important to be able to cast them within more

2

Theoretical perspectives

general theoretical and comparative frameworks relevant for all such movements. The framework developed here elaborates a multidimensional approach hypothesized to be valid for all these movements. In this theoretical approach, the phenomena to be explained are, on the one hand, the mobilization of various resources necessary to engage in forms of nationalist collective action. Concretely this implies first the self-recruitment of a first group of militants and organizers developing original organizational set-ups, the recruitment of additional militants and of larger numbers of simple members, as well as the support of already existing associations and organizations. The aim is to obtain from all of these groups various contributions to incite the adherence of people with sympathy for the cause, and in movements choosing the electoral route, to obtain from these peoples their voting support in elections or referendums, or other mild forms of contributions. All this implies, on the other hand, for the movement actors to actually engage in collective action to attain the ethnonational goals of the movement. This action quickly becomes contentious in encounters with their adversaries, particularly those located in various institutional settings. On the part of the movement, that action includes, among other things, organizing popular meetings, rallies, and demonstrations, engaging in various communication campaigns, holding internal assemblies or conventions, building coalitions, especially participating eventually, as nationalist political parties, in electoral activities, and possibly occupying political opposition roles or even governmental roles, etc. On the part of their adversaries, much of the same prevails, but generally with most of the required resources already under their control and often engaging in more routine forms of action, all aimed at countering the movement’s mobilization efforts and as much of their action as possible. It is when seen from the angle of the efforts of a movement and of its opponents to control and allocate resources and of their success in this regard that mobilization becomes itself a determinant of collective action. It is recognized however that it is often difficult to empirically distinguish mobilization from the collective action itself (e.g., Rule 1988), but an analytical distinction between these two dimensions can often be useful.

Important determinants To explain such ethnonationalist mobilization and collective action, one must consider many crucial determinants, with variations in each from movement to movement. These will be only briefly mentioned for the moment, with detailed elaborations to follow in subsequent chapters. Motivational factors are a first set of social psychological determinants. What motivates some members of an ethnonational communal group to launch a nationalist organization in the pursuit of a cause and non-members to develop favorable or unfavorable opinions towards this movement, or to develop such opinions towards opposition forces, or to remain uncommitted? What motivates them to participate in such a movement or the opposition, that is, to make small or large contributions of the various resources necessary for the pursuit of their

Theoretical perspectives

3

goals? How do changes in such motivations influence the emergence, development, persistence, or decline of these movements? To answer such questions, the following motivational components have to be considered: first, pushes to actions, such as felt ethnic grievances, discontents, or threats, usually the most important components, but simple aspirations and/or felt moral obligations could also be involved as pushing forces; second, pulls to action, ethnonational collective incentives or goods and/or simple selective incentives, and third, expectancies of success. The effects of each of these components, particularly felt grievances – which could vary much from one case to another – are usually intensified by related emotions. A second set of determinants involves the framing processes and their role in the construction of meaning, which aligns linkages between some social ethnic problems and their possible solutions. Given that they are closely centered on the various components of motivation, it is relevant to discuss framing at the same time, although they are also relevant for other determinants. The third set of social-psychological factors comprises more general kinds of beliefs and values and the changes in them which often act to reinforce or weaken the motivations involved. Together with these motivations, they constitute the important cultural components involved in contentious collective actions. The main beliefs and values to be considered include not only framing constructs, but also collective ethnonational identities, loyalties, and solidarities, nationalist beliefs and ideologies, and the often strong emotions accompanying them. Another important cluster of values considered are increasingly salient collective postmaterialist or postmodern values and the larger syndromes of self-expression values. Related and complementary are sets of values, these ones personal, underlying cycles of protest and their phases of growth, maturity, and decline. These basic values were crucial for the development of modern nationalist movements as well as for the new social movements of the last 50 years in advanced industrial societies. Let us now shift to a set of determinants of a structural nature often conducive to collective action when other conditions are present. The first such determinant consists of broad historical transformations, such as economic growth, industrialization, urbanization, secularization, state making, decolonization, wars, and the like, which mostly play crucial long-term roles in the emergence and development of many forms of contentious politics. They gradually modify existing configurations of challengers and restructure their power relations. They generally lay behind the other determinants to be examined and can lead to important changes in them. Political opportunities constitute a second core determinant of contentious collective action. Opportunities are basically factors accounting for the timing of the action. This concept has however gradually become overextended and needs to be narrowed to changing conditions which accelerate the course of action. As such they are frequently crucial dynamic factors accounting for increases in collective action and should be distinguished from many other facilitating conditions.

4

Theoretical perspectives

Such a facilitating or conducive factor – all too often ignored by social movement scholars – is a third determinant. It is the degree of structural and cultural segmentation, also identified as compartmentalization or self-enclosure, prevailing in ethnic constituencies. The structural components of this determinant refer to the degree to which various ethnic groups each possess, internally, rich organizational and social network substructures keeping them isolated externally from other ethnic groups. Such segmentation is often strongly reinforced when territorial concentration of the groups prevails, forcing them to develop their own internal organizations. The cultural segmentation components refer to the presence of distinct traditions, customs, norms, and values just mentioned. The obverse of these forms of segmentation is the degree of structural integration which prevails between the various communal groups, possibly accompanied by territorial integration, and high degrees of common cultural characteristics. While the segmentation dimensions can be important conducive factors for nationalist movements, opposite effects can result from diverse forms of integration, although opposite effects could also prevail in each case. Another determinant, otherwise closely related to communal segmentation, is the presence of well-developed organizational structures in the communal2 groups involved, with each group possessing large sets of associations, organizations, and social networks in almost all segmented areas of social life. More generally, they constitute key factors of mobilization. In particular, ethnoregional parties are almost invariably present and they are among the most crucial in the mobilization structures and collective action of ethnic collectivities, in large part because they are likely to dominate all other components of the segmental/organizational substructures of these collectivities. A final determinant involves the mobilization of substantial pools of various types of resources of all kinds, but especially human and material ones. The greater the amount of resources in the constituencies from which movements emerge, the greater the chances of these movements to be successful in their strategies and the attainment of their goals. Conversely, ethnic groups controlling relatively few of these resources end up remaining weak, when not absent, from contentious nationalist action. Finally, the dynamics involved in all of this contentious action are essential considerations. Often the determinants mentioned could not have been the triggering factors for the emergence of movements and for their transformations, since many of them could have been present and relatively constant for long periods and could therefore not explain modifications in action. It is therefore primordial to pay attention to the dynamics of episodes of contentious collective action, to the mechanisms and processes determining new turns in that action. But much confusion in the literature on social movements stems from an almost exclusive concentration on changing factors, to the general neglect of stable yet significant determinants. Both sets of factors ought to be taken into account. The determinants presented will be examined in greater detail as we go along in the comparative analyses of the nationalist movements selected.

Theoretical perspectives

5

It should be mentioned that between the theoretical perspectives just presented and the perspectives adopted in a recent comparative study by Bélanger, Nadeau, Henderson and Hepburn (2018), which compares Quebec with Scotland this time, there are interesting differences. To be sure one finds at the core of both studies some views on the so-called national question, which for long has become the central political cleavage in nationalist contention, replacing the traditional left–right one. In the latter study, the national question is divided into three dimensions – the promotion of constitutional reforms, the affirmation of regional identity, and the defense of regional interests – with the first dimension being the most central and the most polarizing. In the present study, only the first dimension on constitutional options is considered as a core dimension; first the problems of identities enter our perspective as determinants and the problems of interests are constantly implicit, and second, more importantly, these last two dimensions are more consensual and therefore not the source of much contention. There are however much greater differences between the two perspectives from thereon. In the study of Bélanger and his colleagues, the analytical concerns are almost entirely on the effects of the national question: how it first influences the orientations of Quebec and Scottish main political parties, at both the regional and national levels, and second its impacts on the attitudinal and electoral preferences of voters in each case. Conversely, in the present study the central analytical preoccupations are to explain nationalist contention, that is, what are first and foremost the causes, the determinants, which lead to the emergence and development of the national question, namely constitutional goals of greater autonomy or complete secession, both subsequently adopted by nationalist movements and parties. More generally, the theoretical differences between these studies reflect, in our study, the vast literature on social movements and contentious collective action among sociologists and, in the second study, the vast literature on electoral politics among political scientists.

Notes 1 The term nationalist movements or parties, currently frequent in the literature, will be employed, but other terms, as synonyms, could be ethnoregionalist, ethnonationalist, or ethnopolitical movements and parties; the latter term has the advantage of stressing the politicized nature of these movements, and their involvement in various forms of contentious political action. The ethno component of the terms is a generic reference to ethnic, but also racial, linguistic, or even religious groups. For a discussion of these points, see Gurr (1993a). 2 Communal groups refer to communities whose members identify with one another on the basis of common traits, such as ethnic, racial, linguistic, religious, or regional characteristics (Gurr 1993a).

2

Comparative overview of recent nationalist movements

The analysis of any nationalist movement cannot but profit from systematic comparative analyses of at least a few similar ones. Analyses of the nationalist conflicts which developed in three multilingual countries of the Western world around the middle of the twentieth century will be presented. The Quebec movement in Canada, the Flemish and Walloon conflicts in Belgium, and the Catalan, Basque, and Galician movements in Spain will be considered. These analyses of conflict will be contrasted with the analysis of a fourth multilingual country, Switzerland, which shows, at the national level, relatively high levels of harmony between its German, French, Italian, and Romansh linguistic groups. All four countries exhibit common characteristics. Very high levels of industrialization and economic development prevail in all of them, as well as strong democratic institutions. All four are found among the largest existing plural democracies, according to Lijphart’s (2012, 55) comparative study of 36 countries.1 In each of the four countries, however, the nationalist/linguistic groups vary according to the strength of felt grievances or their absence, and if present, in the types of prevailing discontents, and in the scope and intensity of their advantages or disadvantages, relative to one another. In addition, according to Lijphart, rather than being identified with the frequent majoritarian model of democracy, they are identified as exhibiting its alternative, the consensus model, either perfectly (Belgium and Switzerland) or at least according to many of its elements (Canada and Spain); indeed, plural societies in general have shown a strong tendency to develop consensus democracies (Lijphart 2012, 243–7). The consensus model, as opposed to the majoritarian or Westminster model, maximizes the size of governing majorities rather than accepting simple majorities or even pluralities, seeks broad participation in government, and broad agreement through elite cooperation. It “tries to share, disperse, and restrain power in a variety of ways.” While the majoritarian model is exclusive, competitive, and adversarial, the consensus model is characterized by inclusiveness, bargaining, and compromise (Lijphart 2012, 2, 31; citation from p. 33). The tasks in the following sections will be to present basic descriptions of the socio-political conditions in each of these four countries. This will be followed in subsequent chapters by detailed analyses of the various determinants of conflict or harmony in each of them.

Comparative overview

7

The Quebec independence movement As many more details will be presented in subsequent chapters, only a relatively short presentation of the Quebec situation will be made now. First it will be useful to keep in mind some basic demographic aspects of Canadian and Quebec society. Canada, with an estimated population of 36.3 million in 2016, is divided into ten provinces and three territories; Quebec is one of the largest provinces, second only to Ontario, with a population of 8.3 million. While in the middle of the nineteenth century Quebec counted for more than a third of the country’s population (37 percent), it had gradually declined to less than a quarter (22.9 percent) by the 2016 census. Canada, due to large waves of immigration, particularly after World War II (WWII), has gradually become a multiethnic society, but it has very largely remained a bilingual-only country. Thus in terms of ethnic origin, in 1871, those of British origin were highly dominant (61 percent), but a century later, in 1971, they had declined, to 45 percent, although remaining dominant. Those of French origin did not however gain from that decline, counting for 31 percent in 1871 and even declining to 29 percent in 1971, the gains going to persons of other origin, growing from 8 to 27 percent.2 By 2006, however, and shifting to linguistic divisions, measured by the language most often spoken at home, 68 percent spoke English, 22 percent French, and only 13 percent some other language,3 indicating that in terms of language immigrants were largely getting assimilated to the dominant group. All in all, by either measure, Canada has been and remains a majority-English country, while the French have always been a minority, even losing some ground. This has been and remains a widespread source of displeasure among Francophones. These linguistic groups are dispersed very unevenly over the country. Of particular interest in this discussion is the extreme geographical linguistic concentration between Quebec and the rest of the country. In terms of the language most often spoken at home, Quebec was, in the 2011 census, 80 percent French and only 10 percent English, but the rest of Canada was 82 percent English and only 2 percent French. Quebec has been and remains the motherland of the French, with which they maintain a very strong identification. It is worth mentioning that French Quebecers constitute the largest politicized minority in Western democracies (Gurr 1993a, 142–3). The political institutions in Canada embody many of the elements of Lijphart’s consensus model,4 but not all of them; indeed practically no country embodies all of them; many institutions are rather characteristic of the alternative, the majoritarian model (Lijphart 2012, 245). The Canadian political system is federal, not unitary, and a highly decentralized one at that (p. 179), which is an essential element of consensus democracy. When Watts compared Canada’s federal system to those of 14 other countries, it showed that the Canadian system was one of the most decentralized. In terms of the percentage of total (federal-state-local) government expenditures made at the federal level (after intergovernmental transfers), the four most decentralized systems are, in decreasing order of centralization,

8

Comparative overview

Belgium, Germany, Canada, and finally Switzerland.5 When in addition to financial decentralization many other criteria, such as jurisdiction, administrative, and other aspects of decentralization, are broadly taken into account, the most decentralized of 17 federations appear currently to be again in that order, Belgium, Canada, and Switzerland (Watts 2008, 101–3, 177). While at the beginning of Confederation in 1867 Canada was quite centralized, it has moved overall to decreasing centralization (Watts 2008, 32), although cyclical swings in both centralization and decentralization directions occurred over time, with centralization prevailing during crisis periods, such as war. Federal assertion prevailed from 1867 to 1896, followed by a period of decentralization between 1896 and 1939 (Chevrette and Marx 1982, 13–14). Then a period of fiscal centralization took place from WWII to 1956, to be followed by a period of attrition of federal powers (Black and Cairns 1966; Smiley 1972; Simeon 1972, 2004; Chevrette and Marx 1982). One could think that a much decentralized federalism, and one which is increasingly so, would involve advantages for the Canadian provinces, in particular Quebec, but things were not that unambiguous, as many types of tensions can easily develop in federal-provincial relations. It should be added, however, that the dispersion of power characteristic of consensus democracies is also safeguarded by constitutional rigidity rather than flexibility: amendments to the constitution, already difficult under the Constitution Act of 1982, were made even more difficult in the Constitutional Amendment Act of 1996. This new act provided constitutional vetoes to provinces, strongly demanded by Quebec, and regions. Before introducing any amendment, the federal government must obtain the consent of a majority of the provinces of Ontario, Quebec, and British Columbia, of two of the four Atlantic provinces, and of two of the three Prairie provinces, which in each of these two cases the provinces have a combination of at least 50 percent of their population. In addition, for select key provisions, the assent of all provinces is mandatory (Heard and Swartz 1997). Such procedures, which make constitutional change extremely difficult, ensure a division of power favorable to consensus and provides veto power to the first three provinces (and de facto also to Alberta). Indeed, Lijphart classifies Canada among the few countries, including Switzerland, requiring supermajorities for amendments (Lijphart 2012, 208, 211; Watts 1997, 94). As will be seen, constitutional reform efforts, particularly favorable to Quebec, have since failed. A third consensus element is also present in Canada. According to the 1982 Constitution, the constitutionality of legislation cannot be decided by legislators themselves, but only by judicial review, ultimately adjudicated by the Supreme Court, again contributing to the dispersion of power. Lijphart has established that only six countries have strong judicial review, and Canada is now one of them (214–18), and it has become even stronger (Studlar and Christensen 2006). A fourth element contributing to the division of power in Canada is the presence of a bicameral legislature in the central government. However the consensus model is better insured if the two chambers are equally strong, something missing in Canada. The House of Commons has much more power than the Senate, and members of the Senate are not elected, but

Comparative overview

9

appointed; these traits make for only a medium-strength bicameralism (Lijphart 2012, 198–201), and one tilting it towards the majoritarian model (Studlar and Christensen 2006). The Senate composition is still ultimately in the hands of the prime minister and at any rate the very existence of the Senate is seriously challenged by some political parties. But as of late, the Senate has increasingly become a stronger representative of the regions and provinces, due in part to nominations of independent senators. Contrary to Switzerland and Belgium, however, but like Spain, many of Canada’s political institutions follow the majoritarian Westminster rather than the consensus model, which makes accommodation more difficult to achieve. It has mostly exhibited a concentration of executive power in single-party majority cabinets rather than broad multiparty coalitions, a difference which can be seen “as the most important and typical difference between the two models of democracy” (Lijphart 2012, 60). In Canada, since 1945, these cabinets were always formed by only one of the two main national parties, the Conservatives or the Liberals, and in three quarters of the time these cabinets involved a concentration of power in majority governments (Lijphart 2012, 100). There have been only few third parties – mainly, in more recent periods, the Reform, New Democratic, and Bloc Québécois (BQ) parties – but they never joined a cabinet, even under minority governments; no coalition has been formed since WWII. The average number of Canadian federal parties for the period 1945–2010 was small (2.5 only). The concentration of power in Canadian one-party cabinets is singularly different from the power sharing in Switzerland and Belgium, as will be seen below. The Canadian cabinets do however involve a division of power between the two main linguistic groups, the pattern being one of de facto joint participation. The balance of power between the executive and legislative branches of government is another characteristic of the consensus model, but in Canada the executive is strongly dominant, as in the majoritarian model: in an index of executive dominance ranging between 1.00 and 9.90, Canada gets a high executive score of 8.10, strongly on the majoritarian side (Lijphart 2012, 121). Indeed “few countries in the world have as much cabinet dominance over Parliament as Canada” (Studlar and Christensen 2006, 838). Finally, Canada is the only one of our four countries with a plurality rather than a proportional electoral system, as a pattern deviating from the consensus model. In short, many features of the political institutions in Canada are not strongly characterized by the broad participation, negotiation, and compromise typical of consensus systems (for more details, see Studlar and Christensen 2006). It will be seen later how this makes for much greater tensions and conflict between Quebec and the rest of Canada. Quebec ethnonationalist developments Moderate nationalism, with its focus on political autonomy, has been a central ideology in Quebec since at least the beginning of the nineteenth century.6 The bourgeoisie from the liberal professions was the creator of this ideology. It has

10

Comparative overview

been marked, however, by recurrent radical episodes fostering the independence of Quebec, episodes which preceded the contemporary movement and, like this, were based on youth and professionals, especially intellectuals. The first significant episode started during the late 1820s, culminating in the Patriote Rebellions of 1837–8, with demands for a substantial measure of autonomy or complete independence from the British Empire. Its short recourse to violence led it to be crushed by the existing military forces. While afterwards accommodation largely prevailed until the end of the nineteenth century, some weak separatist clamor appeared during the late 1840s. Other, somewhat more significant revivals of independence fervor followed about a century later, first during the early 1920s, with a group from Action française, and then in 1935 with the Jeune-Canada and the Jeunesses patriotes. A return to such claims reemerged towards the end of WWII, in particular around the issue of conscription. But all earlier waves, even those of the early 1900s, were relatively weak, compared to the substantial wave of the last 50 years.7 The resurgence of the independence movement occurred during the late 1950s and especially the 1960s, characterized by unusually intense and diversified forms of collective action, first at the intellectual level and then increasingly at the organizational level.8 As will be seen, the emergence and dominance of “movement parties” (della Porta 2017) became central for the independence cause, as for other movements. The resurgence turned out to be both very strong and lasting, coming to occupy a central place in the Quebec and Canadian political agendas for more than half a century. The key developments of the contemporary movement, starting during the late 1950s, were through writings and associations, which finally crystallized into political parties. There was a flurry of papers and books on Quebec independence,9 starting with the monthly magazine Laurentie and no less than four books by Raymond Barbeau, published between 1961 and 1965 (see in particular Barbeau 1961; Chaput 1961). Barbeau had already created in 1957 an association, but without electoral goals, the Alliance laurentienne (AL), engaged in frequent meetings and public debates on independence. The AL, without at the time any competition from other groups, was fundamentally renewing with traditional nationalism and conservative views. It did not last for very long. More politically significant was the 1960s cycle of protest, characterized by generalized and heightened contention and conflict (Tarrow 1994, ch. 9; Brand 1990). It started with the creation in 1960 of the Rassemblement pour l’indépendance nationale (RIN), with moderate left-of-center orientations. In Quebec, the decline of the AL and the rise of the RIN in the early 1960s marked a decisive ideological shift from traditional conservative nationalism toward modern nationalism (Gingras and Nevitte 1983). The RIN was destined to become an important challenger. It chose the electoral route three years later, and obtained 5.6 percent of the vote in the 1966 Quebec election. Opting also for the electoral route and moved by dissent with the RIN, Marcel Chaput, backed by the AL, launched in 1962 le Parti républicain du Québec (PRQ), with the AL dismantling itself in favor of the PRQ.

Comparative overview

11

Moved by left-wing perspectives previously absent, some launched La Revue socialiste in 1959, and founded in 1960 another party, the Action socialiste pour l’indépendence du Québec (ASIQ) in order to promote the views of the Revue. The ASIQ, like the AL, was promoting the independence not only of Quebec, but of a Laurentie including also Acadia and French-speaking regions of Ontario. But again this organization did not have electoral plans; it did not survive past 1963. That party was soon replaced on the left when in 1963 the New Democratic Party decided to back the creation of the Parti socialiste du Québec, a relatively weak party which was not strongly committed to independence. At about the same time again, but with even more radical orientations, in particular opting for the use of violent means, a marginal segment of the movement started in 1963 the Front de libération du Québec (FLQ); this organization was destined to last longer than previous ones. The FLQ went through many waves, with an escalation in tactics and changes in targets. The targets involved mainly British as well as federal and provincial governments, and it engaged in robberies, bombings, and explosions, culminating in 1970 in a major political event, the so-called October Crisis, when a Quebec cabinet minister, Pierre Laporte, and a British trade commissioner in Montreal, Richard Cross, were kidnapped. In the deadlock which followed, the federal government finally decided to impose the War Measures Act and, in the end, Laporte was murdered and Cross was released when the government offered, in return for the release of the kidnapped victims, the choice of leaving the country (Breton 1972). Returning to the activities of the more conservative wings of the independence movement, faced with the fact that the RIN was increasingly moving to the left under Pierre Bourgault’s leadership, challengers opted in 1964 for the launching of the right-wing Regroupement national. That faction soon entered into a merger with the Quebec Social Credit Party, leading to the founding in 1966 of the Ralliement national (RN). Its goal was to challenge “socialist” forces, and in practice to get ready to participate in the provincial election of that year. However, the success of the independentist RN was then very weak, obtaining only 3.2 percent of the votes.10 The most significant development during the 1960s was the decision of René Lévesque, perceived as a charismatic leader, to join the sovereignist camp and develop new organizations. Formerly a minister in provincial Liberal cabinets since 1960, Lévesque, a nationalist, had gradually become more attracted by the independence option. He finally bolted the Liberal Party when that party refused to endorse his new sovereignist option during the fall of 1967, to almost immediately launch, with other dissident nationalist Liberals, the Mouvement Souveraineté-Association in the same year. The movement was soon transformed into the Parti Québécois (PQ), in 1968, with both survivors of the previous period, the RN and the RIN,11 joining forces. From that time on, the sovereignist movement became the key challenger in Quebec traditional politics. This was facilitated by a first break within the movement from a complete independence option, supported by all its predecessors, and

12

Comparative overview

its adoption of a softer option, sovereignty association, that is, Quebec political sovereignty, but with an economic association with the rest of Canada. Only two years later, in 1970, in its first incursion in Quebec electoral politics, the PQ deputies entered the Quebec National Assembly, becoming immediately the second strongest party in terms of the popular vote. After that, it became the official opposition in an early election in 1973, to finally come to power in 1976; it had moved from 23 to 41 percent of the vote (Pinard and Hamilton 1977, 1978). From the time of its formation, this was achieved in no more than eight years, a pace rarely equaled by new parties. From 1970, the PQ remained, in terms of votes, one of the two major Quebec parties until 2014 (except once in 2007), alternating in power with the Quebec Liberal Party. It did however face a major setback in 2018, being replaced by the Coalition avenir Québec (CAQ) as one of the major parties. The CAQ obtained 37 percent of the vote, with only 17 percent for the PQ. Since earlier the party had adopted a moderate strategy, stating in 1976 that its election would not imply a decision on sovereignty, that only a winning referendum would within a first term, it did at the end of that term hold such a referendum, in May 1980. But the referendum question was not on independence, not even on sovereignty association, but simply on a mandate to negotiate sovereignty association. Even with this much milder question, the electorate’s decision in the referendum turned out to be negative, the Yes vote standing at only 40 percent (Pinard and Hamilton 1984a, 1986). One of the consequences of that result was that a very serious eclipse of the option itself took place for most of the following decade. Only a year after the referendum defeat, however, the PQ obtained a renewed mandate, but with the expressed promise not to hold a second referendum during that mandate. At the end of that second term, in 1985, the party was however defeated. In 1986, under the new leadership of PierreMarc Johnson, the party even shelved its sovereignty option altogether, considered now simply an ideal guarantee for the future, and replaced it with the simple option of affirmation nationale (national assertion), a position to hold until the end of that decade. Important developments took place during that period. In 1982 Canada had, with difficulty, repatriated its constitution from the British Parliament, on the basis of an agreement between the Federal Government and all provinces, except Quebec. That province refused to be part of the agreement because it did not accede to its demands, and the repatriation without its consent was the source of very severe tensions in the province. But a new Conservative federal government was elected in 1984 under Brian Mulroney and a new Liberal Quebec government was elected in 1985 under Robert Bourassa. While federalist, both leaders shared accommodative orientations. They engaged in efforts to accommodate the conflict, convening a national conference in 1987 at Meech Lake, which brought together the prime minister and all provincial premiers. But Quebec came to the meeting with five minimal conditions said to be necessary to give its consent to the repatriation.12 Long and arduous

Comparative overview

13

negotiations led to all reaching a new agreement, the Meech Lake Accord, in which in particular the Quebec conditions were accepted. But the proclamation of the Accord required that it obtain the unanimous assent of all provincial legislatures and the federal Parliament within three years, by June 1990. The Accord soon met with strong opposition in English Canada and from newly elected provincial governments, with criticisms that too many concessions had been made to Quebec, in particular its constitutional recognition as a distinct society. In the end, despite last-minute renewed negotiations, no unanimous assent could be reached before June 1990, leading to the failure of the Accord. This failure generated among Francophone Quebecers strong reactions, based on perceptions that English Canadians refused to recognize them and on feelings of outrage, rejection, and humiliation (for more details on these developments, see Pinard, Bernier, and Lemieux 1997, ch. 4). This led in July 1990 to some Francophone leaders in Ottawa bolting their party and producing, among Quebec voters, an unprecedented surge of support for sovereignty. After two terms of the Liberal Party in office in Quebec, the PQ, now led by Jacques Parizeau, came back to power in 1994. The party had returned to the sovereignty option and had even promised to hold a second referendum within a year. That referendum was held in October 1995, and the sovereignty option, being now moderately labelled as sovereignty partnership – implying both economic and political associations – was again defeated, but this time with a bare minority vote (49.4 percent) (on the post-1980 period and the 1995 referendum, see Pinard et al. 1997; for a briefer version in English, see Pinard 2002). Again, despite that defeat, the PQ was reelected for a second term in 1998, with a popular Lucien Bouchard succeeding Parizeau as leader, but now with a platform committed to holding another referendum only if winning conditions were thought to prevail. These conditions failed to materialize before the end of this second term and the PQ faced a serious defeat at the hands of the Liberal Party in the 2003 election. The Liberals remained in power for three terms, until 2012. That year the PQ was returned to power, again with a new leader, Pauline Marois, but once more with no firm commitment to hold a new referendum. At any rate, it could not have readily done so since it was elected as a minority government, which lasted for only 18 months, and in 2014, the Liberals came back to power as a majority government. On the federal scene, as a strong protest against the failure of the Meech Lake Accord, the Quebec members of parliament who had bolted their respective federal parties decided in 1990 to create, for the first time at the federal level, a sovereignist party, the BQ, competing of course only in Quebec. Its main claim was to be the sole true defender of Quebec interests in Ottawa. In six elections, held from 1993 to 2008, the party occupied, except once, a dominant first place within the Quebec electorate, with an average of two thirds of the Quebec seats. That excellent performance was in good part due to the fact that the party could not but remain in opposition in Ottawa and could not therefore actually mobilize in the pursuit of sovereignty through a referendum; one could vote for it as a nationalist vehicle without

14

Comparative overview

wondering about any direct implications regarding Quebec independence. But despite its previous electoral success, the party suddenly faced two surprising defeats in the Canadian elections of 2011 and 2015, in which the BQ obtained less than a quarter of the votes, although returning midway to a third of the vote in October 2019. After all, voting for a party which could not but be constantly in opposition at the national level also involved a weakness, particularly when other parties with strong leaders and appeals – such as the New Democratic Party in 2001 – could be perceived as performing well. But currently the BQ future, although improving in 2019, does not appear as promising as it was before. More generally, what are the consequences of all this for the immediate future of the PQ and its sovereignist option? Let us only mention for the moment that the long-term future trend regarding the electoral support for that party is not currently looking overly bright. Indeed, the last election of October 2018 led to a first major transformation of the Quebec party system in many decades, with both major parties experiencing substantial losses and the CAQ, a relatively new third party, coming to power for the first time, finishing with no less than 74 of the 125 seats in the Assembly, so that the long tradition of the Liberals and PQ alternating in power came to an end. The PQ finished third and was reduced to ten seats, and the outgoing Liberal Party, although facing one of their worst defeats, survived with 31 seats, to become the official opposition. The CAQ, politically moderate and opposed to sovereignty, but more autonomist than the Liberals, stands between that party and the PQ on the nationalist axis. The PQ was also challenged on its left by Québec Solidaire, a radical and sovereignist weaker party, which finished fourth, but also with only ten seats. Incidentally, it is worth mentioning that in recent elections, Quebec has moved from a two-party to a multiparty system (Bastien, Bélanger and Gélineau 2013, 13–14; Montigny 2016). It remains to be seen how this situation will evolve in the years to come. With regard to the future of the independence option, support overall has also been on a slow decline for a long time. Thus support for sovereignty alone – without a partnership component, which is the current option of the PQ adopted in 2005 – peaked in polls at 58 percent in 1990, during the Meech crisis, but has dropped ever since. In general the current political climate in Quebec has been one of relative disinterest regarding the national question, with polls indicating much “constitutional fatigue.” Large numbers of Quebecers are opposed to a return to constitutional negotiations or to the holding of any new referendum. In the recent election, the PQ promised not to hold one during a first term, should it come back to power. With its demise in that election, it is difficult to imagine the possibility of a referendum for quite some time in the future. This brief summary of the development of the PQ, as well as of the BQ, will be covered in greater detail in Chapter 4. For now let us turn to a consideration of the Belgian movements.

Comparative overview

15

The Belgian ethnoregionalist movements The Belgium movements, opposing the Flemish and the Walloon linguistic communities, present instructive comparisons. The country, long dominated by other European states, gained its independence only in 1830, with the new state being governed by a French-speaking Belgian elite. It is a relatively small state, with a population of 11.2 million in 2015. The Belgian constitution now recognizes partly overlapping linguistic and regional communities. On the linguistic side, the two main groups are the Dutch-speaking Flemish, who counts for 58 percent of the population, and the French-speaking Walloons, 41 percent, with a third very minor group, German-speaking, with less than 1 percent. The regional communities include Wallonia, with a population of 32 percent, Brussels, with 10 percent, Flanders, with 58 percent, and the 1 percent German region. The population of Flanders and that of Wallonia are linguistically highly homogeneous, having some 95 percent of their people speaking Dutch and French, respectively. But Brussels, a geographical enclave within Flanders, which was historically Dutch speaking, has increasingly become a French-speaking city, its population being now 80–85 percent Francophone. The presence of such a French enclave within Flanders remains a very severe source of tensions.13 During the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century, the social and political structures of Belgium were mainly organized along religioussecular and class cleavages, giving rise to three highly organized ideological blocs, frequently in conflict with one another. Each of the three blocs had its own complete set of segmental or pillarized organizations and institutions. At the summit of each of these segmental blocs, one finds corresponding segmental parties. At a time when linguistic conflicts were not yet highly salient, the religious-secular cleavage and its associated conflicts gave rise to two of the traditional parties, the Catholic Party and the secular Liberal Party; these were followed subsequently by a secular Socialist Party, rooted in the class cleavage, leading to the formation of a three-member multiparty system. As legislative party majorities were very rare, power sharing occurred through almost constant large coalition cabinets and still do. For instance, since 1980 all cabinets have included between four and six parties (Lijphart 2012, 34). Religious conflicts, when they occurred, involved relations of Church and state, especially with regard to religious versus secular public schools. Given the fact that all groups to these conflicts had their own segmental party, both organizational and party segmentation facilitated elite negotiations and compromises, but also at times elite tensions and confrontations. But the predominance of the Catholic Party, unifying left and right, and its almost constant involvement in coalitions with one or both other parties, was highly conducive to reaching accommodations on religious issues, with the last such conflict resolved by the school pact of 1958. As in other countries with similar cleavages, depillarization and relative harmony finally prevailed because the blocs had “succeeded in their defensive missions, while their offensive

16

Comparative overview

missions [had] ground to a halt,” with the religious bloc arresting secularization and winning on the schools issue, and the secular bloc preventing religious state domination and affirming the state’s role in education (Lorwin 1974a, 57). But it ought to be mentioned that the Catholic segment, through its party, was not always conciliatory: it had first initiated the conflict when it obtained a parliamentary majority in 1950 and unilaterally increased state subsidies to Catholic secondary schools, following in this clear majoritarian rather than consociational practice (Obler, Steiner, and Dierickx 1977, 37–8). Notice, however, that as in many other countries, in line with Lipset and Rokkan’s (1967) classic analysis, the Belgian segmental parties became fixed alternatives which survived for a long time – indeed until now – after the end of the conflicts that generated them (see also Deschouwer 2012, 135). With the gradual accommodation of religious divisions, another cleavage, the linguistic one, became increasingly salient. It must be stressed that none of the traditional parties had institutionalized the linguistic cleavage, until the three major parties, as will be seen, became divided along those lines during the late 1960s and the 1970s. Before that only minor linguistic parties had gradually developed. Flanders was the scene, by the end of the nineteenth century, of the mobilization of its people behind a Flemish movement. As generally happens with ethnoregionalist movements, in most cases cultural protests develop quite a long time before political mobilization. This prevailed in Belgium, but also in Quebec and in Spain (Smith 1981, 23; Mann 1992, 137; Hroch 1995). In Belgium a first period of that movement, during the second part of the nineteenth century, was mostly characterized by ethnic concerns regarding cultural rather than more general political issues. The movement involved a wide range of nationalist organizations and a varied repertoire of collective action. The main preoccupations were with the revival of the group’s history, its literary traditions, and especially the defense and legal equality of its language. Its results involved a first modest series of language laws. This was followed during the early 1900s by a mobilization that was more political, which slowly developed around communal economic and social issues. This development was however drastically curtailed in 1914 by the German occupation of the country, except for minor advantages obtained by activists willing to collaborate with the German forces. Remobilization based on specific political claims during the interwar years resulted in a new round of linguistic legislation. It also witnessed the emergence of the first Flemish regionalist parties,14 such as the Frontpartij (Front Party) during the 1920s and the Vlaams Nationaal Verbond (Flemish National Union) during the 1930s, with proposals for constitutional change. Their electoral results were however relatively modest. This was cut short with the onset of WWII and a second eclipse of that collective action under German occupation. During the 1960s, the Belgian national party system became increasingly fragmented, including what was identified as six party families, the three traditional ones, the Christian democrats, liberals, and socialists, to which were

Comparative overview

17

added regionalist, Greens, and right-wing populist parties. Each of these six families became in turn divided in at least two parties, one for each of the main language groups (Deschouwer 2012, 99, 129; see also Pp. 78ff. below). Altogether, for instance, in the first two federal elections after 2000, there were about a dozen parties gaining seats in the House of Representatives. Not surprisingly, in the 2014 election, the largest party – the Nieuw-Vlaamse Alliantie (N-VA, New Flemish Alliance) – had barely more than a fifth of the seats (33 of 150). Such fragmentation inevitably leads to large government coalitions, which were formed with much difficulty. These coalitions have indeed been a source of government instability: between 1946 and 2010, the average duration of governments has been only 17 months, and between 1965 and 1991, the average was even shorter, less than one year (Deschouwer 2012, 174; Deschouwer and Reuchamps 2013, 261). The Flemish ascendancy The Flemish movement had reemerged after WWII; it was destined this time to gradually develop as a major political contender, especially by its transformation into new Flemish regionalist parties. All this occurred to express their strong reactions against the traditional parties, which were claimed to have failed to respond to their regional demands. The first was the Volksunie (VU, People’s Union), created in 1954. At first, its goal was that Belgium should become a federal state, but with time its program took a more radical turn, with a demand for the complete independence of Flanders. Its socioeconomic position varied between the left and the center left. One of its early leaders, Frans Van Der Elst, an intellectual and charismatic figure, led the party for 20 years, being successful in his control of internal factions. Electorally the party grew rapidly under his leadership. Starting with weak support during the 1950s, the VU regional vote gradually improved and reached better results in national elections during the late 1960s and the 1970s, with regional votes above 15 percent. During that period, the VU did better than the Liberals in Flanders, being surpassed only by the Christian Democrats – the dominant party in the region – and by the Socialist Party. However, during the following decades the VU started to lose ground, something which was attributed to its participation in a coalition government. It finally disappeared, splitting into two parties in 2002.15 One of them, a moderate left-wing party, competed electorally until 2007, but only in an alliance with the Flemish Socialists; the other, a radical wing, the N-VA, was the official heir of the VU, and ran on its own in 2003, but obtaining only 5 percent of the Flemish vote. Subsequently it ran in an alliance with the Flemish Christian Democrats. In 2008, it did however return to running alone, performing particularly well under a very popular leader, Bart De Weber. In the federal elections of 2010, it scored an important electoral success, obtaining 28 percent of the vote in Flanders. It was the best result ever for a Flemish regionalist party, leading it to become the strongest party in Flanders

18

Comparative overview

as well as in all of Belgium. The party repeated this exploit in the 2014 national election, with 30 percent of the regional vote. It even entered the government in a coalition with the Christian Democrats and the Liberals, which lasted from October 2014 until December 2018.16 The N-VA did not do as well in the 2019 election, but did not drop too much, to 25 percent of the Flemish vote. The worried Walloons By contrast, among Francophones, weaker degrees of mobilization prevailed before World War I (WWI) or even during the interwar years, although their traditional elites regularly resisted the passage of language laws adopted to meet Flemish demands. Indeed, no significant regionalist Francophone parties emerged in Wallonia and Brussels before the 1960s – something not surprising for a dominant group. But at that time, albeit ten years later than in Flanders, the Walloons rallied behind a weaker movement and in turn engaged in counter-Flemish party mobilization, their self-assurance being shaken by the increased self-confidence and political assertion of the Flemish. So did the Francophones in Brussels. In Wallonia the Rassemblement Wallon (RW, Walloon Rally) was created in 1967, but it had been preceded by minor groups, such as the Parti Wallon in 1965.17 In its central platform, the RW pressed for a high degree of autonomy for Wallonia, but within a federal system, and it held a center position on the left–right cleavage. This position was particularly reinforced by the strong, determining influence of François Périn, an early leader and again a charismatic intellectual, who led the party for some ten years. The RW grew rapidly to a peak in 1971. The quick growth of the RW was obtained despite an organizational substructure weaker than that of the VU. This weakness may explain in part its decline, which turned out to be almost as rapid as its emergence, sharing in part the characteristics of so-called “flash parties” (Deschouwer 2009b, 569). The dynamism of Brussels While the Brussels Francophones represented a smaller community, their mobilization was even stronger. The Front Démocratique des Francophones (FDF, Democratic Francophone Front), founded in 1964, was triggered by the language legislation adopted in 1962–3 to strengthen the use of the Dutch language nationally and especially in Brussels. With a center-right orientation, this new party was initially opposed to federalism, but was later converted to it in order to obtain the creation of Brussels as a third full region besides those of the Flemish and Walloon groups. It formed a parliamentary coalition with the RW between 1968 and 1981. The FDF also grew very rapidly. Its strength in the Brussels electoral district reached a peak at 40 percent of the vote in 1974, a level higher than those attained by VU and RW, something to be expected from the contentious action of a group sharing strong feelings of

Comparative overview

19

threats, experienced on the basis of their status as a Francophone minority within Flanders. This level however did not last; it was again followed by a gradual decline in subsequent decades, its support reaching no more than an average of 11 percent between 1985 and 1991. After the 1991 election, the FDF decided to restrict its electoral participation to alliances with the Francophone Liberals, which facilitated its survival. Since 2003, the FDF and Liberal alliance became known as Mouvement Réformateur (Reform Movement), running as such in 2007 and 2010. The alliance, however, subsequently came to an end and in 2014 the FDF (the label now standing for Fédéralistes Démocrates Francophones) ran on its own and was limited again to 11 percent of the Brussels vote. Thus it remains a weak contender, but the only survivor of the original three regionalist parties, albeit Flanders has a strong new one (N-VA).18 Belgium is classified by Lijphart (2012, 32–40) as an excellent example of the consensus model of democracy, with its power sharing and restraining institutions. Some of the elements of that model have been mentioned and others will be discussed subsequently. It should be pointed out, however, that the country has moved only slowly in that direction. While it has had large coalition cabinets for a long time, the requirement of the model is that its multiparty coalitions should have involved equal numbers of Flemish and Walloon members, something that did not occur until the constitutional reforms of 1970. It is also relatively recently, in 1993, that the country moved away from a unitary and centralized form of government to a federal system, being one of the most decentralized. It is a peculiar system, not built for its own sake, but developed as a way to resolve conflict (Deschouwer 2009a, 69–70). In addition, the country has developed a multiparty system, with a very large number of parties, many of which have become members of one or more coalition cabinets. To these consensus elements, it should be added that majority power is also restrained by the rigidity of the constitution: amendments are hard to adopt because they require strong majorities, which in particular give vetoes to the French minority, and that constitutional legislation has recently become open to judicial review. Finally, the multiparty system is favored by proportional representation (PR) and by bicameralism, although a weak one; in Belgium the Senate is not as strong as its House of Representatives (Lijphart 2012, 33–40). All in all, however, it should be clear that consensus democracy is not a guarantee of intercommunal harmony: while this holds in the case of Switzerland, so far it has not held for Belgium. In particular, severe grievances in the latter country constituted serious impediments to such harmony.

The Spanish ethnonationalist movements The nationalist conditions in Spain present some sharp differences with those prevailing in Canada and Belgium. In particular two of the Spanish movements – those of the Catalans and of the Basques – are among the most popular nationalist movements in Western Europe, but happen to be located in two of the wealthiest regions of Spain, suggesting that regional economic

20

Comparative overview

disadvantages, so important for Quebec and for Flanders, at least in the past, as well as for many other ethnoregionalist movements, are clearly not motivating factors in those Spanish regions, as well as, for instance, in Flanders currently, nor in Brussels, in Croatia and Slovenia in former Yugoslavia, and in Padania in northern Italy. The cases of Spain therefore make for quite interesting comparisons in terms of motivation.19 Spain is another middle-size European country, with a population of some 46 million persons in 2012; it is larger than Belgium and Canada, but smaller than Germany and France. Currently, the country is functioning under its 1978 Constitution. After 36 years of dictatorship under Franco (1939–75) democracy was restored, a constitutional monarchy was maintained, and its constitution created an original decentralized political system. It divided the country into 17 autonomous communities or regions, mainly as a response to long-standing demands from linguistically and culturally distinct communities. Spain is indeed a multilingual society with four main languages – Castilian (usually referred to as Spanish), Catalan, Euskara (the Basque language), and Galician. Castilian, the official language of the country, is the dominant one and is spoken by the large majority of Spaniards. The other three languages, official in their respective regions, are spoken by Spanish minorities located in a limited number of autonomous communities. Catalan is predominantly the language of one of them, Catalonia, but variants of that language are also spoken in two smaller ones, the Valencian Community, adjacent to the south of Catalonia, and the Balearic Islands. Basque is mainly restricted to one region, the Basque Country, but is also spoken in Navarre, adjacent to it and formerly part of it. Galician is the vernacular of only one region, Galicia. Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia are recognized as “historical nationalities,” mainly on the basis of their long cultural and linguistic distinctiveness and of the autonomy they enjoyed in the past. The proportions of the population living in those regions are relatively small. In 2012, Catalonia, the largest of them, comprised only 16 percent of the Spanish population, the Basque Country 5 percent, Galicia 6 percent, Valencia 11 percent, with 1 percent for Navarre and 2 percent for the Baleares (Instituto Nacional de Estadistica, January 2012 estimates). With regard to the knowledge of the minority languages, the proportions understanding the regional vernacular in Catalonia and Galicia are very high, standing at around 85 to 90 percent, but the proportions speaking them are much lower, at around 60 percent. The situation is however strikingly different with the Basques, among whom only about 30 percent understand the group’s language and barely more than 20 percent speak it; the vast majority have for a long time been Castilianized.20 Indeed, the minority languages had all been receding for centuries, particularly among Basques, although much effort has been made in recent times to rejuvenate them. Note that the linguistic situation among Basques presents a sharp contrast with the situations in Quebec and in the Belgian regions, where large proportions speak the group language. But Linz (1975, 380 ff.) makes the point that weak nationalist movements can exist where relatively many speak the distinct language, as in Galicia, and strong movements in regions with little adherence to

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21

one’s group language, as among Basques. Other factors than language can of course be much more important, such as the presence of regional grievances and identities, strong mobilizing elites, material resources, and organizations. As in Canada, modern Spain’s political institutions do not completely display the characteristics of the consensus model;21 the following four elements indicate the presence of the majoritarian model, which may not easily facilitate accommodation. First one observes that since 1980 the country’s executive power in central governments has always been concentrated in single-party cabinets (even when short, but barely, with a majority), the executives alternating between the Socialist and Popular parties, something very distinct from power sharing in broad multiparty coalition cabinets. Related to that is the fact that Spain has a very small number of effective national parliamentary parties, its party system being close to two-and-a-half parties: since the 1980s those two parties have on average counted together for 86 percent of the seats in the lower house of Parliament. Moreover, these executives have exercised a very high degree of power dominance in their relationships with the legislative branches, rather than balanced power relationships typical of consensus democracies. Finally, the electoral systems of all of our countries are PR, except for Canada which uses a single-member plurality formula. The PR system best represents both majorities and minorities and tend to be the least disproportional, as measured by the differences between their vote and their seat share. But there are differences in the lack of proportionality of proportional systems, and the Spanish PR system is one of those deviating most from equal proportions, being close to plurality systems. With regard to other institutional characteristics, Spain follows more closely the patterns of the consensus model, but not as well as Switzerland and Belgium. Foremost among those is that the Spanish division of power is closer to a federal than to a unitary system. However while formal federal arrangements prevail in the three other countries compared in this study, and all with high levels of decentralization, Spain does not; its autonomous communities system is described by Lijphart (2012) as a “semifederal” formula, which provides less autonomy to minority groups than federal arrangements. Second, the national legislature in Spain, as well as that in Canada, has a bicameral structure – which also involves a greater division of power – but this bicameralism is weak, with unequal constitutional powers in the upper house. Third, Spain and Belgium have constitutions which are rigid, that is, they cannot be changed by simple majorities, but only by large majorities; the level of rigidity is not however as high as in Switzerland and Canada, which show the highest levels. But in all four cases, rigidity does provide restraints against constitutional changes without large consensus. Conversely, Spain, like Canada, has an institution – judicial review – which is strong: by creating an independent body which can assess the conformity of laws with the constitution, it can provide further restraints on the political actions of legislative majorities – but this also depends on the rigidity of the constitution. All in all, Spain’s weaker concordance with the consensus model, especially its concentration of power in single-party cabinets – and those of the conservative

22

Comparative overview

Popular Party until 2018 – probably contributes to the current polarization and severe crisis recently opposing the Madrid and Barcelona parliaments and their people. As with other culturally distinct regional groups in Western countries – and as described for Quebec and Belgium – nationalist ideologies and political conflict emerged slowly in Spain during the nineteenth century and became more intense during the twentieth century, particularly under the democratic transition which followed Franco’s death in 1975. But as in these other regions, all this had been preceded by cultural awakenings followed by gradual developments of political nationalism. These developments in Spain’s three historical nationalities will be briefly examined in turn and as will be seen contention occurred more rapidly in some of them.22 The more developed Catalonia and Basque Country, particularly the former, were the first to engage in such mobilization. The unsettled Catalan crisis With a gradual strengthening of ethnic consciousness, Catalonia became the main center of a major cultural renaixença during the second half of the nineteenth century. It is through this cultural revival that nationalism first took root among the more educated Catalans. The concerns of that renaissance bore on the revitalization of their regional literature and language, as well as of the region’s older traditions and culture. It reinvigorated feelings of Catalan identity, which became and have remained since closely tied to language. By linking the concerns of the business class, which felt powerless in politics at the center, to cultural concerns, the movement made possible in Catalonia, but not in the Basque Country, an alliance of the intelligentsia with industrialists. The Catalan cultural revival soon became translated into nationalist political activism, linking general concerns for regional autonomy to regional cultural preoccupations. From around 1875, the regionalist movement, under the very active leaderships of first Admirall and then of Prat de la Riba, created a number of politically engaged newspapers and associations that articulated various autonomy platforms. Although slower to engage in party politics, it finally took the electoral route, a natural one for most ethnoregionalist movements in the Western world. A first Catalan nationalist party, the Lliga Regionalista, emerged in 1901 from all the movement organizations and more immediately from a coalition of groups, yet unorganized as a party, which had participated in the general elections of 1901. The new party was based on the economic elites and the intelligentsia and was conservative, autonomist, and moderate in its orientations. It became a major party in Catalonia from 1901 to 1936, particularly before 1923. Thus while weak at first, the Lliga, spurred by a nationalist crisis23 producing generalized outrage among Catalan political forces, organized a coalition with smaller parties in 1906. In an electoral sweep typical of such crises, they obtained 70 percent of the votes in Catalonia in the 1907 general election.24

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23

Meanwhile, following WWI, a period of chaos prevailed, marked by political instability and violent labor unrest in the country. This contributed in 1923 to a coup d’état and the instauration of a centralizing dictatorship by General Primo de Rivera, which was welcomed by the conservative defenders of a unitary Spanish state. A period of severe repression followed and in Catalonia, among other things, an autonomous government was suppressed, the Catalan language was banned, and Catalanist organizations were dissolved. The dictatorship provoked in turn greater mobilization in the Catalan movement and its taking of a political direction to the left. When that dictatorship collapsed in 1930, a Second Republic was instituted from 1931 to 1939, opening up a first phase of political opportunity for democratization and decentralization. A Statute of Autonomy was approved and the autonomous Catalan government was reestablished in 1932. Restrictions on the use of the language were removed. Immediately intense activities by the movement resumed, resulting in 1931 in the foundation, by a broad coalition, of a new left-wing, nationalist, mostly autonomous party, Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya (ERC, Republican Left of Catalonia), under the leadership of a charismatic leader, Francesc Macià. The party became the dominant Catalan nationalist party during the Second Republic, winning all elections and being the one to occupy the presidency of the autonomous government during those years. Electorally, in the June 1931 general election, it obtained in the region 56 percent of the vote, with only 14 percent going to the Lliga, routed in part because of its collaboration with the dictatorship. Nonnationalist parties of the center and left got 24 percent of the vote, with 2 percent going to those of the right. In the February 1936 election, the ERC did not do as well (31 percent of the vote), while the Lliga did better (22 percent) (Diez Medrano 1995, 102, table 8). The nationalist vote was clearly dominant during the Republic. This was a period of many reforms, but also, given the 1930s economic recession, a new period of labor unrest and radical left political agitation, in which anarchists came to dominate. History then repeated itself, when a revolt of General Francisco Franco in 1936 mobilized “against the dual threat of ‘socialism’ and ‘separatism’” (Conversi 1997, 41). This marked the onset of a civil war which lasted until 1939. Franco’s victory led to a very long dictatorship, from 1939 until his death in 1975. The regime, obsessed with national unity, “perpetrated the first serious attempt to culturally and linguistically homogenize the peoples of Spain” (Guibernau 2004, 49) and it constituted “the most radical politics of assimilation against non-Castilian cultures in modern Spanish history” (Conversi 1997, 109). In Catalonia, this entailed prohibitions against the use of the Catalan language in all public institutions and public places, in particular in educational institutions, and prohibitions against all cultural manifestations. Franco’s regime also abolished the statute of autonomy and the autonomous government, and engaged in extremely harsh political repression; in Catalonia alone, thousands of executions, imprisonments, and purges took place, with very large numbers escaping into exile or choosing to live clandestinely.25

24

Comparative overview

During the whole period, Catalan opposition to Franco, centered on demands for democracy, cultural preservation, and autonomy, never relented. As is so often the case, repression contributed all along to an increase of nationalist consciousness and mobilization. Although weak and disorganized at the beginning, social movement opposition intensified from the mid-1950s on, as periods of severe repression gave way to periods of relative relaxation. Diez Medrano (1995, 157–65) presents a detailed analysis of Catalan nationalist movement activism during the so-called liberalization period among left-wing political parties and unions, progressive Catholic organizations, separatist organizations, and universities. Tarrow (1995) describes the labor mobilization taking place in all of Spain during that period, and Herrera and Markoff (2011) recount the mobilization of the rural population in the country by left-wing activist groups at that time. The Francoist regime did not however survive the leader’s death in 1975. Spain immediately witnessed a major intensification in the previous levels of activism, while at the same time it engaged in a transition cycle leading to a very rapid period of broad political transformation. Through relatively peaceful and consensual processes, the country proceeded to the quick restoration of democracy in various institutions as well as to a new cycle of substantial decentralization, in particular through a political reform law in 1976 and a new constitution in 1978. What were the underlying conditions rendering such rapid changes possible? Relatively similar processes occurred in nationalist movements in the United States, Quebec, Scotland and Wales, and Belgium, with only longer delays in Spain, given the tight barriers of the dictatorship regime. First, during the 1960s, that is, still under Franco’s rule, the country experienced a period of broad social changes, marked by a decade of very rapid economic growth, just before entering the transition period; from 1961 to 1973, Spain experienced a yearly gross domestic product (GDP) growth of 7.2 percent, described as a Spanish miracle. A period of rapid modernization prevailed with this: rapid industrialization and urbanization, major internal migration to more advantaged regions, growth of the working and middle classes, and a substantial increase in educational levels (Magone 2009, 14, 302–5, with GDP figures from figure 8.1; Guibernau 2000b, 59–60).26 As in the other cases to be reviewed, these transformations generated a growth in self-confidence and expectancy of success, noted by Linz (1973a, 62), and created new potential leadership pools and organizational substructures which would facilitate and energize the challenging groups. The Spanish political transformations which followed led a large number of analysts to claim that this was a process of change from above, stemming from negotiations, compromises, and accommodation within elite circles, as described below. Others, however, such as Tarrow (1995) and Herrera and Markoff (2011), convincingly argued that this was only part of the story, that behind the façade of elite-only institutionalized politics lay the independent activism of the social movements mobilizing various groups – such as the urban workers and the rural population, engaging in strikes and demonstrations of various kinds. Thus based

Comparative overview

25

on their respective support, challenges as well as negotiations and compromises between these groups and the elites were taking place, so that at times, as argued by Herrera and Markoff, these groups’ challenges to the elites restored democratic structures different from those the latter hoped for. Claims of “reciprocal articulation between movements and politics” (Tarrow 1995, 226) greatly modified the narrow interpretation of decisions based only on national elites. The specific concern here is with that kind of activism among Catalan nationalist groups in relation to their own elites’ actions. Most of that activism was facilitating rather than challenging the actions of the elites, except for the activism of marginal violent separatist movements in that region (as well as that of the violent Euzkadi Ta Azkatasuna (ETA, Basque Homeland and Freedom) action in the Basque Country). More significantly, mass nationalist activism was much more likely to be closely articulated with the action of their elites, as argued presently, given that they all share the same basic nationalist ideology. The century-old history of Catalan consciousness, solidarity, and collective action, described earlier, offered substantial underpinnings for the development of more recent phases of nationalist activism and elite action. The same goes for the activism during the late Franco regime. When Spain entered the transition period, that activism became much more intense. But as so often happens in ethnoregionalist conflicts, the social movement activism in Catalonia became in large part rapidly intertwined with new or renewed nationalist political party activity, with the party often becoming the core of the movement, if not all of the movement (De Winter 1998b, 232). As usual, these parties were more institutionalized and thus more likely to evolve into direct elite negotiation. The latter’s collective action went along with a social movement mobilization of a particular type, the mobilization of popular electoral support for those parties, particularly the new ones. This is a dimension of mass mobilization which is neglected by Tarrow and by Herrera and Markoff. It ought not to be overlooked, since that support provided their elites with the essential power leverage needed in their negotiations with opposing elites at the center in Madrid.27 The new, highly effective Catalan nationalist party to emerge from those processes was the Convergència i Unio (CiU, Convergence and Union). That political force was created in 1978 as a coalition between the Convergència Democràtica de Catalunya (CDC, Democratic Convergence of Catalonia) and the Unio Democràtica de Catalunya (UDC, Democratic Union of Catalonia), both nationalist.28 Whether in power or not, the CiU survived in a dominant position in Catalonia until 2015, first under the unquestioned charismatic leadership of Jordi Pujol. He was “arguably the most important contemporary Catalan political figure” (Diez Medrano 1995, 160) and headed the Catalan government (the Generalitat de Catalunya) from the first regional election in 1980 until 2003. The CiU’s core ideological orientation was rooted in nationalism, but of a moderate kind, its goal being the continuing pursuit of increased autonomy for Catalonia and its recognition as a nation within Spain, but not the pursuit of full political independence, except possibly in an indefinite future. It is

26

Comparative overview

considered as a center-right political force, albeit “with some penetration in all directions,” including moderately progressive goals (Marcet and Argelaguet 1998, 72, 85). Electorally, the CiU rapidly scored astonishing popular success. It participated in the first Catalan regional election of 1980 and immediately got 28 percent of the vote, coming first and forming a minority government. Then its support suddenly increased substantially, not too far from 50 percent in the next three elections (1984 to 1992), but this did not last for long, followed by some losses to around 40 percent in the following two elections (1995, 1999). It did however form consecutive governments after all five contests, coming in power alone or at one time in a coalition with ERC. Wearing effects and scandals precipitated CiU’s defeats in 2003 and 2006, leading to tripartite governments of the Socialists and other leftist groups.29 It did however, during a political crisis, make comebacks to power in 2010, 2012, and 2015, but each time obtaining only a minority of seats.30 The CiU was among the strongest ethnoregionalist parties in Western Europe (Müller-Rommel 1998, 20). Surprisingly, while the popular vote for it reached a peak quite rapidly, membership in the CDC grew much more gradually, from a few hundred in 1974 to some 25,000 in 1996 (see the trend data in Marcet and Argelaguet 1998, 78, table 5.2). The diffusion of party support can at times be much more spontaneous and sudden in popular electoral contests than in the recruitment of its cadres, more likely to engage in a slow process of interest calculations (see Pinard 1975, 124–32). The CiU was not the sole nationalist party in Catalonia during that period. A second, the ERC, was however much weaker. While under the Second Republic it had been the dominant party during the 1930s, it had become dormant during Franco’s regime, only to be subsequently revitalized. While earlier the ERC had been a left-wing, but autonomist or federalist party, during the transition it became a militant secessionist party; its central goal was the independence of a larger Catalonia (including other Catalan-speaking areas) (Lluch 2010). Its electoral support has remained below 10 percent of the vote since then, except for the elections of 2003 and 2006, in which, with the wearied CiU declining, it obtained around 15 percent of the vote. Less moderate than the CiU, which was its direct nationalist competitor, the ERC radical program must have been a factor of its weaker electoral support during the post-1980 period. But note that when you combine the CiU and ERC votes in Catalan elections, the total nationalist vote has been quite impressive, amounting to about 50 percent.31 It ought to be mentioned however that these nationalist parties were not alone in promoting the region’s autonomy. Indeed, “consensus generally prevailed on the issue of a Statute of Autonomy for Catalonia” (Diez Medrano 1995, 167). An important partner in this consensus was the Catalan Socialist Party, a section of which had been the only one to emerge strongly from the Franco dictatorship. That party has been since 1980 the second strongest party in the politics of the region, with votes around 25 and 30 percent until 2006, although its support has declined in the three elections since 2010.

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27

During the early phase of the transition period, all this emerging Catalan militancy got in large part intertwined with the traditional national elites’ involvement in a widespread process of elite negotiations and compromises – not without serious tension between young reformers from the Franco regime and political forces opposed to that regime. Under the pragmatic stewardship of King Juan Carlos as head of state, committed to the restoration of democracy and clearly favorable to reform, and the support of reformers within the old regime, conscious of the inevitability of change and open to some democratic rules, political changes in Spain were quickly introduced and approved overwhelmingly in a national popular referendum on political reform in 1976. Freedom of political associations was recognized and all political parties and labor unions were legalized. Democratic general Spanish elections were held in 1977, and a new minority government emerged with a formalized opposition. Their main task was the drawing up of a new constitution. Much influenced by the memories of previous democratic failures, most politicians from all sides worked with openness to dialogue and a strong spirit of accommodation. From the very beginning, for instance, a few Congress deputies became members of the committees involved in drafting the new Spanish constitution (Heywood 1985, 42–6). Very quickly, that constitution was adopted by parliament in 1978 and again overwhelmingly approved in a national referendum in the same year. What is directly relevant to our analysis is the fact that under this new constitution Spain entered a phase of decentralization more encompassing than that which had occurred in previous periods. The twentieth century had witnessed long periods of strong centralization – in particular under the dictatorships of Primo de Rivera and of Franco – alternating with shorter periods of more limited autonomy – especially under the Second Republic. One can say that this time the nationalist movements, in Catalonia and the Basque Country in particular, and their political parties were very influential, forcing the country to adopt greater degrees of autonomy than what had been originally considered. One of the two major constitutional results – together with the restoration of democracy – was the rejection of a unitary, centralized form of government, in favor of a system of “autonomous communities,” something achieved in just a few years. The country was territorially divided into 17 communities or regions, each with the right to adopt its Statute of Autonomy negotiated with the central government and to establish their own regional government. In a political system approaching, but still less decentralizing and constraining than, a federal one, the competences of each community were not constitutionally established, but were negotiated with the central government (Heywood 1995, 146, 162). This was originally instituted to meet the traditional autonomous demands of the historical nationalities, especially Catalonia and the Basque Country, but tactically the constitution made these arrangements available to, and finally adopted by, all 17 regions, with only slightly different attributions for the less culturally distinct regions. The areas of competence reserved by the central government include defense, foreign affairs, general economic planning, and pensions and unemployment legislation. Those allocated to the communities include education,

28

Comparative overview

health, law and order, and agriculture, with new allocations being continuously added, in particular through revisions of the autonomy statutes, as was the case with the 2006 revised Catalan statute. All in all, as in Belgium, Spain’s regime has moved rapidly from a very centralized political system to one of substantial decentralization. Thus, for instance, while in 1981, 87 percent of the public expenditure was made by the central government and only 3 percent by regional authorities, by 1999 the share of the center’s expenditure had gradually declined to 54 percent and that of the regions had increased to 33 percent (with the rest going to local authorities in a relatively stable proportion) (Moreno 2001, 66, table 2.4). Therefore, through a coalition of elite and mass actors, to use Tarrow’s expression, the nationalist leaders obtained larger concessions than ever before from Spanish leaders, not only in the elaboration of the constitution, but also ever since from successive central governments. This started with Adolfo Suarez’s governments during the transition, and since the 1980s, from Socialist as well as from Conservative governments in Madrid, particularly when the latter governments were in need of the parliamentary support of Catalan representatives to ensure their stability. This was facilitated by the strength and moderation of the CiU, in both its constitutional positions – demanding autonomy, not secession – and in its socio-economic orientations, with the result of constantly obtaining increasing decentralization concessions from the central government. During the first few years of the present century, relations between Catalonia and the center developed in relatively smooth ways, although not without difficulty. In 2004 the Catalan government, as legally allowed to, engaged in a reform of its Statute of Autonomy. This was achieved with a large consensus, although after arduous negotiations. But with the exception of the conservative Popular Party, it was approved by the other parties in the Catalan parliament in September 2005, and in early 2006 it was approved by both houses of the central government, under the leadership of the Socialist president Luis Zapatero, more amenable to accommodation. The same year, the revised statute was approved by 74 percent of the voters in a referendum in Catalonia, with the statute then coming into effect. The statute in particular sought to increase Catalan autonomy, to achieve a more equitable share of financial resources, and to enshrine linguistic policies. However, these accommodative relations did not last, as grave problems and tensions soon started to emerge. Spain – and Catalonia as well – were hit by a very serious economic and financial crisis. The country entered a severe recession in 2008, as in so many other countries, and very high rates of unemployment were attained – the highest in the Eurozone. All this led to drastic austerity measures, leading in turn to high levels of popular discontent. The recent crisis More seriously, with regard to regional–center relations, a serious political crisis emerged in the middle of the first decade of the present century; after more than a decade, it is still unsettled. It started in 2006, when the Catalan

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29

Statute of Autonomy revised in Barcelona was challenged in the Spanish Constitutional Court, not by the Madrid government, which had approved it, but by the national Popular Party in opposition and by other conservative groups on the grounds of it being unconstitutional. The Court, reported to having been highly divided, took a long time to reach its decision; it was finally rendered in June 2010. It invalidated some articles from the Statute, but discussed many others and “ended up seriously narrowing the reading of substantial parts of the law… The Court’s decision was received with outrage by the majority of Catalan political forces, which interpreted it as restrictive and manipulative and even as a step back in the process of territorial decentralization” (Rico 2011, 4). A few days later the outrage led to mass regional mobilization, with hundreds of thousands of protesters marching in the streets of Barcelona, supported by most political parties and even Catalan president Artur Mas. It also fueled a radicalization of public opinion on constitutional issues, with a substantial increase in support for independence (Rico 2011). This crisis was soon intensified by subsequent developments. A change of the political guard occurred in both Barcelona and Madrid. In November 2010, the CiU, under the leadership of Artur Mas, who had succeeded Jordi Pujol in 2003, overturned the Socialist tripartite government in Catalonia32 and the following year, Mariano Rajoy and his Popular Party overturned the Socialist government in Madrid. The CiU in Catalonia had focused its campaign on an economic recovery and, in particular, on its reaction to the Court’s ruling. It stressed the region’s goal to reaffirm its “right to decide,” in particular to obtain full fiscal autonomy, and to counter the regional fiscal imbalance – characterized by more tax revenues collected by the center against fewer transfers to the region. Catalonia was demanding that, like the Basque Country and Navarre, it be granted direct taxation powers to replace simple transfers of funds from the central government. After the election, the CiU’s demands were endorsed by the Catalan government. But the crisis then escalated further. Before any discussion of the demands with the new Rajoy government in Madrid, another huge demonstration, organized over many months by pro-independence groups, took place in Barcelona on Catalonia’s national day in September 2012; the demonstration gathered more than a million people, under the slogan “Catalonia, new state of Europe.” A few days later, in a meeting of the two leaders, Rajoy’s central government, as was expected, rejected the Catalan demands, even any discussion of them, doing nothing to facilitate accommodations. From then on, a long series of confrontations kept occurring between on the one hand the Catalan government, backed by substantial popular demonstrations, and on the other hand the central government and the Spanish Constitutional Court. Mas’ reaction to Rajoy’s rejection of his demands was immediate, with a decision to call a snap election two months later, in November 2012, with the objectives to obtain a popular mandate for the reforms requested and to carry out a referendum on self-determination (Rico 2011; Marti 2013). Despite a relative setback, the CiU won the election and formed a minority government in

30

Comparative overview

December, which was supported by the ERC. This was immediately followed in January 2013 by the Catalan parliament’s approval, by a large majority, of a “Declaration of Sovereignty.” The resolution defined Catalonia as a “sovereign political subject” and stressed the democratic character of the decision concerning the future status of Catalonia (Marti 2013, 514). But again the Declaration was suspended by the Constitutional Court in May and July 2013, and was finally declared unconstitutional and void in March 2014, one argument being that the Spanish constitution states the indissoluble unity of the country. But even before the final decision, again on Catalonia’s national day in 2013, a third demonstration of nationalist militants took place, this time as a 480 kilometer human chain laid on from the north to the south of Catalonia. In turn this provoked a month later a counter-demonstration in Barcelona, but much smaller, by opponents of independence. Given the absence of any spirit of accommodation, the crisis was bound to keep going. In December 2013, President Mas announced this time that an agreement had been reached between five Catalan parties, holding 87 of the 135 seats in the assembly, that an independence referendum would be held in Catalonia in November 2014, that two questions would be submitted to the voters, and that a request would be presented to the central government asking for permission to hold the referendum. The first question would ask whether one wanted Catalonia to become a “state” (a political unit within Spain), and if yes, a second question would ask whether one wanted that state to become independent.33 The Socialist and Popular parties in Madrid both stated that they would never allow any independence referendum and President Mas declared that if they blocked it, the next Catalan election would then take the form of a plebiscite. On Catalonia’s national day in September 2014, a fourth huge demonstration took place in Barcelona in support of a self-determination referendum and of independence for Catalonia. A week later the Catalan government adopted legislation for a non-binding vote on secession. The law and vote were however quickly suspended by the national Constitutional Court and the Catalan government agreed to temporarily cancel the vote, but to come back with an alternative. In October President Mas presented a proposal to hold an unofficial poll instead of a vote. The Court again suspended this second bid, but Mas vowed to proceed despite the ban, and on September 11, 2014, this symbolic consultation was held, albeit carried out by volunteers and without state organizations and official voting lists. Support for independence stood at 81 percent (Yes on both questions), with a turnout estimated at 36 percent; but this consultation was without any legal consequences and created an impasse as to what to do next (Marti and Cetrà 2016, 108; this paper is a source of much of what follows on the 2015 election). Mas finally proposed to hold an extraordinary parliamentary snap election in September 2015, which would be plebiscitary and considered as a de facto referendum on independence. Notice the unusual character of this process: Quebec and Scotland never had recourse to such referendum elections, given

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31

that in their cases distinct referendums were valid procedures which could provide clearer independence mandates. But in July 2015 internal tensions within the Catalan government led to a major break-up in the CiU coalition in existence since 1980: the UDC, its weaker and more conservative partner, quit the government, due to its opposition to breaking the legal bounds implied in a unilateral declaration of independence. However, an alliance between the CDC, the remaining major member of the coalition, and the more radical and pro-independence ERC followed. Preceded by yet another huge demonstration in September 2015, the proposed election took place on September 27, with the new pro-independence partners CDC and ERC running under the unitary list Junts pel Si (Together for Yes). The election resulted in a record high turnout of 75 percent and led to a victory of the Junts pel Si list, which obtained 40 percent of the vote and 62 seats. Joining with the independentist Canditatura d’Unitat Popular, with its ten seats, they formed a government coalition with a pro-independence majority of seats (72 out of 135), although not of votes (48 percent).34 The pro-independence forces chose to elect Carles Puigdemont to replace Mas as president of the government. In November 2015, the three pro-independence parties passed a resolution, declaring the beginning of a process of disconnection from the Spanish state, initiating the creation of state institutions, and drafting a new Catalan constitution, to be approved by referendum within 18 months. But once more the Constitutional Court stated in early December that this independence resolution was unconstitutional and invalid. It should be mentioned that during that period, the government at the national level was not without its own political problems, entering a state of paralysis. Following the national election of December 2015, the conservative Popular Party won but it lost its majority. Given its failure and then that of the Socialists to form a new government, a new election had to take place in June 2016. The Popular Party finished first again, but once more as a minority, this time leading to the formation of a government in October due to the abstention of many Socialists in a parliamentary vote. The weakness of the Madrid government should have opened an opportunity for that government toward greater accommodation with the government in Barcelona, and conversely an opportunity for the latter in the pursuit of its goals. And indeed in October 2016, the Catalan government passed a bill to hold a referendum on independence a year later, in September 2017. Within a week, the central government referred the bill to the Constitutional Court, which in February 2017 decided to suspend it. Again Barcelona did not yield to that and in June Puigdemont set the date of the referendum to be on October 1, 2017, on a clear question – for or against independence.35 The referendum planned did take place, but the preceding campaign was marked by extreme polarization. Given the Constitutional Court rulings, Rajoy’s government had declared it would do everything necessary to prevent the consultation from taking place. It had recourse to many radical means, with police forces ordered to close voting stations, seize ballot boxes, make

32

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arrests, etc., often accompanied by much violence. There were no neutral organizations to guarantee the respect of normal rules in such consultations. The results showed a low level of participation, some 40 percent, and the Yes vote, as reported by the pro-referendum organization, but without any official verification, was around 90 percent. The proclamation of independence, which was supposed to follow, was postponed a few times but was finally made by the Catalan government on October 27. This led the Madrid government to immediately move to apply article 155 of the Constitution, which allowed it to impose direct rule over the Catalan government for not “complying with the obligations of the Constitution”; it led in particular to the dissolution of its government and dismissal of its president, while however immediately setting a new Catalan election for December 21, 2017. During that period, the central government moved to have many Catalan political leaders arrested, on the grounds of being held responsible for the illegal referendum, and charged with rebellion, sedition, and misuse of public funds; some avoided incarceration by fleeing the country, including Puigdemont fleeing to Belgium. The new 2017 regional election, set by the central government, did take place; while expected by the latter to generate a pro-unity majority, this did not occur. As in 2015, the pro- independence parties together were short of a majority, with 48 percent of the vote, and only a slim majority of seats, 70 out of 135.36 The choice of a Catalan government president became extremely complex; given their majority of seats, it could only be filled by an independentist, but judicial decisions made it impossible to renew Puigdemont or to select one from the other leaders imprisoned or in exile. After much political debate, Puigdemont announced in early May 2018 that he was renouncing to return to the presidency and that his team was designating Quim Torra, an independentist deputy and militant, as a candidate to his succession. Torra was soon elected as president in May by the regional parliament and proceeded to form his cabinet. But while Madrid had declared its refusal to accept Torra’s appointment of ministers imprisoned or in exile, he nevertheless nominated two of each group in his cabinet. Torra soon modified the nominations without any of the latter, thus overcoming the opposition of Madrid and allowing the lifting of direct rule over Catalonia. But other important events developed at that time. At the end of May, a court rendered a sentence of corruption affecting Madrid’s ruling People’s Party and its leader. This led to a successful no-confidence motion presented by the Socialists, the defeat of the Rajoy government, and its immediate replacement by a Socialist government under the leadership of Pedro Sanchez. This created an opportunity for the independentist Catalan government, since in the past the Socialist Party had been more accommodating to them. And indeed this was the case again, by various gestures of goodwill, such as, in early July, the transfers of incarcerated Catalan leaders from prisons in Madrid to prisons in Catalonia, a meeting the same month, for the first time in more than two years, this time between the two new presidents, Sanchez and Torra, and a plan for a subsequent

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33

meeting of the two in the fall, and finally in early August a meeting for the first time in seven years of the bilateral commission led by ministers from both sides. These gestures, however, did not produce changes in the policy options of either side: on the one hand the continued insistence by the Catalans for a binding referendum on self-determination and, on the other hand, a complete refusal of this, or even of the creation of a working group on the issue, by Madrid representatives in the bilateral commission. During the following months, however, the political situation just described appeared to remain at a standstill, with neither side offering alternative proposals. The Catalan independence forces keep initiating gestures to promote their goals and the central government and the Supreme Court keep invalidating them. One of the most important events occurring in 2019 was very polarizing. In October, the Court rendered its sentence in the trial against nine Catalan leaders sued for their participation in the aborted 2017 independence referendum, sentencing them to between nine and 13 years in prison on charges of sedition and, in some cases, misuse of funds. Once more this was followed in Catalonia by a return to huge public demonstrations. How things will develop from that phase is not easy to anticipate. At one extreme, secession could be seen as one possibility, due to its popular support, but unlikely given the Spanish constitutional clause on the unity of the country. On the other hand, a more likely and moderate possibility would be a return to earlier demands of the Catalans, as late as the 2010s, for full fiscal autonomy. A more realistic arrangement would be midway between an autonomous community and full secession, that is, to move to a formal federal system, the latter being supported by the Catalan Socialists and others, and being an option preferred by a third of the Catalans – almost twice as much as independence – during the first decade of this century, as will be seen in Chapter 3. Such an option was indeed adopted recently in Belgium and is common in plural societies, including of course Switzerland and Canada. After all, in plural societies, “federalism performs the special function of giving autonomy to ethnic minorities” (Lijphart 2012, 183). A federal system could even be asymmetrical, some regions getting more powers than others. But either way, it would not be easy to come by in Spain, given that a unitary system appears to be the only one conceivable for large segments of the elites at the center. Ultimately, however, as in many similar situations, federalism could turn out to be seen as a reluctant second choice for warring contenders (Cameron 2009, 311). But all in all it remains outside any possible accommodating efforts. The uncertain Basques The discussion of the Basque movement will be shorter, as many of its important features are common with those of the Catalan movement – except of course the crisis. Only the more unique features need to be discussed. A cultural renaissance, although weaker, also took place in the Basque Country during the second half of the nineteenth century, prior to the emergence

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of nationalism. While it appeared at about the same time as in Catalonia, it was “not comparable in quality and size” (Conversi 1997, 50). It was limited to the intelligentsia, never reaching the rest of the population. Actually it emerged in both Navarre and the Basque Country, and its goals were the preservation of the Basque language, literature, and history, and especially the defense of their fueros (common law statutes of medieval origin protecting local customs, privileges, and autonomy), which had prevailed in these regions and constituted central “symbols and instruments of economic autonomy”; their abolition in 1876, together with the cultural resurgence, were key conditions for the emergence of Basque nationalism (Conversi 1997, 47–8). The extreme weakness of the Basque tongue in these regions, perceived by many as on the verge of disappearing, was largely replaced by Spanish, even among the educated classes, and was, according to Conversi (1997, 53), the most important factor behind the weakness of that revival. Indeed, given the frailness of the Basque language, Sabino Arana, a central charismatic figure in the emergence of the region’s nationalism, ideologically and politically, stressed in particular the notion that race, not language, was the defining characteristic of the Basque identity, together with a strong identification to fundamentalist Catholicism. He strongly opposed the assimilation of immigrants. He spread myths concerning the nobility of the Basques and the purity of their race. These views prevailed for long; however in recent times, among most people, language has gained a prominent position in the definition of who is a Basque (Conversi 1997, 64–8). Social movement activism prevailed during the mid-1870s onward, with various nationalist associations, publications, and other types of groupings actively devoted to the revitalization of the Basque language and culture as well as to the restoration of the fueros. But as in Catalonia, the members of these groups soon turned to political action, with the creation of the Partido Nacionalista Vasco (PNV – Basque Nationalist Party); it was a first nationalist and moderate political party, founded by Sabino Arana in 1895 – a party which still exists today. The PNV was soon joined by other factions. It became the “most enduring organizational form of nationalism in the Basque Country” (Acha Ugarte and Pérez-Nievas 1998, 87). The party’s leadership was mainly from the professional class and its core support came from the lower-middle class and a few members of the intelligentsia, all with strong pro-Basque identification. These groups were sharply distinct politically from the industrial and commercial upper class, involved in the steel industry and economically linked to the Spanish upper classes; they were highly Castilianized, with strong identification to Spain. In this the Basque movement was different from that in Catalonia, which was supported by all sections of the middle and upper classes. The PNV favored both independence, as a long-term radical goal (seen as necessary for the religious salvation of the Basque race against heretical Spaniards) and the pragmatic pursuit of a statute of autonomy. After a period of repression during the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, the PNV became, during the Second Republic, the largest electoral force in the region, obtaining for instance 35 percent of the vote in 1936, with all other parties at around 15 percent or less (Diez Medrano 1995,

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85, table 7). A Statute of Autonomy was finally approved in 1936. On the eve of the civil war, both the Basque and Catalan nationalist parties had just become dominant in their regions. A new cycle of repression under Franco’s regime followed, equivalent to that in Catalonia. In particular the nationalist PNV was the object of extreme attacks, with its leadership going into exile or choosing to act clandestinely. The result was that the party was gradually reduced to a minor role under Franco. Subversive activism, however, prevailed after WWII, in particular during the 1950s and especially the 1960s, with major strikes mostly organized by labor organizations, but without much involvement from other groups, contrary to what had happened in Catalonia. Activist efforts at the regeneration of the PNV during the early 1950s, through the recruitment of youth, especially university students, into the party youth branch were to result in consequences of major proportions, unparalleled in Catalonia. Tensions between the passive old guard and the active youth party branch, as well as a crisis precipitated by the expulsion of a university student, led a large number of young militants to quit the party and create in 1959 a new nationalist organization – ETA. Language replaced race as the basis of its action and its radical independence goal was unqualified. It soon became more important than the PNV and emerged as a separatist, anticapitalist, and violent revolutionary movement against the Franco regime, indeed as practically the sole opposition to that regime. This constituted an obverse case, with a shift from party politics to movement activism, greatly facilitated in this instance by the absence of a democratic regime.37 ETA gradually increased its strength, engaging during the 1960s in cycles of violence, with an action-repression spiral strategy, each cycle of repression increasing its sympathy in the population. During the transition to democracy, the PNV reasserted its dominant role. It adopted a more modern position on socio-economic issues and politically, with some equivocation, it pressed claims for self-determination, large autonomy, and ultimately independence in the future. It became the main Basque negotiator in the elaboration of the new constitution, although not without tensions. The PNV was dissatisfied with its role in the drafting of the constitution and especially the refusal to recognize the Basque right to self-determination. In the end it withdrew from the constitutional committee and abstained from voting on the final document in Parliament; it even recommended abstention in the constitutional referendum (Heywood 1995, 45–6). Despite these reservations, Basque – and Catalan – nationalists were quite influential in making substantial gains towards self-governance. Under the statute of autonomy granted to the Basques, which gave them more autonomy than ever before, and in the elections which followed, the PNV mobilized substantial voting pluralities. It obtained about 40 percent of the vote in the two elections of the 1980s and it maintained this level of success during the first decade of this century. But the PNV support dropped by about 10 to 15 percent in the four elections held between these two periods (1986 to 1998),

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largely due to the emergence in 1986 of a new party resulting from a split within the PNV. This new contender, Eusko Alkartasuna (EA, Basque Solidarity), was also under a charismatic leader, Carlos Garaikoetxea, but it remained relatively weak during that period. Despite these losses, the PNV remained throughout these 30 years the largest party in the region’s elections, although this involved electoral coalitions with EA from 2001 to 2016. The PNV is among the strongest ethnoregionalist parties in Western Europe (Müller-Rommel 1998, 20). Its leaders always led the government, alone or in coalitions, since 1980, except in 2009, when for the first time a non-nationalist government led by the Socialists was formed. When one adds to the votes for these two parties the votes for other nationalist parties, the results indicate that the total nationalist vote has always constituted a substantial majority just below or above 60 percent. Both the PNV and EA are moderate on nationalism and socio-economic issues, although EA is slightly to the left of PNV and more pro-independence. Their sharp nationalist party competitor was Herri Batasuna (HB, People’s Unity), the radical political arm of ETA created in 1978, with again, under democracy, popular activism (partly) shifting to electoral politics. HB obtained 15 to 20 percent of the vote from 1980 to 2001, when it was outlawed because of its ties to ETA. The radical HB, both separatist and anti-capitalist, although relatively weak, did better after 1980 than the Catalan ERC, also a militant separatist party, but more moderate on the socio-economic dimension, with the ERC generally obtaining less than 10 percent of the vote. The reason, incidentally, for the larger relative support of HB during that period, despite its more radical orientation, was that it was still profiting from the earlier relative popularity of ETA, which had been almost the sole opposition to the Franco regime in the Basque Country. Given the low political diversity or competition at that time, the support for its radical option had been greater and still played in favor of HB, through “secondary socialization,”38 after the restoration of democracy (Diez Medrano 1995, ch. 11). As for the violent ETA, it had escalated its terrorist campaigns from the time of Franco’s death until October 2011, when it announced a definitive stop of its military activities.39 In terms of human deaths, its killings during the 1980s amounted to “between 30 and 40 deaths per year,” with a decline in the number of killings during the 1990s due to more efficient police actions and public condemnation (Diez Medrano 1995, 150). Finally, in April 2018, ETA announced the end of its existence, with a complete dissolution of all its structures. Johnston (1995) showed that between 1965 and 1980 the greater disunity and intransigence of the Basques – in part influenced by radicals – and the greater flexibility and moderation of the Catalans were linked to differences in their nationalist subcultures. These were characterized by more segmented relations among the first and more interconnected ones among the second, which operated to create different links within each group through singular interpersonal networks and organizations.

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The quiet Galicians While also a historical nationality, with its distinctive language and culture, Galicia’s levels of political nationalism and mobilization have been in sharp contrast with those of the former two, Catalonia and the Basque Country; nationalism and mobilization in Galicia did not emerge until the early 1900s and indeed for long remained negligible. Yet this region, like the other two, has a strong sense of regional identity, rooted in its distinctive language, culture, and institutions. But in most other political characteristics, it seriously lags behind the other two. What is especially crucial is that it constitutes a region which was and remains greatly disadvantaged economically; it is indeed one of the poorest regions of Spain, which in 2005 ranked 14 out of 17 in GDP per capita.40 But are not most highly mobilized ethnoregionalist movements characterized by regional economic disparities? If this is so, how can the Galician difference be explained? I will return to this paradox below. Galicia did experience a cultural revival in the late nineteenth century, but it was only a modest one. “Galicianism was a rather vague doctrine espoused by a small middle and upper class elite” (Payne 1971, 42). It was, according to Heywood (1995), preoccupied with the region’s language and was centered on a “rexurdimento, the rediscovery of the Galician literature which matched, and to some extent imitated, the Catalan renaixença.” But contrary to the Basques and Catalans, there is little indication that much activism developed about that time among Galicians, except for the development of a few “small and ineffectual organizations.” More significant organizations emerged only after the 1900s. The nationalism which slowly developed was more concerned with cultural than political matters and “never represented a challenge to the Spanish state” similar to those in Catalonia and the Basque Country (Heywood 1995, 25, endnote 9). At any rate nationalist activities were the objects of repression during Primo de Rivera’s harsh dictatorship. All along, however, Galician activism never got translated into political action equivalent to that of the other communities. The first significant political force appeared in Galicia only during the Second Republic, with the foundation in 1931 of the Partido Galleguista (PG, Galician Party); by the end of that regime, “the PG had become a strong force in the region” (Magone 2009, 254), at least enough to be granted, through its alliances, a status of autonomy in 1936, just before the Civil War. But under Franco’s repressive anti-nationalist policies, Galician nationalism almost disappeared. The region was however strongly favorable to his regime, with Franco being himself from Galicia. The PG chose a clandestine existence until 1950. During the 1960s some revolutionary nationalist groups emerged, but without success. During and after the transition, a nationalist resurgence occurred, although this was again a slow process. It was marked by the emergence of the Bloque Nacionalista Galego (BNG, Nationalist Galician Block), a left-wing party founded in 1983, strongly favorable to greater autonomy and even to federalism, but without any inclination towards independence. It was a relatively weak party during the

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1980s, although it did enter into coalitions with other small nationalist parties, when not in competition with some of them.41 Its sole support during that period was below 10 percent, and when the support for other nationalist forces are added to that, their joint support then amounted only to about 15 percent. But the BNG on its own, from the 1990s to 2009, asserted itself as a stronger nationalist force in Galicia. To be sure its results since then have been much weaker than those of its Catalan and Basque counterparts. While its equivalents in the other two regions, CiU and PNV, have been overall the dominant parties since the 1980s, generally governing their community, the BNG since 1989 never did better than coming second in votes and seats (twice) or third (four times), but always well behind the Conservative Party, the highly dominant party in the region. Since the transition the Conservatives registered electoral scores not much below or even slightly above 50 percent, and governed uninterruptedly, except for one term (2005–9), which was ruled by a Socialist–BNG coalition. The Socialists were usually the second largest party.42 The relative weakness of the nationalist parties in Galicia since 1980 constitutes an excellent indicator of the weakness of regional nationalist sentiments in that region.

Switzerland, a sharp contrast The conditions of relative harmony in the country as a whole If ethnic-linguistic conflicts have been and remain prevalent in all the regions examined so far, and in so many others, this definitely cannot be said about the situation in Switzerland. The country has not been immune from serious religious confrontations in past centuries, but a high level of harmony along those lines has finally been prevailing, like in many other small democracies. More strikingly, however, in an era of widespread linguistic mobilization in other Western plural societies, very high levels of accommodation between the linguistic groups in Switzerland have always been prevailing at the national level, albeit with important exceptions in a few cantons, notably in the Jura region.43 Hanspeter Kriesi (1990, 46), citing the title of a book in German by Karl Deutsch (1976), echoed the views of most observers of that country when he described Switzerland as “a paradigmatic case of political integration.” The Swiss situation is indeed one that has often puzzled analysts of conflict and harmony in multicultural societies. In this section, it will be argued that Switzerland is blessed by a unique combination of a host of factors deemed relevant for the development of a high level of harmony. Switzerland is a very small, but rich, country in the middle of Europe. It had a total population of 7.9 million in 2010, but only 6.1 million were Swiss citizens, the others being largely foreign workers who cannot easily obtain Swiss citizenship. For centuries the country consisted of loose alliances between increasing numbers of cantons which retained their sovereignty. Originally all cantons, except Fribourg and Bern, had only German as their official languages and the other cantons with French official languages entered the confederation only at

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the beginning of the nineteenth century. Now Switzerland is politically organized under a federal system, which divides it into a large number of cantons (26).44 As a plural society, like the others examined so far, there are two typical communal cleavages or potential lines of conflict present in Switzerland, that is, religious and linguistic. With regard to the first, in 2000, the two large religious groups, Catholics and Protestants, counted for 42 and 33 percent of the total population, respectively.45 Note that the predominance of Catholics is relatively recent. Historically, Protestants were clearly numerically dominant in Switzerland, both in the total population and among Swiss citizens, and this relative distribution remained in equilibrium during the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century. The 1970 census, however, showed a reversal, with Catholics becoming dominant in the population as a whole, and it is not before the 2000 census that this dominance prevailed even among Swiss citizens. These two religious groups are located all over the country, but each with pluralities in some cantons, especially for Catholics. Yet in 2000 the latter were a majority only in 12 cantons, while the Protestants constituted a majority in only one canton (Bovay and Broquet 2004). But the important aspect of this is that religious cleavages do not coincide with regional or cantonal divisions, while such coincidence, when present, is viewed as a factor intensifying conflict. The populations of the language groups are not as well balanced in number as are the religious ones. Following amendments, the constitution now recognizes four official languages of very unequal size. In 2000, German was numerically a very dominant language, spoken by 73 percent of Swiss citizens, followed far behind by French, with 21 percent, Italian, with 4 percent, and Romansh, with 1 percent (the rest, 2 percent, speaking non-national languages).46 These distributions were for a long time quite stable, going back to at least the beginning of the nineteenth century (see McRae 1983, 50, table 6).47 Contrary to religion, the linguistic and regional/cantonal cleavages largely coincide with one another. The four official languages are highly concentrated in specific regions, and these regions are relatively homogeneous, dominated by one language, in which more than 80 percent speak that language. The same prevails at the cantonal level, with 17 cantons predominantly German, four French, and one Italian, while four are recognized as multilingual, including one with some Romansh enclaves (Lüdi and Werlen 2005). In this case, it can be argued that the coincidence of language and regional divisions contributes to linguistic harmony rather than to conflict. On the other hand, it is important to stress that the religious and linguistic cleavages do not generally coincide. In particular, three of the four linguistic regions are religiously mixed to a high degree. While in 2000 Protestants constituted 33 percent of the total population of the country, there were 37 percent of them in the German region, 25 percent in the French one, and 29 percent in the Romansh communes. Conversely, the Catholics (42 percent overall) counted for 38 percent, 46 percent, and 63 percent in these three linguistic regions, respectively. Only the Italian region was very disproportionately Catholic (76 percent), with very few Protestants (6 percent) (Bovay and Broquet 2004, 111,

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table A-3). But overall these largely cross-cutting cleavages prevented them from reinforcing one another, again something deemed to facilitate accommodation along any one of them. Let us first review the historical trajectories of religious and linguistic conflict or harmony in Switzerland. For those less familiar with that history, it may come as a surprise that the country has not always been immune from communal conflict. Since the Reformation, religion had been the most persistent source of conflict in the country. Indeed the religious cleavage was an extremely divisive one, pitting the conservative Catholic minority against the liberal Protestant majority. Going as far back as the sixteenth century and for the succeeding three centuries, very deep crises erupted in open civil wars at least once in each of these centuries, that is, in 1531, 1656, 1712, and 1847. The Catholics were demanding a decentralized political system with a large degree of cantonal autonomy, particularly in religious matters, as a defensive position against the threat of centralization and secularization pursued by the radical majority. Probably underlying these grievances were the lower levels of economic development in Catholic cantons as well as the disadvantaged socio-economic positions of Catholics, at least according to data of the early twentieth century (Mayer 1952, 154–61). In short, in Switzerland, as in Canada and Belgium, the presence of serious religious grievances greatly contributed to tensions and conflict. And this quite clearly goes against the myth describing the Swiss as inherently prone to intercommunal harmony. What is amazing, however, “is that in spite of all the violence, the mutual animosity, the distrust and the intrigues, the Confederation did not break up altogether, that neither of the two religious groups crushed and suppressed the other.” Finally however accommodation did occur at the end of the 1847 war, despite the defeat of the Catholics, because of “the common interests, the fear of their powerful neighbors, the need of mutual aid for their defense… always prevailed over the passionate internal feuds and squabbles” (Mayer 1952, 176). The accommodation reached turned out to be a decisive one,48 gradually leading to the autonomy and religious freedom the Catholics had demanded. Thenceforth complete religious tolerance in the country has prevailed. Moreover, the war settlement even opened the way, only a year later, albeit not without Catholic resistance, to the elaboration in 1848 of the Federal Constitution, which constituted a compromise between the liberal Protestant majority and the conservative Catholic minority (Linder 2004) and which has been enduring since, except for revisions in 1874 and minor ones in 1999. With this, the cantons lost the sovereignty enjoyed under the ancient confederation, but retained a very large degree of autonomy and political participation. Turning from the religious to the linguistic cleavage, our main concern, a striking observation is that, as mentioned, no serious linguistic conflict ever developed in Switzerland as a whole, a situation almost unique when compared with that of other Western democracies. As McRae (1964, 8) put it, “a major struggle for the rights of the smaller language groups was never necessary, but rather linguistic equality was imposed almost prematurely upon the Old

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Confederation under the influence of the French Revolution.” If language, instead of religion, became important for nation building in Europe and elsewhere, in Switzerland only religion became a crucial issue, “while language hardly mattered at all” (Kriesi and Trechsel 2008, 6). To be sure, tensions, but only moderate ones, often occurred, as for instance in the case of the French– Swiss resistance to the adoption of the 1848 constitution, or German–French tensions during wars regarding relations with neighboring kin linguistic groups, or with milder linguistic group disagreements over specific issues or cultural differences. Recent times have also witnessed tensions between German-Swiss and their French and Italian counterparts, but so far nothing leading to grave disruptions (Bächtiger and Steiner 2004, 45–8). But as will be seen, a more serious exception to the overall pattern of harmony is the old and bitter conflict which reemerged during the late 1940s in the Jura region of the Bern canton. In their explanations of the high level of peaceful relations in that country, political scientists have generally stressed the presence of exceptional political institutions and culture. Foremost among these institutions is the presence of the consensus model of democracy, characterized by broad participation in government and broad agreement on the policies pursued. This model is seen as best exemplified by Switzerland, a country which meets all of its elements, except one – the judicial review of constitutional issues (Lijphart 2012, 2, 32, 39). Among these elements is the presence of a very high degree of decentralization, one of the highest in the world, and of very high degrees of cantonal and communes autonomy. An important element of that autonomy, devised for the protection of the linguistic minorities, in that migrants to a unilingual canton with a different language than their own must adopt the canton’s language, in particular in having to be instructed in that language, without the right to have minoritylanguage schools. Moreover, a different comparative study, this one bearing only on federal systems, also found that Switzerland was the most decentralized federal state. This ranking held in terms of revenues before transfers, expenditures after transfers, as well as when many other less easily measurable dimensions of federal systems were added to the overall picture (Watts 2008). This far-reaching decentralization and the extremely weak center thus created – albeit being strengthened over time – were key concessions made to the opponents of the 1848 constitution, with cantonal autonomy representing a safeguard for the protection of minorities; it gave them overproportional influence, especially when located in rural and mountainous cantons with low levels of economic development (Linder 2004, 22). Other Swiss political institutions are particularly consistent with the working of a consensus model. The central Parliament includes two chambers, a lower house, the National Council, with 200 deputies, and a higher chamber, the Council of Estates, representing the cantons with two elected representatives each. Contrary to Canada, for instance, both chambers have equal rights. The federal executive and supreme governing body is the Federal Council. It has only seven members – a constitutionally established number – elected by Parliament

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for a fixed term; one of its members is elected every year to become the president of the country, which has no prime minister. Parliament cannot be recalled by the Council, nor can the latter dissolve Parliament. In the mode of power sharing in broad coalitions, the composition of the Federal Council has since 1959 followed the so-called magic formula, which is based on informal practices. For long its seven seats have been shared by the four major parties, with two each to the Liberals, the Christian Democrats, and the Social Democrats, and one to the Swiss People’s Party. What again makes that broad coalition formula unique to Switzerland is that it has been permanent and remained unchanged for more than 40 years (1959–2003). Changes have however occurred since 2003, due to changes in the parties’ electoral fortunes. The Christian Democrats lost one seat, first to the People’s Party, but since 2009, the latter’s two seats are now shared with a splinter party, the Conservative Democratic Party.49 In addition to party representation, other socio-political dimensions, in particular the religious and linguistic ones, are taken into account in the composition of that Council. With regard to the linguistic dimension, from 1848 to 1981, “the most usual ratio between German speakers and ‘Latins’ (whether French or Italian) [was] five to two,” with a few periods showing a ratio of four to three (McRae 1983, 131); this has been a good reflection of the linguistic composition of the country, when not doing more than what the composition would entail. Since 1999, the constitution now states that an “equitable representation” of the linguistic regions should be respected. Power sharing does not only result from the role of cantons in decentralized federalism or from the very broad coalition of the major parties in the Federal Council, the cabinet, but also, as argued by Kriesi and Trechsel (2008), from the elaborate involvement of all other major interest groups in the policy decision processes. Their participation starts with agenda setting and continues in a pre-parliamentary phase of consultation with veto possibilities, a parliamentary phase with committees striving for compromises between the two chambers of government, a direct democracy phase and its blocking capacities, and finally the implementation phase, with federal-cantonal negotiations. All of these of course slow down the legislative process, but their consequences are further contributions to the building of wide political consensus. A rather unique, but important, Swiss institution is that of direct democracy, just mentioned, which allows for greater cantonal as well as popular participation in decision making, hence for another form of power dispersion. Direct democracy “considerably enhances the citizens’ opportunities for participation at all levels of the political system” (Linder 2004, 20). Kriesi and Trechsel (2008) even consider direct democracy as in many ways the most crucial institution of the Swiss political system. They claim that its instruments – referendums and popular initiatives – are nowhere “more developed than in Switzerland… and unlike anywhere else, the Swiss institutions of direct democracy embody a truly system-formative device, greatly impacting on party competition, government, Parliament, the legislative process, and policy making at all levels of the federal state” (p. 49). The Swiss use of these instruments, which has been increasing over

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time, very far exceeds that of all other countries of the Council of Europe. Popular vote based on these, for instance, occurred 56 times during the first seven years of this century (Kriesi and Trechsel 2008, 57). Altogether they end up reducing the autonomy of the state, delaying the enactment of federal laws, increasing the power of smaller parties, and especially providing a majority of the people and/or the cantons, allied in particular to communal minorities, with a way to block government policies through their veto power. Finally, the Swiss multiparty system is another typical component of the Swiss political institutions. As an additional element in the dispersion of power, the party system is one of the most fragmented in Western Europe. It is characterized by very large numbers of minority parties, ten of which, for instance, won seats in the 2011 National Council elections. Importantly, this comes with weak electoral success of even the major parties: in national elections between 1919 (when another element, a proportional system, was introduced) and 2011, none of the parties ever obtained as much as 30 percent of the votes and 32 percent of the seats in the National Council (Office fédéral de la statistique 2011). Needless to say, some forms of governmental coalitions50 have been unavoidable, given the weakness of these parties. The latter are aligned on religious-ideological cleavages (Protestants, Catholics, and secular) and on left and right class cleavages. But what is striking is that, contrary to Canada, Belgium, or Spain, there are no parties organized on linguistic lines in Switzerland. All parties are represented in the different language regions, so that parties cannot easily stress linguistic issues for partisan goals (Bächtiger and Steiner 2004). But other important factors also account for the absence of linguistic parties, as discussed below. Meanwhile, in recent decades, the major parties, except the People’s Party, have been losing ground, in National Council elections, to radical right, antiforeigner parties, and then to new left parties, Greens and others, all this contributing to a record fragmentation of the party system. But more significantly the Swiss People’s Party, a nationalist and ultra-conservative party under the charismatic leadership of Christoph Blocher, has been doubling its popular support in recent elections, to clearly become the largest party since 2003. Its defense of traditions, its opposition to European integration, and its antiimmigration stance contributed to a greater polarization of the party system and to a decrease in its political consensus style (Kriesi and Trechsel 2008). What divided the Swiss Jurassians? If during previous centuries many religious conflicts occurred in Switzerland, recent times have revealed that the country was also not immune to linguistic conflict, even of a severe kind, albeit not at the national level. This indicates that “the Swiss are not more peaceful by nature than others” (Linder 2010, 28). Four multilingual cantons, with historical linguistic minorities, are officially recognized in the constitution. Two, Fribourg and Valais, are bilingual with a large French-speaking majority, one, Bern, is bilingual with an even larger

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German-speaking majority, and a fourth, Graubünden, is trilingual, with a dominant German-speaking group, but also official minorities of Romansh and Italian speakers.51 Over the years, these four cantons have experienced very different levels of linguistic harmony or conflict. Graubünden and Valais have been cantons with relatively high levels of peaceful relations for a long time, while a moderate level of conflict did occur in Fribourg and very intense levels of confrontations and even violence have occurred in Bern between the Frenchspeaking minority in the Jura region and the very large German majority in the canton as a whole.52 The focus in what follows will bear on the case of the Jura, with its most unusual pattern of conflict by Swiss standards. When the most recent and significant phase of linguistic conflict53 emerged during the late 1940s, that region constituted only a small minority in the northern part of Bern canton, with a population counting for only 14 percent in 1970. In addition, if the Jura region was three quarters French speaking, it was however divided on religious lines. By 1960, its three northern administrative districts were heavily French and Catholic, while its three southern ones were almost equally French, but largely Protestant. Conversely, its seventh district (Laufen) was almost entirely German, but heavily Catholic.54 All of this contrasted with the Old Canton, heavily German and Protestant. While linguistic pluralism had developed over centuries in the other multilingual cantons, the Jura-Bern link emerged much later. It is only in 1815 that the Jura was annexed to the Bern canton, after complicated international negotiations at the Congress of Vienna. The annexation therefore resulted from the decision of outsiders and without attention to preferences expressed within the Jura itself; although the Jurassian views varied widely, there were in north Jura no wishes to join Bern. According to Keech (1972, 397), latent tensions with the old canton existed subsequently, leading in particular to a series of short-lived separatist movements, with the most serious issues bearing on religious, not linguistic, problems. While no formal religious grievances remain, “the hostile feeling aroused by the religious persecutions of the nineteenth century still reverberate in the (recent) separatist leanings of the Roman Catholic regions of the Jura” (Mayer 1968, 729–30). Language did not emerge as the salient problem until the decade before 1914 and during WWI. But it subsequently became the object of much greater confrontations when the conflict, latent after WWI, reemerged during the late 1940s to become increasingly severe during the three subsequent decades. Its central goal was, as before, the creation of a separate Jura canton (Mayer 1968; McRae 1983, 187 ff.; Jenkins 1986). A very important precipitating factor for the current phase of the conflict occurred when in 1947 the Bern cantonal legislature rejected the nomination of a Francophone Jurassian to head a cantonal department, which was considered too important for such a French-speaking candidate. The affaire Moeckli, referring to the name of the candidate, became in the Jura a vivid symbol of the marginal minority position of Francophones in the canton,

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which led to immediate mobilization in the French Jura and the outburst of massive protest. Its main organization, created in 1947, soon named the Rassemblement jurassien, adopted radical goals; it became the central organization of the “separatist movement,” striving for a “Jura libre.” As in the analogous movements reviewed in previous sections, its leaders, Roland Béguelin and Roger Schaffter, were intellectuals. The support of the movement came mainly from the northern French/Catholic districts. Although much weaker, a countermovement, the Union of the patriotes jurassiens, was launched by anti-separatists, mainly in the districts from the south (Mayer 1968; Bassand 1975). With the Bern government regularly wavering between rigid and accommodative positions, the above developments in turn soon led to cantonal accommodation involving constitutional reforms. This time reforms were achieved in 1950, under the aegis in particular of a moderate Jurassian committee. Some of the changes implemented were important, including the recognition of the Jurassians as a distinct people and the granting of equal status to French and German as cantonal languages, but were deemed totally inadequate within the more contentious wings of the movement. While subsequent efforts by divergent groups went on to reach moderate accommodations and in particular to obtain greater Jura autonomy within Bern, the separatist movement remained adamant and finally pressed the Bernese canton to consult the population on the establishment of a new Jura canton. A special referendum was held in 1959 and was viewed by all as a crucial test of the separation option. Its results turned out to be negative, overwhelmingly so in the Old Canton, albeit also by a narrow majority in the Jura as a whole. But large differences appeared within the Jura: while it was strongly approved by very large majorities in the three northern Francophone and Catholic districts, it was equally strongly defeated in the three southern districts, also Francophone, but Protestant, as well as in the German and Catholic Laufen district.55 The defeat of the Rassemblement jurassien did not however lead to any retreat on their part, its leaders choosing instead to strengthen their organization and to escalate the confrontations. As often happens in movements facing crises, a small radical group, the Front de libération jurassien, later renamed Force Démocratique, embarked on violent protests between 1962 and 1964 (for some details, see Mayer 1968, 739; Jenkins 1986).56 On the other hand moderate groups in the Jura renewed their campaign for only greater regional autonomy, while the Bernese authorities engaged once more in accommodative efforts through various committees and commissions. But this met again with the rejection of any cooperation on the part of the separatist leaders. The Bern administration finally decided in 1970 to follow the traditional Swiss route of popular referendums. It amended its constitution to recognize the full rights of the Jura electorate to decide on the creation of a new canton. This was accompanied by the adoption of detailed procedures to be followed in the event of future referendums on the subject. As a first key decision, the whole Jura electorate would have to vote for the creation of a new canton.

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Such a vote did take place in 1974, producing this time a narrow overall majority in favor of a new canton. But as in the 1959 referendum, the Francophone Jura districts were sharply divided along the same lines: while the three northern Catholic ones voted very strongly in favor, the three southern Protestant ones did just the opposite. According to the previously adopted procedures, this had to lead to a second phase, equally crucial, in which the dissenting southern districts alone would have to vote for or against remaining within Bern. This vote was held in 1975 and, as could be expected, all three again strongly chose the Bern option. So did the German/Catholic Laufen district subsequently. It is striking that, as in 1959, language did not account alone for the vote: both language and religion were necessary conditions for the support of separatism (Mayer 1968, 735–8; McRae 1983, 201; Jenkins 1986, 164). That is, in a Bern canton overwhelmingly German and Protestant, only the districts distinct from it on both the linguistic and religious cleavages (French and Catholic) strongly favored separation. The three southern districts, also Francophone, but Protestant, voted strongly against it. Thus all the districts sharing one cleavage with the Old Canton (religion in the south, language in Laufen) and sharing the other cleavage with the Jura were apparently torn between their identification with, and allegiances to, these two regions, and in the end it appears that their allegiances57 to Bern were stronger than those to the Jura.58 Why? Presumably, I would suggest, because of some rational calculations regarding in particular the much greater political and economic power and resources of the Old Canton than of the Jura. Maintaining an alliance with Bern must have appeared as involving both greater overall securities in all public domains and to be more potentially rewarding than an alliance with a much weaker separate Jura. This was also no doubt related to the dual identifications with, and loyalties to, both Bern and the Jura among citizens of those districts. Conversely the absence of conflicting identification with, and loyalties to, the Jura in the north,59 and the greater salience of its cultural resources and potential political gains must have made its citizens less constrained in their rejection of Bern and its potentially greater assets. When all necessary constitutional and administrative arrangements had finally been met, the creation of a new Jura canton, which split the region and included only the three northern districts, was finally approved in September 1978 by no less than 82 percent of the voters in a national Swiss referendum. The separation became official in January 1979. The formation of a new canton did much to reduce the intensity of the conflict, but this did not satisfy the Rassemblement jurassien who vowed to continue its struggle aiming at the reunification in the new canton of the three “occupied” southern French districts (McRae 1983; Jenkins 1986). With this I come to the end of a detailed presentation of the patterns of communal conflict and harmony prevailing in four modern Western societies. In the subsequent chapters, I turn to a systematic examination of the determinants, both social-psychological and structural, which I will argue account for these patterns.

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Notes 1 Societies identified as plural by Lijphart are divided not only along ethnic lines, but also along religious, ideological, cultural-linguistic, or racial lines, together with high levels of institutional, especially party, segmentation. 2 Because of changes in census question formulations and in classifications of ethnic origins, it is not possible to present more recent comparative figures. 3 The total amounts to slightly more than 100 percent because of the possibility of some multiple responses. 4 The elements of the consensus model include, among others, federalism/decentralization, bicameral parliament, judicial review by the Supreme Court, multiparty systems, broad multiparty coalitions, and proportional representation (Lijphart 2012, 3–4). The last three are not present in Canada. 5 When revenues rather than expenditures are compared, from least to most decentralized, Switzerland is the most decentralized, preceded immediately by Canada. 6 Some historians dated the emergence of Quebec nationalism earlier, at the time of the Conquest in 1760, while others, including Ouellet (1964), dated it to the early 1800s. 7 The brief account of this paragraph relies on Fernand Ouellet’s (1962) more detailed chronology. Regarding the social bases of these early movements, see this and Ouellet (1964). 8 The review of the historical developments of the late 1950s and early 1960s which follows relies heavily on the informative presentation of Gingras (1971, ch. 4); see also Gingras and Nevitte (1983). 9 Father Wilfrid Morin had already published by that time Nos droits à l’indépendance politique (1938), harboring strong religious orientations. 10 But support for a clear independence option in 1966 was not much stronger than the combined 9 percent of the RIN and RN support (Pinard and Hamilton 1978, 742–3). 11 The RN joined the PQ as an organization, but the RIN, unable to do so because of disagreements with the PQ, dissolved itself while urging its members to individually join that party, something which was successful. 12 The five Quebec conditions were: recognition of Quebec as a distinct society, limitations to the spending powers of the federal government, the constitutional recognition of Quebec’s new immigration agreement, the obligation to have three Supreme Court judges from Quebec (out of nine), and a veto power of Quebec on constitutional reform. 13 The main sources consulted for this section were Lorwin 1966, 1974a, 1974b; Dunn 1972; Hill 1974; Obler et al. 1977; Frognier, Quevit, and Stenbock 1982; McRae 1986; Lejeune 1994; De Winter 1998a, 1998b; Buelens and Van Dyck 1998; Lijphart 1977, 1999, 2012; Deschouwer 2009a, 2009b, 2012; Deschouwer and Sinardet 2010; Abts, Poznyak, and Swyngedouw 2012; Deschouwer and Reuchamps 2013; André and Depauw 2015. 14 As elsewhere in Europe, ethnic parties are often identified as regionalist or ethnoregionalist parties. 15 More details on the VU cyclical patterns are presented in Chapter 4. 16 An early breakaway from the VU, in 1978, the Vlaams Blok remained weak at the beginning, but has had much more success since the 1990s, as seen later. But it is foremost a right-wing rather than a nationalist party. 17 For short details, see Hill 1974, 66. Authors differ regarding the date of the creation of RW; we follow Hill, as well as McRae (1986, 140). 18 The electoral data regarding the VU and the RW were drawn from Deschouwer 2009a, 129, table 5.6; 2009b. Those regarding the FDF, from Buelens and Van Dyck 1998, 57, table 4.2; also Deschouwer 2009b, 2012; Abts et al. 2012; André and Depauw 2015. Again cyclical patterns on the Francophone support are detailed in Chapter 4.

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19 The main sources for this section are Payne 1971; Linz 1973a, 1973b, 1975, 1985; Greenwood 1977; Conversi 1990, 1997; Clark 1992; Diez Medrano 1995; Heywood 1995; Acha Ugarte and Pérez-Nievas 1998; Marcet and Argelaguet 1998; Lijphart 1999, 2012; Guibernau 2000a, 2000b; Moreno 2001; Magone 2009; Herrera and Markoff 2011; Rico 2011; Marti 2013; Marti and Cetrà 2016. 20 Data given on the prevalence of these languages are not based on census statistics, as there are none; they are my rough averages drawn from somewhat divergent data reported by Conversi (1990, 58), Heywood (1995, 22, table 1.1), and Diez Medrano (1995, 20); see also less rigorous, but possibly more recent, estimates in Magone (2009, 52–5). It appears that about half the people in Valencia and a quarter in the Baleares speaks versions of Catalan, and that about one in ten still speaks Basque in Navarre (see Moreno 2001, 104, n. 2). 21 This and the following paragraph follow closely Lijphart (2012). 22 Nationalist mobilization also occurred, but at an even slower pace in the other linguistically distinct communities of Valencia, the Baleares, and Navarre; these will not be discussed here, in part because they have not received much attention in the literature in English. 23 The crisis resulted from the government’s adoption of a law giving to the military the authority to employ wide repressive measures against rising Catalan nationalism (Diez Medrano 1995, 95). 24 Parties of the right obtained 17 percent and others 13 percent. The Lliga vote was a vote for the coalition, Solidaritat Catalana, but while the coalition dissolved in 1910, the Lliga remained the dominant party until the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera (Diez Medrano 1995, 94–5, 102, table 8). 25 For some brief, but vivid, descriptions of that repression, see Guibernau (2004, 45–9). 26 One can therefore say that like Quebec, Spain had its own Quiet Revolution. 27 A vivid description of popular activism evolving into party action, under the influential leadership of Jordi Pujol, is provided by Diez Medrano (1995, 160–2). 28 The CDC, a larger partner, had been set up in 1974, as a center-left party – defining itself as nationalist, democratic, politically moderate, and socially progressive – and its dominant figure was Jordi Pujol for more than 25 years. The UDC, a smaller nationalist and center-right party, had its origins during the Second Republic. It was a more moderate party than the CDC, with greater attachment to Spain (Diez Medrano 1995, 167–70). 29 This marked the first alternation in power since the CiU’s first election in 1980. 30 The party was however less successful in Spanish general elections than in regional ones, its scores in the national ones in Catalonia hovering around 20 and 30 percent between 1982 and 2011. 31 The sources of the election data in the last two paragraphs are, from 1977 to 1999, Moreno (2001, 125, table 4.2), and, from 2000 onwards, Magone (2009, 238, table 5.12) and election resources on the internet. 32 The Socialist coalitions formed in 2003 and 2006 marked the first alternations in power since 1980, the position always held by CiU since then. 33 The five parties to the agreement would approve the first question, but only three favored complete independence. 34 The non-secessionist parties, the Catalan Socialists and the Conservatives, and the Ciutadans obtained 39 percent of the votes and 52 seats, with the rest, 11 seats, going to other minor parties in favor of a legal road to secession. 35 The question: “Do you want Catalonia to be an independent country in the form of a republic?” 36 Puigdemont’s forces (JuntsxCat), at 21.7 percent of the vote, were at one of their lowest levels, while ERC, with 21.4 percent, almost doubled its usual score. As for the Canditatura d’Unitat Popular, its 2015 vote was cut by about one half, to 4.5 percent. See details in note 28 of Chapter 4.

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37 This account is drawn from Diez Medrano (1995, 137–8). 38 In addition to ideological socialization through its publications, secondary socialization resulted from membership in ETA and the experience of repression (Diez Medrano 1995, 187–9). 39 ETA had declared ceasefires before, in 1989, 1998, and 2006, which never lasted for very long. 40 For comparative details, see p. 80 below. 41 Including the moderate nationalist Galician Coalition (Coalicion Galega) whose last electoral participation was in 1993. 42 The sources of the election data are election resources on the internet. 43 The relative absence of nationalist movements in Nordic countries should also be mentioned (Elklit and Tonsgaard 1992). For other cases in marginal areas, see also Allardt (1981). 44 The main sources consulted for this section were Mayer 1952, 1968, 1972; Steiner 1969, 1974, 1985; Dunn 1972; Keech 1972; Daalder 1974; Girod 1974; Lorwin 1974b; Lijphart 1977, 1999, 2012; Obler et al. 1977; Schmid 1981; McRae 1983; Jenkins 1986; Kriesi 1990; Elklit and Tonsgaard 1992; Hooghe 1992; Bächtiger and Steiner 2004; Linder 2004, 2010; Lüdi and Werlen 2005; Bovay and Broquet 2004; Kriesi and Trechsel 2008. 45 The many other religious groups are all very small, around 1 percent each, for a total just below 10 percent; the largest is the Islamic community, with 4 percent. Another 11 percent declared no affiliation and 4 percent did not report any. For an overview, see Bovay and Broquet 2004. 46 For the total population, at that time, these percentages were, respectively, 64 percent, 20 percent, 7 percent, and 1 percent, with 9 percent for non-national languages. 47 There are different dialects spoken by members of all linguistic groups, but most notably in the German region, in which no less than 91 percent rely only on the Swiss-German dialect in their families rather than on standard German; that dialect is really the dominant language in that region. Conversely, in the French region, the “patois romand” (together with or without French) was used in the family only by 1 percent of its members; here the dialect has been losing ground over time and faces an “inexorable erosion.” Finally, in the Italian region, 21 percent of the Swiss speak the dialect (“italo-grison”) in their families, but the dialect is also receding. Most of these dialects have many versions, particularly in the German region, and McRae (1983, 70) argues that this diversity in the region makes the majority of Germans appear as less of a threat to the other linguistic groups. 48 It ought however to be mentioned that the Sonderbund war of 1847 lasted only 26 days, with hardly more than a hundred dead (Kriesi 2008, 2). 49 In 2009, after a split in the People’s Party, leading to the creation of the Conservative Democratic Party, each faction got one of their two seats. 50 There have been various formulas of coalitions in the cantonal governments, but generally all-party governments have prevailed in large urban cantons with multiparty systems and in which no party had a majority (on this issue, see Girod 1974). 51 In 2000, Fribourg and Valais were 63 percent French speaking and 29 and 28 percent German, respectively, Bern was 84 percent German speaking and only 8 percent French, and Graubünden was 68 percent German speaking, 15 percent Romansh, and 10 percent Italian (Lüdi and Werlen 2005, 23, table 12; figures are in each case with about 6 percent of non-national languages). 52 For an older, but relevant and enlightening comparative analysis of the levels of peace and harmony within these four cantons, see Keech (1972). On the Jura, see also the overviews in Mayer (1968), McRae (1983, ch. 5), and Jenkins (1986), which are the main sources of what follows. 53 Before 1900, many previous phases occurred, often going as far back as the early nineteenth century, but while accompanied each time by demands for a separate

50

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55 56 57 58

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Comparative overview canton, they were bearing more on religious than linguistic issues. Moreover, all phases before the 1940s were short lived (for details, see Mayer 1968, 724 ff.; Bassand 1975; Jenkins 1986). More specifically, the three northern districts were 87 percent French and 81 percent Catholic, while the three southern districts were almost equally French (79 percent), but no less than 74 percent Protestant. The last district was 97 percent German, but heavily Catholic (83 percent); data based on male Swiss citizens, drawn from Mayer (1968, 719, table 3). The districts’ composition contrasted with that of the Old Canton, which was more than 90 percent German and Protestant. For precise results of this referendum and the two subsequent ones, see McRae (1983, 202, table 36) and Jenkins (1986). Mayer (1968, 739) notes that the violent action “copied methods used in Quebec and South Tyrol.” In turn, all these allegiances were reinforced by distinctive party support, to Catholic parties in the north and Laufen, and the Socialist and Farmer parties in the south and the rest of Bern (compare with McRae 1983, 206–7; see also Dunn 1972, 21–2). From another conceptual perspective, the Old Canton and north Jura, when compared, had parallel linguistic and religious cleavages – structural conditions deemed conducive to conflict – whereas in the other Jura districts, one of those cleavages crosscut with one in the Bern canton and another with one in north Jura – something viewed as favoring accommodation. Keech reports that the ethnic identifications of the French-speaking Jurassians were stronger than those of the minorities in the other multilingual cantons (Keech 1972, 398). Unfortunately, this does not tell us whether this was particularly true of the north Jurassians, but it can be assumed that it was.

3

Social-psychological determinants of nationalist conflict I Motivational components

Motivational determinants In Chapter 1, I briefly summarized the set of determinants which ought to be examined in order to account for the various levels and modalities of contentious or harmonious relationships between the nationalist groups in the four countries considered. Let me now turn to the task of examining them in detail, starting in this chapter with social-psychological factors. The first set to be examined concerns the motivational determinants. Whichever theoretical approach one adopts, the analysis of contentious collective action always implies, at the micro level, some essential motivational dimensions. The latter however remain too often implicit, vague, or incomplete. This problem is particularly serious in the analyses of nationalist conflicts, among which this neglect often prevails. To be sure the literature on social movements pays at times more attention to motivation, at least among those proponents of social-psychological perspectives (e.g., Klandermans 1984, 1997; Opp 2009). In other perspectives it is, although essential, often overlooked. A social-psychological theory developed elsewhere (Pinard 2011) constitutes an effort to be explicit and encompassing. It offers, within a larger synthesis, a reconciliation of previous, but conflicting, motivational perspectives. This is to be considered here. A brief summary follows which will then be confronted with the claims found in the nationalist movements’ literature.

A motivation model This theoretical approach finds its inspiring sources among psychologists, in the writings by Atkinson (1964, ch. 9), as well as by Atkinson and Feather (1966) and Feather (1982, 1990). Atkinson holds that to be motivated to engage in any action, an individual must be moved by an internal motive, which is the internal need, force, or drive pushing him to action, and by an external incentive, which represents the good “out there” pulling him into action, and by some expectancy of success. This model is a multiplicative one; these three major components are all necessary for an individual to engage in some action.1 But since Atkinson’s model bears on the actions of individuals engaged in the pursuit of private

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goods, an elaboration of his theory is necessary to deal with groups of individuals pursuing some collective good, particularly through social movements, not to mention nationalist ones. In the elaboration developed, the internal motives pushing one to act are likely to be derived from any or all of the following subcomponents. They can be rooted in all kinds of shared objective deprivations, felt grievances, or threats, especially relevant ones, bearing on problems encountered by the group. The impact of objective deprivations or felt grievances is an issue which has for long been debated. A central hypothesis developed was that they ought to be included as potential factors, indeed very important ones. Objective deprivations are defined as disadvantageous conditions or morally objectionable situations, actual or anticipated, as perceived by members of a group. Felt grievances refer to experienced sentiments of discontent about such actual or anticipated conditions or situations, evaluated as unjust or illegitimate and attributable to some responsible agents. More concretely they involve inequalities and dissatisfactions regarding the distribution of power, wealth, status, and other resources, as well as disagreements over the goals which the groups are striving for or the ways they employ to get at them, such as problems related to language, religious, and education issues, types of organizations, and cultural patterns, etc. In what follows, deprivations will refer to the objective conditions, while the term grievances will imply felt sentiments. When they are only anticipated, they will constitute subcategories identified as objective or felt threats. The internal motives can also come from simple aspirations; such motives are generally less important for most participants in social movements, although more so among leaders and organizers, particularly when their action takes place through political parties, something very frequent in ethnic movements. Aspirations refer to an individual’s desires for some potential goods, collective or selective, which are desired, but not considered as having been unjustly denied to him. Such desires are therefore, by definition, not the result of deprivations. But aspirations could be important for all participants when, as will be seen, selective rewards turn out to become necessary. The third source of the internal motives can be derived from a sense of moral obligation that one ought to participate in some collective action because one feels a sense of moral duty to do so. Such moral obligations are likely to be rooted in the grievances just described. At least one of these motives will be necessary for a person to join others in collective action. As for the external incentive component, it can be provided by collective or by selective goods or by a mixture of the two. A collective good or incentive (or public good) is a good the benefits of which cannot be withheld from members of a collectivity who did not contribute to providing it, as for instance improved economic conditions and/or increased autonomy and power for a nationalist group. A selective good, reward, or incentive is defined as a benefit which accrues only to members of a collectivity actually making contributions to the provision of a collective good, such as some financial reward or career benefits obtained in return for one’s contribution. Note that if the collective

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good at times appears as simply a mirror of the prevailing grievances, it is not always that simple, as for instance when the pursuit of political goals appears more realistic than the search of solutions to economic grievances. Finally, the third necessary motivational component is the presence of some expectancy of success in the various actions engaged in to reach the goals of the movement. This expectancy is built on sentiments of both individual and group influences. The model is of course about actual participation, as when one provides his/her voting support, or becomes a member, an organizer, or a leader. A consideration of simple adherence, according to which people simply believe in the goals of the movement, without any actual participation, will involve modifications to be examined below. Another motivational dimension very closely associated with the motivational components mentioned concerns the emotions very often generated by these components. Emotions are defined as sentiments or feelings emerging directly as reactions to events or resulting indirectly from affective bonds. Although conceptually close to all motivational components, emotions are particularly close to felt grievances, and for this reason, references will often be made to combined grievances/emotion components. Examples of such emotions include outrage, anger, and indignation, or mild irritation, accompanying grievances or threats, according to their perceived seriousness; pride in one’s conforming to a sense of moral obligation; enthusiasm for envisioned collective gains, and fear for corresponding losses; pleasures of selective rewards; hopes for expected success, and despair for expected losses. Now there will be variations in the mix of components involved, in particular according to the types of participant considered. Three ideal situations can be distinguished. The first concerns purely altruistic actors, whose internal motives are only derived from a sense of moral obligation to do their share. These actors are not of course motivated by external selective rewards. The three necessary motivating elements moving them to action are a sense of moral obligation, the appeal of some collective goods, and the perception of some expectancy of success in their pursuit of these goods. By contrast, in the case of potential contributors moved exclusively by egoistic, self-interested drives, two other ideal situations could prevail. Consider the situations in which the benefits which these contributors expect to derive from the provision of a collective good exceed their contributing costs. Specifically, their participation would make a difference in terms of increasing marginal returns on the collective goods, given that returns are progressively larger. In that situation, members would tend to lose from free riding, that is, by leaving to others the task of providing the good. Motivation in that case would result from three necessary conditions, one, the degree of felt grievances/emotions, plus the degree of simple aspiration for the collective goods, two, the net value of those goods, and three, the expectancy of success in getting them. Second, consider the obverse situations, when contributions yield only decreasing marginal returns, with progressively smaller returns accruing to late contributors. In that case, totally self-interested members would realize

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that their late contributions would add little and that it would be to their advantage to free ride, unless provided with selective incentives overriding their personal costs. In that situation, the sole motivation to participate could be produced again by three necessary conditions, one, the degree of aspiration for these selective rewards, two, the net positive value of these rewards, and three, the expectancy that such rewards can be obtained. Let me add that this type of motivation is particularly valid in the possibly rare case of pure opportunists, for whom the goal pursued is irrelevant and only private rewards count. But what is important is that under most empirical conditions, this set of ideal situations is unlikely to prevail. Rather, a mix of motivational determinants is likely to be present. Most of the time participants will be moved by both (strong) self-interest and (weak) altruism, so that the motivations underlying altruistic contributions will combine, in varying degrees, with one of the two types of motivation described for purely self-interested contributions. More concretely, most of the time actors will be motivated by a mix, in various degrees, of grievances and/or aspirations and/or moral obligations. If so, both collective and, at times, selective incentives will be necessary for one to make a contribution, as well of course as some expectancy of success. These propositions can be illustrated by simple examples of participants in the Quebec independence movement. Some persons could decide to participate in various actions of the movement or simply vote for it because, for instance, of their grievances or emotions concerning Quebecers’ share of political power and/or their economic standing and/or their status recognition in Canada and/ or the future of their language and culture; in addition they could feel that independence could provide solutions, acting as incentives, to these conditions; finally they might consider that there are good chances that the movement could be successful in realizing such goals. Now some participants might engage in movement organizational tasks, not only because of their grievances, but also because they feel it is their obligation to do their share in achieving such goals. Others might do that because they aspire to the rewards given only when such participation occurs, as for instance some monetary support or social recognition. Often a large number of individuals, rather than engaging in any actual action, simply adhere to a movement’s goals, that is, believe that the movement is engaged in the pursuit of a just cause. For such simple adherence, the motivation model is greatly simplified, given that adherence generates no moral obligation and calls for no selective incentive or expectancy of success, and given that different forms of action need not enter into consideration. A person’s adherence will be motivated only by a mix of grievances/emotions and aspirations for the goods (with again the first likely to be more important), and by the net value of these collective goods. In subsequent chapters, bearing specifically on the independence movement in Quebec, one of the most frequent forms of participation considered will be the provision of one’s voting support for sovereignist parties in elections or in favor of a sovereignist option in referendums, as well as, conversely, support for federalist parties and their opposite options. But this form of participation

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is certainly one of the most elementary and least demanding, involving only minimal costs – the time spent to go to a polling station – and requiring very little in terms of selective rewards. This form of participation is therefore very close, but not equivalent, to simple adherence, since it involves some minimal action; in that participation, grievances, and collective goals play motivational roles, together with mild expectancy of success. Conversely those sharing federalist convictions might engage in analogous forms of participation or adherence, or federalist voting support, because they feel threatened in some way by the opposed option or because they think that the present status of Quebec in the confederation is a better solution, perceiving either no problems or simply problems not justifying the pursuit of independence; they could also think that that option would result in greater bads than goods, that other solutions would be preferable, and that it is possible to achieve them. Senses of moral obligation or simple aspirations, all with emotions, could analogously also be present. In short, these are the motivational factors which will most often be considered in the analyses bearing on either side of the conflict (for an early empirical test of the model, see Pinard and Hamilton 1986).

Recent perspectives on nationalist movements: underlying motivations Let us examine some recent theoretical and empirical work in the study of nationalist movements and their perspectives regarding the role of motivation, in particular regarding the role of ethnic grievances, but also of incentives. It will be seen that different writers place the emphasis on different types of grievances, be they economic, political, status, and/or cultural grievances. Less attention is paid to most other motivational components, but collective incentives are at times considered briefly or indirectly among those authors. In his early analysis of the conflicts opposing the Scottish, Welsh, and Irish peoples to the Anglo-Saxons, Hechter (1975) originally insisted that class-economic inequalities and regional-economic inequalities were the most important sources of grievances and motivation underlying these conflicts, the two being actually related to one another. Communal regional inequalities – internal colonialism – were engendering communal class inequalities – a cultural division of labor, with its unequal allocation of occupational roles on the basis of communal distinctions, accompanied by unequal education and income.2 Faced with criticism that obviously such a situation did not prevail in the highly economically developed Lowlands in Scotland, nor in other advantaged regions elsewhere, such as the Basque Country and Catalonia in Spain, Hechter (1985, 1999, introduction) accepted these criticisms and responded by elaborating further his notion of the cultural division of labor. He distinguished a hierarchical type, the one originally discussed and relevant for the Highlands in Scotland and many other disadvantaged communal groups, and a new segmental type, characterized by equal, and possibly even higher, class positions for members of peripheral communal groups concentrated and specialized in occupational roles at all class levels, a situation prevailing in overdeveloped peripheral regions such as

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Lowland Scotland. But in the case of segmental division of labor, Hechter was disregarding not only a role regarding economic grievances, but also of any type of grievances among members of advantaged peripheral groups, something seriously opened to question, with their motivation being now simply rooted in selective and collective incentives, backed by collective solidarity. What about in particular the possible role of political grievances?3 Hechter’s (2000) subsequent book on nationalism came with major modifications of his perspective. With regard to motivation proper, the two dimensions of the cultural division of labor, and especially internal colonialism, were no longer seen as key determinants of nationalist contention; they were simply factors leading to the development of salient nationalist identities.4 Being explicitly skeptical of any motivation analysis, Hechter simply assumed interests to be the motivating forces. However, interest is a generalized concept which includes implicitly both internal motives such as grievances and external collective incentives, and usually mainly the second (Pinard 2011). In Hechter’s consideration of specific types of ethnic contention, however, one finds recurrent assertions involving the impact of grievances and threats. The main focus is no longer on the socio-economic grievances resulting from the hierarchical cultural division of labor, but on political grievances, in line with his argument that “nationalism is, above all, political” (2000, p. 6). Hechter now stresses especially the loss, or threats of loss, of political power by peripheral leaders under the imposition of direct rule by central authorities in order to increase the scope of their governing responsibilities. In addition he mentions the actual or possible political discontents of members of both privileged and disadvantaged peripheral groups in the decisions or allocation of collective goods by central authorities. But the authorities’ disregard for the different values of peripheral groups, such as cultural and linguistic preferences, are also seen to be secondary motives for action. All in all, political grievances of one sort or another are now central motives in his new perspective, this coming from a central focus on elites. One finds a similar model stressing only political motivation in Breton and Breton’s (1980) study of Canadian disunity. They placed an exclusive emphasis on problems regarding the distribution of power, more specifically organizational power, and the ethnic (or regional) barriers to its attainment. The conflict is now viewed as involving exclusively ethnic and regional elites while the masses remain uninvolved. These elites’ motivation rests on both strong aspirations for organizational positions and for accession to organizational power, and ultimately on grievances generated by the presence of linguistic and regional barriers thwarting those aspirations. Hechter’s theory of the emergence of nationalism is, to be sure, certainly more convincing than, say, that of Gellner’s (1983) functionalist perspective which links the emergence of nationalism to the requirements of industrialization. Hechter’s perspective remains too general in certain respects and too narrow in others. Direct rule is conceptualized in very general terms, covering such diverse phenomena as the increasing reach of the center in distant and less accessible peripheries a few centuries ago to the growth in more recent times of the modern

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state, in part due to the development of the welfare system (although at times this was done under the aegis of peripheral governments). With regard to motivation specifically, Hechter has been too quick recently in relegating the hierarchical division of labor to only a secondary role. For instance, a high degree of indirect rule, as found in decentralized federalism, could assuage nationalist discontent when socio-economic and status equality largely prevails, as for instance between the main linguistic groups in Switzerland; but in Canada relatively equal levels of decentralization would not do the same when a hierarchical division of labor has been present for a long time, as between the two main linguistic groups, the French and English. Finally, Hechter’s quasi-total neglect of status inequality as a potential source of grievances and conflict is difficult to understand. Together with socio-economic disadvantages, invidious status comparisons play a motivating role, and probably even more so among ethnic elites, as will be discussed in subsequent chapters. Even if one grants that political grievances are often a central motive, their driving force could be greatly strengthened if other types of grievances also prevail. Closely related to Hechter’s recent perspective on motivation are some of the views developed by Wimmer (2002) in his elaborate theory of nationalism, particularly in its focus on both the ethnic and national variants. He rejects neoromantic or primordial notions of nationalism, considered as a perennial phenomenon, or that nationalism is simply a transitional phenomenon of the modernization period, or above all that it is simply a by-product of the rise of the modern state or of industrialization. Rather, and more fundamentally, Wimmer’s key propositions are that “modernity itself is structured according to ethnic and nationalist principles,” and forms of inclusion, based on citizenship, democracy, and welfare, “are systematically tied to ethnic and national forms of exclusion,” leading to ethnic conflicts as “integral parts of the modern order of nation-states” (Pp. 4–5). At their roots such conflicts are the result of failures of emerging nation-states to incorporate all ethnic or other communal groups into common “cultural compromises,” elaborated on the basis of exchange of political loyalty to governing elites for participation, security, freedom, and the provision of other public goods to their followings. There is then no emergence of encompassing identity overarching ethnoregional distinctions. What are the sources of such failures? They are to be found in processes of social closure exercised by state authorities against marginal ethnic groups, who are then denied full and equal access to the benefits of the nation-state. Conversely, this exclusion comes with inclusion of members of their own group, towards whom favoritism prevails in the bureaucratic allocation of legal privileges, professional occupations, and political participation. In turn this leads to the reinforcement and politicization of ethnic ties and ethnic barriers, and the development of severe political discontents engendered by unequal treatment and widespread discrimination. When would state elites be at times engaging in exclusion rather than overall inclusion processes, given their clear interests in even larger constituencies providing them with enlarged political, status, and economic power? According to

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Wimmer, whose views here are open to serious criticisms, two factors are the causes of ethnic closure: one, because “the state elites do not have sufficient political, legal and economic resources at their disposal to allow for a non-discriminatory integration of the entire population,” and two, because “state formation often preceded the establishment of a democratic civil society” organized on trans-ethnic lines (2002, 66–7). This leads to an ethnicization of the state, particularly its bureaucracy, with closure in all areas of social life along ethnic lines, favoritism, and ensuing unequal distribution of public goods. In Wimmer’s view, however, all of these processes are not enough for the “politicization of ethnicity,” the mobilization of the excluded groups into conflict. Established educated middle classes (professionals, intellectuals, and teachers) must emerge as political entrepreneurs, denouncing these developments – which affect them as much or even more than the general population – as illegitimate and unfair, and demanding, as basic collective incentives, just representation and equal access to citizenship prerogatives. These educated elites cannot act alone; to be successful, they must engage their constituencies, in order for their claims not to be overlooked in the political arena. Success in such popular mobilization will become possible if discrimination and preference are developed widely enough to affect – and be perceived as affecting – larger segments of the excluded population, and if the costs of state activities are seen as disproportionately borne by them. The perspective of Hroch (1995), examined later, comes close to that of Wimmer on these issues. Many worthwhile propositions can be found in Wimmer’s theory. First and foremost, he is convincing in his core contention that nationalism was not the result of modernization or industrialization, that, on the contrary, modern societies themselves developed within the confines of the nation-state and were structured according to nationalist and ethnic principles. This is a central thesis to be taken seriously by students of the origins as well as the consequences of nationalism. Turning to our immediate concerns regarding the determinants of ethnic conflict, the key role is attributed in this regard to the political exclusion of subordinate groups and to their ensuing disadvantages and grievances, manifested in particular through discrimination and favoritism, and to demands for corrective changes; this falls squarely in line with the motivational claims advanced below. Indeed, Wimmer, Cederman, and Min (2009) presented empirical evidence which linked political exclusion to civil wars, especially ethnic rebellions.5 In addition, the large role attributed to the “educated middle classes” in such conflicts, so often mentioned in the literature, is fully justified; indeed it falls in line with much of the research presented in subsequent chapters.6 The readers will have noticed that while both Hechter, in recent writings, and Wimmer stress the role of political grievances, there are variations between them as to the sources of these grievances: the imposition of direct rule in Hechter and failed incorporation of some ethnic groups through closure in Wimmer; the latter cause is in my view the relevant one. Other aspects of Wimmer’s views are however less convincing. While he justly pays attention to grievances, his claims are overly restrained to those of

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a political nature: political exclusion is the basic disadvantage faced by outgroups and underlies all of their discontents. This follows directly from another central claim, no less questionable. On the side of the insiders, there is but one actor, the state, engaging in political restriction either directly or through its bureaucracy. All of the outsiders’ disadvantages, be they legal, economic, social, cultural, or of course political, are the result of the state and its bureaucracy. This covers evidently all political rights – the right to citizenship, to vote, to just political representation, etc. – but also, for instance, equal legal access to higher education and occupations, and therefore equal incomes, social access to welfare, cultural and linguistic autonomy, not to mention the imposition of larger financial burdens, such as taxes. Such a state dominance may be more likely to prevail in situations of extreme political exclusion, as in postcolonial societies and/or more autocratic regimes. But even there it should not be exaggerated and at any rate this is certainly less likely to prevail in highly developed countries and wellestablished democracies which are, like others, also exposed to ethnonational conflicts, albeit possibly less extreme. To be sure political exclusion may be less severe in these societies, but milder forms of exclusion may still be practiced. The important point is that, particularly in these societies, exclusion is not practiced only by the state; it can also occur in many other institutional sectors – the economy, the cultural field, etc. – in each case through actions of the elites. In developed societies, for instance, legal access to professions may be less restrictive, yet discrimination and preferences through the “process of like recruiting” (Porter 1965, 218) could result from subtle and less public decisions of business leaders; or widespread status denigration by members of dominant groups could greatly affect the access of out-group members to a large number of collective goods. More generally widespread forms of ethnic prejudices could easily affect negatively most life chances of out-groups. Clearly the state is therefore not the only actor engaged in processes of exclusion. All this is related to another important problem. According to Wimmer, to repeat, factors engendering processes of exclusion are, first, the weakness of a state not controlling enough resources to allow it to pursue the non-discriminatory integration of all groups and, second, the fact that state formation often took place before the development of a democratic trans-ethnic civil society, forcing state actors to rely instead on pre-existing ethnic networks in most central state operations. It can, however, be easily argued that more fundamental and earlier processes of contact between ethnically differentiated groups can exert determining effects on their subsequent inclusion or exclusion. During the elaboration of new compromises accompanying the emergence of nation-states, or even before that, the structural relationships between groups could be characterized by patterns of overall structural equality. Conversely, and more often, the relationships could be characterized by one or many forms and degrees of structural inequalities, be they political, regional, economic, or simply numerical. The first thing to be considered is that conditions of equality would have been more conducive to the development of free coalitions of one kind or another. But under conditions of inequalities, their contacts could more likely

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have developed through conquests or other undesirable arrangements. The essential point is that, if equality prevails, highly amicable, trustworthy, and accommodating relationships would tend to dominate, and this would be much more likely to lead to overall compromises, with interethnic integration rather than to closure. If inequalities were present, however, it could be a source of discontents within potential out-groups, and at least elementary forms of ethnic identification and solidarity would emerge; hence the potential development of tensions with the dominant insiders and the absence of appeal for a compromise. Within the group of insiders, particularly their elites, this would also render the pursuit of inclusive compromises with out-groups much more difficult, particularly if the latter’s inferiority is of a class type;7 then disparagements and prejudices towards them, as well as simple self-interest, would easily lead to discrimination and preferences for the insider group, that is to ethnic closure. In either case, the amount of resources at the disposal of the state, I would argue, would not have much to do with the recourse to exclusion or inclusion. In support of these hypotheses, one can briefly compare Switzerland – a country which is one of Wimmer’s three case studies and which is recognized as a model of harmonious linguistic relations – with most other multiethnic societies of the Western world, such as Canada, Belgium, and Great Britain,8 which are all areas of ethnic strife. It would be difficult to claim, in line with Wimmer’s argument, that Switzerland possessed greater resources for the integration of linguistic groups than these other countries, and indeed the resource argument is not even raised by the author in his chapter on Switzerland. However, as discussed below at greater length, while ethnic inequalities of one kind or another have prevailed for a long time in the second group of countries, Switzerland is an exception, with overall social and political equality prevailing between at least the two most numerically important linguistic groups, the German- and French-speaking communities. It can possibly be argued that the main factor of harmony in Switzerland is due to the fact that most cantons joined together voluntarily9 rather than to the presence of overall structural equality. I would argue that these two conditions can play important roles: as just mentioned, equality can be conducive to the willingness to join voluntarily together, essentially through “a system of alliances… among independent political units” (McRae 1983, 39). But if structural equality does not prevail or disappears, even an earlier voluntary association is unlikely to prevent the occurrence of conflict. Indeed, I would argue that for the development of conflict, the absence of equality is likely to be more important than the way the association occurred. What about Wimmer’s second argument, that the existence in Switzerland of a very developed trans-ethnic civil society before state formation facilitated overall ethnic inclusion? Such a pattern could have been conducive to interlinguistic cantonal alliances, but only as an intervening factor. Again it could just as well be argued that the pattern of overall linguistic equality was precisely an important factor greatly facilitating the development of trans-ethnic associations on such a wide scale. Associations between equals are after all a

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universal normative pattern, while patterns of ethnic compartmentalization are more likely to prevail between unequal people. McRae (1983, ch. 3) also describes at length various cultural aspects of interethnic tolerance in Switzerland and mentions in particular the predominance of national over cantonal and linguistic identifications, something much less prevalent in other multiethnic societies. Could not these cultural patterns also be produced by structural forms of equality? In short linguistic equality greatly facilitated the emergence of cantonal alliances, the formation of widespread interlinguistic civil networks, and the development of a culture of tolerance, mutual respect, and harmony, these patterns probably facilitating each other. Gurr’s (1993a, ch. 5) theory of communal conflict is less encompassing than those just discussed, but his perspective on motivation goes well beyond political grievances. Influenced by both traditional deprivation and more recent mobilization perspectives in the social movement literature, he hypothesized that grievances and mobilization, interacting with one another, were the core determinants of communal protest and rebellion. In addition to political grievances involving various rights, and in particular grievances related to the lack of political autonomy, his model also considers grievances about economic, as well as about social and cultural rights. Unfortunately, status grievances are again ignored. Each of these types of grievances are said to result from corresponding objective disadvantages and discrimination, especially in the economic, political, and autonomy domains, as well as from demographic and ecological stress.10 In addition, grievances are dependent on the strength of communal identity and can be intensified by processes of state expansion and economic development. Internal motives do therefore play a very important role in this model. On the other hand, the mobilization factor in contention is not much elaborated, the author referring simply to members’ preparedness to commit resources to collective action. The action is of course negatively affected by repression, but facilitated by group cohesion and by diffusion and contagion. Opportunities are simply mentioned to intervene in the process of translating grievances and mobilization into action.11 Gurr (1993b) reports a test of his theory, based on aggregate data bearing on more than 200 communal groups12 throughout the world.13 Concerning motivation, he established that all grievances, but especially political ones, were strongly related to mobilization and that together with mobilization,14 these grievances were among the significant determinants of communal protest and rebellion, although with variations according to the type of conflict. This of course does not imply that all grievances were effective in all 200 groups, nor does it tell which ones were in each group. The strength of this study resides in the wealth of data collected, the scope of the areas covered, and the distinction of five types of communal groups, the nationalist groups of the Western world considered in this study being only one of them.15 But as in all ecological studies, while measurements of objective disadvantages are relatively adequate, those of felt grievances leave much to be desired. Indeed, the latter are mostly inferred from the collective incentives – demands – articulated by group leaders

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rather than from expressed discontents. Thus for instance demands for greater political autonomy becomes labeled as political grievances concerning autonomy, something which does not necessarily follow; a group could well ask for such autonomy as a solution to, say, economic or linguistic grievances, rather than only or mainly dissatisfaction with their lack of autonomy. Finally, Gurr’s results showed that the effects of mobilization were stronger than those of grievances; but since his measure of mobilization is based in part on previous contention, it is not too surprising that it comes out as being very strongly related to current contention.16 In his wide-ranging study of ethnic conflict in less developed and severely divided societies of Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and the Caribbean, Horowitz (1985; also 1971) develops an altogether different perspective, with a motivation model based on two types of grievances, status grievances, ignored in the theories just discussed, and a form of political grievances more relevant in developing countries than in developed ones. First, relative evaluations in terms of group worth or status are assumed to be one of the key determinants of conflict. Those considered as of an inferior status – who happen to be frequent initiators of conflict – are striving to improve their relative standing, in their own eyes and in those of others, through material or symbolic actions; conversely, those with higher standing are reacting against the first in order to at least maintain their relative group worth, although at times they could be acting to improve it. Differential status assessments are mostly related to the rankings of communal groups as either backward or advanced, the first involving groups with lower socio-economic standing and still tied to their traditional culture, and the second, groups with higher socio-economic positions and showing greater acculturation to modern values. All this leads to contests for power, in part as a way to confirm a claimed status. “[T]he sources of ethnic conflict,” writes Horowitz, “reside, above all, in the struggle for relative group worth” (1985, 143). The second motive is political in nature. It involves legitimacy problems, the assertion by members of either advanced or backward groups that they are the “owners” of all or part of the territory of the country, and therefore that they have a legitimate right to obtain political control over it, alone or at least equally with others with equivalent rights. The recovery of such territory by some groups and the threats felt by others concerning their continued dominance over it stir intense territorial confrontations, which become particularly severe when the status motive is simultaneously involved. Group worth and group legitimacy then join together in the politics of entitlement. According to Horowitz, other possible grievances, such as ethnic class-economic disadvantages, do not constitute important determinants of conflict in developing societies, except as criteria of group worth. Conflicts over cultural and linguistic problems could also occur, but again Horowitz saw them mainly as a way to assert the worth of one’s group. Horowitz’s claims relative to the determining role of status in developing societies find echoes among authors concerned with developed societies as well. One can mention Anthony Smith (1981, 28), for whom all kinds of deprivation

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are relevant, but especially status and political ones. This Horowitz views in particular as an especially potent source of reaction among ethnic members of professional intelligentsia when subjected to discrimination by entrenched bureaucrats on the basis of imputed inferior worth (1985, 121). In a similar vein, Taylor (1992) forcefully argues that “one of the driving forces behind nationalist movements” is the inflicting harms caused by non-recognition or misrecognition of group status equality, and their confining and demeaning effects (p. 64). Status denials are also seen by Scheff (1994) as crucial determinants of ethnic conflict. A second motive, according to Taylor – and to Anthony Smith as well – involves other groups’ disregard of, and lack of respect for, the cultural differences highly valued by an ethnic group. Together, according to Taylor, these grievances lead to the politics of recognition and the politics of difference; related demands are seen as increasingly articulated by subaltern groups in modern societies, in addition to more traditional demands concerning the correction of economic inequalities and injustices. Surprisingly, however, status problems are often neglected in the study of motivation in ethnic and other conflicts. Yet a long time ago Gusfield (1963) called attention to their impact in a classic study of the American temperance movement. During the 1840s and 1850s, the movement attracted Protestant middle-class natives primarily moved to action, not by class grievances, but in order to preserve and defend the dominance and prestige of their own style of living against those of immigrants and the urban poor. Given that invidious group comparisons are necessarily subjective and cannot be eradicated directly, political action can become a way of defending and asserting a group status. The attention paid by these authors to the status grievances of ethnic groups is, it seems, warranted; they should not be overlooked in any overall statement about motivation. Conversely, Horowitz’s claim that communal economic inequalities and even cultural/linguistic grievances are only secondary motives is highly questionable, at least with regard to advanced societies. Regarding the cultural aspect, Taylor is clearly on safer ground. By generating their own feelings of injustice, the ethnic economic and cultural grievances play their own motivating role and in fact they have often been found to play decisive roles, as for instance in Gurr’s research. Indeed, Horowitz has a tendency to view all other problems as reflecting only deep anxieties over group worth and survival rather than as rational assessments of frequent injustices.17 Note that in the writings just reviewed, expectancy of success and especially one of its determinants, collective feelings of self-confidence, did not receive the attention they deserve.18 To establish their relevance, we will briefly examine the role they played in three nationalist movements of recent times in advanced societies. Consider first the emergence of the Black Civil Rights movement in the United States during the mid-1950s.19 According to McAdam’s (1982, 1999) analysis (see also Goldstone and McAdam 2001), the basic social-psychological mechanisms involved among Blacks confirmed that relevance. McAdam identified it as cognitive liberation, that is, increased consciousness of unjust

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treatment and cognitive perceptions of the potential for successful action, with a sense of political efficacy, which then replaced the previous mood of fatalism that had prevailed for so long among them. These new attitudes, according to McAdam, were ultimately the result of broad social changes, especially the extraordinary economic growth of the previous decades, which then led to a wide array of other economic, social, and political changes, such as the collapse of the southern cotton economy, migration of Blacks to the north, gradual shift to the Democratic Party, etc. With the new political opportunities so created and the strengthening of Black organizations and leadership, a renewed sense of injustice and of self-confidence was developed, all this leading to the emergence of the civil rights movement. Similar processes prevailed only a few years later, around 1960, with the emergence of the Quebec independence movement. Again the major and rapid economic growth of the post-WWII decades was one of the key factors of widespread transformation in Quebec, greater than elsewhere in Canada, which have been described as a Quiet Revolution, and which generated many opportunities for challenging groups, to be analyzed in subsequent sections. But at the same time, these transformations were accompanied by, and generated, especially among elites, increased attitudes of self-confidence in the possibility of political change, in particular regarding the relief of nationalist grievances, thus contributing to the emergence of the independence movement. This view was expressed by many analysts. Breton (1972, 42) argued that one of the factors of all those changes was the development of a new self-conception “of one’s socio-political ability or competence to deal with life problems.” Corbett (1967, vii, 32–4, 55) was similarly struck by the new self-confidence which developed at the time.20 Dion (1996) even argued that self-confidence was one of the two factors, with ethnic threats and grievances (labeled fears), explaining why paradoxically secession was rare in well-established democracies. The reason, he claimed, was that both high grievances or threats regarding the current political union and high confidence in increased rewards under secession were necessary for secession to occur, but that these two factors were rarely at high levels at the same time, with such imbalance prevailing at the cultural, economic, and political levels in Quebec.21 The role of such factors was suggested by Mughan and McAllister (1981) to explain the major upsurge of nationalist movements in advanced industrial societies since 1945, using the Scottish and Welsh nationalist movements as their case studies. Briefly, the general argument is again that serious disadvantages and felt deprivations had for a long time been present and relatively constant in peripheral ethnic regions. But the post-1945 modernization processes mentioned in previous paragraphs produced similar results: an increased sense of deprivation and a growing expectancy of success and selfconfidence that a nationalist solution offered a viable future for these regions. As can be seen the new consciousness which developed in Scotland and Wales closely paralleled that which emerged among American Blacks and Francophones in Quebec.

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Let us briefly summarize the views regarding motivation expressed in the theories examined. With regard to grievances, some authors stressed mainly regional-economic and class-economic inequalities (Hechter in earlier writings, Taylor, and Gurr). For other authors the central motive was said to result from political grievances (Wimmer in particular, insisting on political exclusion, but also Hechter in later work, Breton and Breton, on access to organizational power, Horowitz, on denial of rights to land ownership, Anthony Smith, and Gurr again). Status denial and non-recognition were instead argued to be a central motive by some (Horowitz, Anthony Smith, and Taylor). Cultural, linguistic, and religious value differences were also at times considered relevant (Gurr, Taylor). Some authors neglected grievances altogether, arguing that selective and collective incentives were the sources of motivation (Hechter, when only a segmental division of labor is present). But in some instances the collective incentives pursued were rightly seen as necessary complements to grievances, although much attention was rarely given to that (but see Wimmer). Finally the impact of threats, rather than actual deprivations, was largely disregarded. In particular economic, status, and power threats resulting from challengers’ actions are likely to be the central grievances motivating the contentious actions of core and dominant groups, engaging in the defense of their varied advantages. One should not however disregard the fact that some authors pay little, if any, attention to motivating factors in their analyses of ethnic contention and in particular of the electoral success of ethnoregionalist parties, as for instance Müller-Rommel (1998), De Winter (1998b), Sorens (2005) and Bélanger, Nadeau, Henderson, and Hepburn (2018). Finally, the claims regarding expectancy of success and feelings of self-confidence considered in some studies seems fully supported. What can be concluded from all this? First, our assumption is that most of the time some grievances will likely constitute essential motives for the emergence of nationalist movements. Second, none of the motivational components and in particular of the types of grievances should be a priori disregarded. Third, no one type of grievances should be considered as the one which would be relevant for all nationalist movements. In particular instances some would play a major role (e.g., political grievances in cases of radical political exclusion) with others playing a secondary role or none at all. Some could be closely linked together (e.g., economic and status denials). Economically advantaged and disadvantaged peripheral groups would clearly be motivated differently (e.g., political grievances for the first groups versus economic/status grievances for the second). It may well be, however, that political and status grievances could have stronger impacts than others, although this remains to be empirically established.22 But all in all, this should remain something to be examined empirically.23 It should also not be forgotten that current grievances often come with a history behind them, something which could be crucial; grievances long endured will acquire greater salience and exert stronger incitation to action; this, even among members of current generations who were not affected by such grievances themselves. Moreover, even

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when grievances have been resolved, memories may persist and exert strong current effects (Hroch 1995, 78). As for incentives, both positive and especially negative, too little attention is often paid to them in the literature just reviewed. So is the case for expectancy of success.

Motivations underlying the Quebec movement Let us turn to the motivational factors that lay behind the ethnoregional movements examined in Chapter 2, starting with the Quebec independence movement. First consider the grievances experienced by the French in Quebec, hypothesized to account for their support of the movement, both in its pre-1950s waves and in its long wave since the late 1950s. As in the other nationalist movements examined below, the first sources of contention after the British Conquest of Canada in 1760 were mainly of a cultural, and especially linguistic, nature. It was only at a later time that issues of a clearly political nature came to be predominant. All in all, for two centuries, French-speaking Canadians have experienced socio-economic, status, and political disadvantages when compared to their English-speaking fellow citizens; they were also apt to perceive that the survival of their language and culture was in jeopardy. These objective conditions have created a fertile soil for the development of strong feelings of grievances. Contrariwise, regional-economic disadvantages were not as seriously at stake, as Quebec was not a province with a worse economic standing than that of all other provinces in the country; if that had happened, it could have had important effects, as in the case of Flanders in the past. Quebec was in particular in a better position than the Maritime Provinces, although comparisons with richer Ontario may have had some salience. To be sure, during the second half of the twentieth century, some of the serious disadvantages just listed became alleviated, and this at an extremely rapid pace; aggrieved feelings, however, have not been easily adjusting to these objective improvements. With regard to socio-economic differentials, soon after the Conquest, a British domination of the economy prevailed, with new British merchants coming to occupy advantageous positions. Similar inequality patterns prevailed when industrialization, slow in its development in Quebec, emerged during the nineteenth and the first part of the twentieth century, as the French entered the industrial market under conditions of occupational subordination. Socio-economic inequalities persisted during all that time (Faucher and Lamontagne 1964; Falardeau 1964; Morris and Lanphier 1977, ch. 8; Breton 1988, 561 ff.). Occupational distributions measured in the 1931 Canadian Census24 provide a good description of these inequalities. In the Quebec male labor force, those of French origin were underrepresented in the highest echelons, occupying only 12 percent of the professional, managerial, and clerical occupations, while those of British origin were overrepresented with 28 percent in these occupations. Conversely, at the lowest ranks of the occupational structure, the French were overrepresented, with 52 percent in unskilled, agricultural, and primary

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occupations, compared to only 29 percent among the British. By 1961, the levels of inequality among Quebec males had remained very much the same, with the French and British standing at 21 percent and 43 percent, respectively, in the same highest echelons, and at 54 percent and 32 percent at the lowest ranks, now including all workers, farmers, and primary occupations.25 Those of British origin were doing even better in industrialized Montreal.26 Forty-five years later, however, as indicated by the census of 2006, a reversal quickly took place as the inequality gap in occupational levels in Quebec between French and British males had narrowed substantially. French and British now occupied, respectively, 45 percent and 51 percent of the same high occupational ranks. Compared to 1961, the British had gained eight percentage points, but the French had gained three times as much, a gain of 24 points. At the lower end of the ladder, the French and the British now occupied 35 percent and 28 percent of the positions, respectively.27 After more than two centuries of substantial inequality, the occupational gap between the two charter groups in Quebec had finally been greatly bridged.28 A similar pattern of inequality, in the distribution of income this time, had also been present for a long time between the two main linguistic groups in Quebec, but it went through an equally rapid decline in the last half of the twentieth century. In 1960, Quebec male Francophones in the non-agricultural sector earned 36 percent less than their Anglophone counterparts, but by 1970, that difference had already narrowed to 24 percent (calculated from Vaillancourt 1996, table 1). For subsequent years, with a distinction between unilingual and bilingual persons in these two groups, one finds that in 1970 the income gap between the bilingual males of the two groups stood at 18 percent in favor of Anglophones, but that the gap had practically disappeared between 1980 and 2000, with finally differences of about 1 percent or less in favor of Francophones in 2000. The differential, much larger among the unilingual subgroups, at 37 percent in favor of the Anglophones in 1970, had also declined, but still remained important by 2000 (13 percent). It is also of note that among men, most of the decline had already taken place by 1980. Among women, the gap, already very small between bilingual subgroups in 1970 (3 percent), remained so in subsequent decades and was slightly to the advantage of Francophone women in 2000 (2 percent). Among unilingual women, as among men, the gaps were larger in 1970 (19 percent), but also declined to 10 percent by 2000 (calculated from Vaillancourt, Lemay, and Vaillancourt 2007, tables 1 and 2).29 In line with these findings, it was also found that in Quebec the ownership of the economy was still disproportionately in the hands of Anglophones and foreign employers by 1961. As measured by the proportions of workers employed by the owners of each Quebec linguistic group, Francophone-directed firms which then controlled only 47 percent of the economy, compared to 39 percent for Anglophones and 14 percent for foreigners; given the much larger share of Francophones in the workforce, their disadvantages were large. But again an impressive growth of the Francophone share of the economy occurred during the following 40 years, with the latter’s share attaining 67

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percent in 2003, a growth of 20 percent or an average of half a percentage point per year.30 The Anglophone share dropped to 23 percent and that of foreigners to 10 percent (Vaillancourt et al. 2007). What accounts for such substantial and rapid improvements in the socio-economic conditions of Francophones during the last five decades? Vaillancourt and his co-authors have suggested the following factors: the increased levels of schooling of the Francophone labor force, the significant out-migration of Anglophones from Quebec, in part as a result of language legislation, the growth of the public sector and of the French private sector as a result of the important intervention of the Quebec government, and the growth of the purchasing power of Francophones (Vaillancourt 1996; Vaillancourt et al. 2007). Turning to the ethnic composition of the elite, but in Canada as a whole, it has been found that those of British origin have been largely overrepresented in all segments of the elites (business, political, military, education, labor, and media elites). This was especially pronounced in the business elite, with little, if any, decline in their domination of business during the second half of the twentieth century. Conversely, the representation of those of French and other ethnic origins has increased, but they still remain underrepresented in practically all elite segments (taking in each case standardized measures, which are relative to their proportions in the total population)31 (Nakhaie 1997).32 Moving next to status assessments in the general Quebec population, which is based on subjective evaluations rather than objective conditions, research has found that Francophones have also occupied a subordinate position in that dimension (Breton 1999, 82–3). Moreover, when asked in a study of the late 1950s to evaluate the latter as well as Anglophones on a series of traits, Anglophone participants gave more positive evaluations of the members of their own group than of the French on most traits. But quite surprisingly Francophone participants generally did the same, and indeed with even higher overevaluations of Anglophones and underevaluations of Francophones than did the Anglophones. The Francophones had indeed internalized the Anglophones’ evaluations, even exaggerating them (Lambert, Hodgson, Gardner, and Fillenbaum 1960; Lambert, Frankel, and Tucker 1966; for other evidence of such differential evaluation obtained through different techniques, see Larimer 1972; Labovitz 1974; Pineo 1977). When some 25 years later, a replication of the first study by Lambert and his colleagues was carried out, another surprise happened. Despite the important declines in socio-economic inequalities just described, the new study, distinguishing between status, solidarity, and other traits, yielded basically similar results on status traits. Participants of both charter groups were still downgrading Francophones and upgrading Anglophones on status. The difference was that this occurred mainly on status traits among French participants, but on almost all traits among English ones (Genesee and Holobow 1989). In short, on the status dimension, the French were very much maintaining the same internalized perception of disadvantages as before. It can be presumed that this is very important for the persistence of pro-independence sentiments for a long time.

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Political disadvantages, we presume, are quite important, so let us consider them. Contentious ethnic communities are most often numerical minorities in their country as a whole, the Quebec Francophones being only one of many such instances. This is not surprising since being in a minority position often, but not always, implies power and other collective disadvantages, and more so if the group, as in Quebec, is in the process of becoming a smaller demographic minority. A minority group which is treated fairly in political institutions and in policy decisions and which in addition is not exposed to socio-economic, status, cultural, or other disadvantages could well live in relative harmony with the majority, as well exemplified by the situation of the French-speaking minority in Switzerland, as will be seen. But generally minorities are collectively exposed to political and other inequities, a condition that could go as far as outright political exclusion, as considered by Wimmer (2002).33 First, for harmony to prevail in democracies, minority groups must enjoy representation in political institutions which is at least proportional to their size in the population or possibly better, as occurs at times, with a representation overproportional to size, to compensate for their minority condition.34 Historically this has not prevailed fully in Canada from the British Conquest of 1760 until Confederation in 1867; during that long period, French-Canadian representation in political institutions was first minimal, and despite important progress, never met representation according to size until 1867. For instance, under the Constitutional Act of 1791, although they constituted 94 percent of the population in Lower Canada (present-day Quebec), the French had only 68 percent of the elective Assembly seats, and constituted even a minority among the members of the appointed Legislative and Executive Councils, with only seven of 16 members in the first, and four of nine in the second. This lack of proper French representation, together with the absence of a responsible government, contributed to the emergence of a stronger nationalism and even some demands for independence, in particular during the Lower Canada Patriote Rebellions of 1837–8 (for a brief summary of these points, see Dickinson and Young 2008). Similarly under the subsequent Act of Union of 1840, Lower and Upper Canada were each allocated 42 members in the elective Assembly,35 despite the fact that Lower Canada had some 60 percent of the total population (Wade 1968, 94, 224). Indeed, it was argued that the Act of Union was “a deliberate attempt… toward the domination and eventual assimilation of French-Canada” (Smiley 1967, 27). The British North America Act of 1867 instituted a federal system and, as was seen, one that became a much decentralized one. The representation of those of French origin in the Canadian Parliament has become close to proportional, but some underrepresentation has persisted for the composition of the Cabinet, particularly under Conservative governments; and until the late 1960s the French were underrepresented in the important ministries. They were also considerably underrepresented in the federal bureaucracy during the first half of the twentieth century. But given the importance of bilingualism in that sector, and the fact that Francophones were the ones more likely to be

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bilingual, they have lately come to be overrepresented in the federal bureaucracy.36 Despite these recent improvements, the conditions had persisted for a long time, and together with the other forms of disadvantages reviewed previously, all made for French weakness in policy formulations and decisions (Breton and Stasiulis 1980, 179–82, 189–95; Nakhaie 1997, 14–17; Turgeon and Gagnon 2013). Moreover, notwithstanding the academic consensus regarding the overall political decentralization over the years, some Quebec politicians saw things differently. Thus the PQ, in its White Paper on Sovereignty-Association made public on the eve of the 1980 referendum, claimed that since 1867 the centralization trend never came to an end, even increasing after WWII and particularly so during the years preceding that referendum, with the federal government invading many fields of provincial jurisdiction (Gouvernement du Québec 1979). In addition, the PQ, in that document and subsequently, always insists that all previous attempts to renew Canadian federalism in a way to meet Quebec demands have failed37 and that it remains a task which is impossible to achieve. But, as argued by Watts, “experience in many federations… has indicated that attempts at major comprehensive constitutional reform have always proved extremely difficult and have usually failed.” In Canada in past periods, as elsewhere in general, pragmatic incremental adaptation has always been the most effective route to changes in federations (Watts 1997, 112–15, citation from p. 114). Finally, linguistic and cultural disadvantages have prevailed since the British conquest.38 They were very severe at the beginning, as the goal of the British conquerors was to assimilate the French-speaking population. This proved practically impossible, since the British originally constituted only a very small minority in Quebec. Countering some of the policies adopted after the Conquest, adjustments were soon made and were subsequently followed by others, which were recognizing the distinctiveness of the French culture. First the Quebec Act of 1774 restored French civil law, assured Catholics, mostly French, of the free exercise of their religion, removing in particular barriers to the collection of the tithe by the clergy and to Catholics’ access to administrative functions, and confirmed the seigniorial system. Under the Constitutional Act of 1791, both the French and English languages could be used in the presentation of bills, implying a de facto recognition of bilingualism. But after the defeat of the Patriotes in 1937–8, Durham, in a report simply recommended again the adoption of a strategy of assimilation for the French who in his view had no chances of survival in North America. Under the Union Act which soon followed in 1840, English became the only official language; but soon, in 1848, under the influence of Louis-Hippolyte Lafontaine, this most contentious clause of the Act was revoked. Finally, it was only under Confederation that for the first time French was officially recognized as one of the two official languages in Canada (Wade 1968; Morris and Lanphier 1977; Breton 1988). This did not however mark the end of linguistic controversy. There was some regarding the question of French and Catholic education in provinces outside Quebec. Subsequently other issues, with some indeed prevailing until

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the contemporary period, concerned the full actual implementation of bilingualism, regarding the use of French in federal institutions, be they in the legal and judicial systems, and above all in the civil service and other federal institutions. It was only in 1969, with the Official Language Act, that legislative action was taken in efforts to reach linguistic equality in those domains (Breton and Stasiulis 1980, ch. 3.4). With regard to the language situation within Quebec, two central linguistic issues prevailed, involving the language used at work and the Anglicization of immigrants. In many sectors of the economy, the use of French at work was limited and immigrants were very disproportionately attracted, generally through English-language school attendance, to adopt English as their second language. Efforts to change those situations were also taken in a series of linguistic laws sponsored by the provincial governments. Bill 22, adopted by the Quebec Liberal government in 1974, stipulated that French would be the only official language in Quebec, that the knowledge of English would be necessary for children to attend English-language schools, and that Francization efforts should be implemented in the private sector of the economy. Much more encompassing was Bill 101, adopted by the PQ government in 1977, only a year after coming to power. In particular, it extended the application of the principle that French was the only official language of Quebec, that all enterprises with 50 or more employees had to engage in Francization programs, that all public signs and commercial advertising should be only in French, and that only the children of Quebec parents who had received their primary education in English could attend English-language schools. Some clauses of that bill were subsequently nullified by the courts (McRoberts 1988, chs 6–8). In short, to alleviate perceived threats to the French language and culture in Quebec, it was felt that French should become clearly dominant in all spheres of activity in the province. Even now, flare-ups constantly occur, with claims that this law is not fully respected. In addition, given the permanent minority condition of Francophones in Canada, and especially given that this prevails in the context of other disadvantages, any stance or issue involving the federal government, its institutions, or other provinces is likely to raise concerns about the interests of Quebec and very frequently generate tensions and conflict (Breton and Stasiulis 1980, ch. 3.4).39 Such conflicting conditions can easily become sources of mobilization in political parties anchored only in Quebec, that is, in all Quebec provincial parties as well as in the federal BQ present only in Quebec; these parties will tend to articulate very nationalist positions, when not secessionist ones, something that can only further exacerbate tensions, particularly when the issues are addressed by secessionist parties. To put it differently, the objective disadvantages described are likely to become translated into subjective ethnic grievances of a socio-economic, status, political, and cultural kind motivating a large number of Francophones in their political choices, particularly under the mobilization efforts of the leaders of the nationalist parties and of other nationalist organizations. That this has actually taken place and led in particular to the support of the sovereignist

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option has been established in previous work (Pinard and Hamilton 1986; Pinard et al. 1997, ch. 10; Mendelsohn, Parkin, and Pinard 2007). The PQ’s White Paper on Sovereignty-Association (Gouvernement du Québec 1979) is a good example of that party’s mobilization efforts regarding many such grievances, mostly the political ones, but also the cultural ones. It lists the historical roots of the discontent, such as the view of Francophoneminority handicap becoming more pronounced, the claim of a centralization trend in federal powers, the disregard of Quebec concerns in many policy areas, the invasion of culture, and the constant failure of constitutional reform projects.40 Conversely, as indicated, the conditions of many of the objective disadvantages mentioned had been improving, particularly since the 1960s. Would this not imply a reduction of felt grievances among Quebec Francophones and presumably a decrease in support for sovereignty? Part of the answer to this is that first a certain degree of disadvantage remains in almost all domains and it has indeed not really changed in others (e.g., status recognition). These conditions cannot but provide motivation for some continued support of the option. Second, as will be seen in subsequent chapters, the objective changes described are not always perceived as improvements by many, among whom therefore high levels of discontent remain and continue in turn to sustain their motivation. Indeed, as shown in Pinard et al. (1997, ch. 10), the levels of most felt grievances have remained high and stable. Third, as discussed earlier, higher levels of self-confidence and expectancy of success, and more generally major political opportunities and increasing human resources, could easily trigger higher levels of protest even with reduced disadvantages. So would increased attraction, among militants, for some of the external incentives to be discussed presently. However, it does remain possible that over time a reduction in objective disadvantages could have contributed to the relative stagnation and even slowing down of the levels of support for sovereignty during the 1980s or since the post-1995 referendum period, particularly within the younger generations (Mahéo and Bélanger 2018). It could also have determined the often observed lack of dynamism among some movement leaders41 and militants, and the lack of emotional enthusiasm for the cause among them, although more so in the rest of the population.42 The impact of all these dimensions of motivation on support for the independence movement in Quebec will be examined in subsequent analyses. Motivation depends not only on grievances, but also on collective incentives pulling actors to act. To be motivated to become a simple adherent or a participant, one must perceive that there are potential collective gains to be made. The articulation of such gains is largely the responsibility of movement initiators and other leaders. In the Quebec movement, what are the demands and goals pursued, and the gains expected? An examination of movement documents will easily reveal the main ones. The central goal pursued has of course always been the complete independence or sovereignty of Quebec; it was modified during the late 1960s by the added option of some kind of association

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or partnership with the rest of Canada, with a return to simple sovereignty in 2005, the potential partnership being now eliminated from a potential referendum question and relegated only to postsovereignty negotiations. The most fundamental values which independence would fulfill are equality and liberty, notions repeatedly stressed by the movement. First the equality of two peoples and two countries, Quebec and Canada, allowing them to deal with each other “equal to equal,” whatever the size and power of each; this would overcome the presumed classic fate of minorities, and the inequalities implied. And second the equality between Quebec and any other nation. Liberty is presented as a foundation of all independences. It would in particular allow the Quebec nation to make its own choices, to create its own institutions, to control all of its resources. More concretely, sovereignty would allow Quebec to acquire the exclusive power to pass all its laws, levy all its taxes, and conclude all its treaties. With these prerogatives, the movement’s argument is that the minority dependence of the Québécois, seen as increasingly present in so many sectors, would be lifted. In particular, they would get rid of the inferiority complex created by such dependence. On the positive side – the side stressed in more recent statements – sovereignty would lead to an immense surge of self-pride. Quebec, among other things, would be able to develop a much more prosperous economy, thanks to its more effective contributions to the development of all its sectors, to ensure more social progress, by implementing a more equitable redistribution of the benefits of economic growth, to further facilitate the blossoming of an already well-preserved and developed cultural heritage. Finally, strengthening expectancy of success is also part of the movement’s arguments. Sovereignty is feasible, it is argued, because of the weight of Quebec’s economy and its wealth, and of Quebec’s strengths in many sectors, particularly economic ones. (On all this and for more details, see for instance Gouvernement du Québec 1979, 1995; Parti Québécois 2005, 2008a, 2008b). But the movement’s claims of potential collective gains in all domains have not always been met with high and stable anticipations by the people. If felt grievances have remained at very high levels, often shared by a majority of Quebec Francophones, and if anticipations of cultural gains remain quite high, anticipations that following independence the economic conditions in Quebec would improve have always, since 1970, been shared but by a minority, suddenly peaking at about one third in 1990 and declining since, until 2004. Anticipation of economic losses strongly deter many from supporting independence (Pinard et al. 1997, chs 4 and 10; data partly updated by the author). These negative opinions have been and remain among the most serious hurdles faced by the Quebec movement in its pursuit of independence, as well as in other independence movements. For comparative purposes, let us now turn to the motivations involved in the other nationalist movements considered. Similarities, but also important differences, will be observed.

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Different motivations within each of the Belgian movements In addition to other determinants, the impact of motivational factors was crucial for the mobilization of linguistic groups43 in Belgium. Serious grievances were underlying first Flemish, then Walloon and Bruxellois mobilization. Flanders was a true periphery, with a long period of Flemish regional and cultural disadvantages, even if it had been a prosperous region until the seventeenth century. Although always the most populous region and one that had become a clear majority – and a growing one – for most of the twentieth century, Flanders was dominated economically, culturally, and politically by the Francophones. Flanders was more agrarian and remained economically less developed until the 1960s. This regional economic inequality was then reflected in the lower classeconomic standings of the Flemish, whether in education and income, or in higher rates of unemployment and a heavier concentration in the primary economic sector. These disadvantages were particularly pronounced within Brussels, since in that city one had to know French to attain a professional and civil service career. As Lorwin (1966, 160) put it, “the cultural backwardness of the Flemish masses reflected the economic backwardness of Flanders.” French remained the only official language of the country until the late 1870s and for a long time education in Flemish in Flanders was limited to primary schools. French dominated in practically all institutions, and particularly so in Brussels (in the parliament, the administration, the army, and the courts). To this day, the Flemish remain especially aggrieved by the Frenchification of Brussels and its surrounding areas – an enclave within Flanders – so that French dominated in part of the Flemish region itself. These disadvantages were aggravated, if need be, by the assimilation of their own elites to the French language, with some of these elite members not even knowing Flemish – an assimilation largely produced by the long French domination of the Flemish educational system. Needless to say, all these structural disadvantages were accompanied by invidious status evaluations. Patterns of superiority feelings prevail among the Walloons, with snobbishness towards the use of the Flemish language and towards the Flemish themselves, a factor making the conflict particularly intractable (Lorwin 1966, 175; McRae 1986, 325). This could not but lead to intense strivings for collective incentives, in particular the collectivity’s recognition through diverse symbolic demands and their just participation in the political system. As only one telling example, consider the fact that at the top level of the government, the Cabinet, the Flemish, a majority, occupied only 27 percent of the seats as late as the interwar years. The proportion remained at 40 percent immediately after WWII. The Flemish – and their language – were also long underrepresented at the higher levels of the public service, of the judicial system, and of the army. The Flemish movement leaders could also count on plenty of other external incentives to become motivated to pursue remedial collective action. The first set of incentives was articulated in a series of demands for the recognition of language equality in diverse institutional sectors, and for cultural autonomy

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in Flanders. These met with much success, making gains through successive series of language laws, in particular during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, during the 1930s, and finally during the 1960s, although issues remained, particularly in the Brussels region. But as in Quebec, while Flanders had achieved a great deal in the linguistic domain, Flemish militants and politicians reactivated their demands for political reforms, which had been on their agenda since the 1930s. Above all, they demanded increased political autonomy. With regard to their underrepresentation in the Cabinet, their demands were finally met, when during the 1960s and 1970s Belgium moved to a constitutional norm of parity in the Cabinet, something short of the Flemish majority condition, but accepted by them to compensate for their absolute majority in terms of parliamentary seats. Concerning increased political autonomy, the Flemish pressed demands for a transformation of the unitary state into a federal one – federalism and decentralization being central elements of a consensus democracy. But the federalism proposed by the Flemish would have included only two main language communities as units, with Brussels becoming an integral part of Flanders, something strongly rejected by Francophones in the other two regions. Some crucial structural transformations were to become determining factors for the increasing mobilization and reform efforts of the Flemish, in particular during the second half of the twentieth century. First, after WWII, decline prevailed in the industrial sector in Wallonia and increased economic development occurred in Flanders. Indeed a reversal took place, with Flanders replacing Wallonia as the economically dominant region during the mid-1960s, a reversal of major significance for political developments in Belgium. This has held to the present: in 2008, the GDP per capita in Wallonia stood at only 73 percent of that in Flanders (calculated from Deschouwer 2012, 222, table 8.3). This led the Flemish to outdistance Walloons in individual income levels and economic well-being, and to experience increasingly rapid growth in postsecondary and university education. As in the cases of the American Black movement, of the Quebec movement, and of the Scottish and Welsh movements, these developments greatly increased Flemish self-confidence and selfconsciousness (Deschouwer 2009b, 571). In addition, they provided their community with an increasing pool of new elites, finally educated in their own language, and with a growing network of organizations and associations using Flemish as their language, both developments essential to secure the competent educated leadership and the organizational substructure necessary to engage in collective action (see also Wimmer 2002). Turning to Walloons and Francophones in Brussels, who had been dominant for so long, which forces motivated their nationalist militants to engage in ethnonationalist politics? Their mobilization into regionalist parties and their contentious action were essentially reactive responses to the rise and success of the Flemish movement. As is generally the case, dominant – or formerly dominant – groups are not so much motivated to act against challengers by actual deprivations – although some such deprivations soon developed – than by threats of increased future deprivations. Their motives are therefore quite

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different from those of their challengers. The internal motives of the Walloons and Bruxellois were obviously not rooted in collective memories of linguistic historical grievances, which had never developed. Moreover, for both groups the sentiments of superiority which they felt for their language and their group were not, in all likelihood, altered by the changing conditions they were facing. But originally they had felt culturally threatened by the language demands of the Flemish. The constant demographic decline of Wallonia from the 1920s on – resulting from lower birth rates – was reducing the actual political clout of their region in national institutions. They resented their inability, as a minority, to carry out economic and social reforms often blocked by the Flemish at the national level. In addition, they were likely to be motivated by the collective regional-economic losses generated by the economic reversal in Wallonia. Besides remaining a minority, and a decreasing one at that, now the economically dominated Walloons felt threatened by the new powers of Flanders and the fear that the state would give that region precedence in its economic development policies. Moreover, at both the political and cultural levels, the Francophones, particularly in Brussels, felt threatened by the Flemish demand to have Brussels included as part of their region or even by more limited, but incisive, demands to have the language border of Brussels frozen and by constant efforts to stop its further extension into Flanders territory. The Walloons and Bruxellois’ disadvantages contributed in turn to a renewal and strengthening of their linguistic self-consciousness and that of their mobilization. As for the external incentives pulling Walloons and Bruxellois to mobilization, they had in the past manifested strong resistance to linguistic reforms favorable to Flanders. In particular they fought against any change that would reduce the French-language domination in Brussels and indeed fought for its extension. But subsequently their efforts were redirected towards political rearrangements. Increasingly sensitive to their minority situation, the Walloons and their movement, after WWII, and then the Walloon Socialist Party, in the early 1960s, became favorable to federalist solutions, also proposed by the Flemish; but in the case of the Walloons, the demand was for federalism with three regions, with Brussels constituting a federal unit of its own. For the Walloons, greater regional decentralization through federalism was seen as needed to improve their own regional economic conditions and to implement reforms impossible to obtain at the national level. For all Francophones, especially those in Brussels, the demand that the capital be a distinct region was of course motivated by their fear of Flemish domination if Brussels got merged into Flanders. But all linguistic contenders shared federalist goals and were relatively open to necessary compromises. Together all this finally led to fundamental constitutional reforms, something further facilitated by the determining role played by the more accommodating leaders of the traditional parties. Nevertheless, Belgium had to engage in long, arduous, and tension-laden phases of negotiations, usually involving transfers of central powers to lower levels. All of this led to a series of six constitutional state reforms, adopted in 1970,

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1980, 1988, 1993, 2001–2, and 2011, with no signs that this process has come to an end. These reforms gradually moved the country away from its longstanding unitary and centralized state to radical change, with the adoption in 1993 of a formal federal constitution. The system created is very complex, but it made Belgium one of the most decentralized countries in the Western world. In the end, however, this involved some compromises unsatisfactory to all sides. The new system encompassed the six units mentioned earlier, that is, the three economic regions, as demanded by Wallonia and Brussels, and the three overlapping linguistic communities, two of which met the demands of Flanders. In particular the 1970 reform involved crucial consociational measures to ensure executive power sharing between the large language groups, to reduce tensions between them, and to protect the Francophone minority. It became a formal rule that Belgian cabinets had to include an equal number of ministers from the French and Flemish communities, not counting the prime minister, despite their unequal proportion in the legislative assemblies. Another measure stipulated that to pass the newly created “special majority laws,” a two thirds majority of all members of government as well as a majority within each language group would be necessary. Such compromises did not come easily. After the 2010 election Belgian politicians could not reach an agreement on the formation of a coalition government until December 2011, through a political crisis and stalemate which lasted for no less than 18 months – an all-time record. To do this, the emerging coalition had to exclude nationalist parties, in particular the Flemish separatist N-VA, even if it had finished first at the polls. It could not in the end be considered for the coalition because of its uncompromising stance regarding its radical constitutional platform. The coalition was limited to six parties, the Walloon and Flemish wings of the three traditional parties. The new government was formed on the basis of a governing agreement proposing, among other things, further transfers of power, especially the fiscal powers of the regions. At any rate polarization between the two main linguistic communities has not vanished. The Flemish group considers that some of their grievances have not been settled to their satisfaction, given the creation of three economic regions. Conversely, the Francophones remain frustrated by limits to the extension of French Brussels into Flanders, although a complex agreement was reached in 2011 (Deschouwer 2012, 114–15). More fundamentally, there is no agreement, as Deschouwer puts it, on the very nature of the Belgian federation (p. 75). Debates will continue and the potential for conflict remains high. All in all, memories of the past in Flanders are still alive, with “the resentment of the Dutch-speaking majority at the political dominance that had traditionally been exercised by the French-speaking Belgians within the unitary Belgian state” (Watts 2008, 44) and as Lorwin once put it, it may be that the historical reflexes of underdogs among the Flemish and of overdogs among Walloons persist well beyond the conditions which generated them. But social movements never accomplish all their goals and some of their grievances – for instance the treatment of a group as inferior – are not easily subject to quick public remedies (Lorwin 1966, 175).

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A striking development within the party system was that, as was seen, the three original nationalist parties of the 1950s and 1960s did not survive much beyond the highest electoral peaks they had reached during the early 1970s. More or less gradual declines largely sealed their fate during the 1980s and 1990s – except for the subsequent surprising success of the Flemish N-VA in 2010, 2014, and 2019, as seen in Chapter 2. But all of the early regionalist parties suffered from the challenges of other new third parties – the Greens in each major region and a populist radical-right party in Flanders, Vlaams Blok (VB, Flemish Bloc), a breakaway from VU created as early as 1978. VB holds strong anti-immigration as well as law-and-order positions, but is also nationalist, indeed secessionist, although its radical right-wing platform, rather than nationalism, dominates its agenda, making it above all a member of the rightleft party family; its success did not indeed coincide with that of the three regionalist parties (Deschouwer 2009b, 572–4). While VB remained weak originally, it did well from 1991 to 2007. In 2004, it changed its name to Vlaams Belang (Flemish Interest). Its best performance was in 2007, with 19 percent of the Flemish vote. Following this, it did poorly, becoming a victim of the N-VA’s success; it obtained only 12 percent of that vote in 2010 and 6 percent in 2014 (Abts et al. 2012; André and Depauw 2015, 234). Note incidentally that while the traditional parties had lost their electoral monopoly with the emergence of the regionalist parties, the subsequent decline of the latter did not allow the first to regain the support they had lost. Actually the total support of the parties of the three traditional families has never stopped declining since the late 1950s, as the decline of the regionalist parties was followed by the new challenges of the Greens and radical-right parties during the 1980s and 1990s. Thus the fragmentation of the party system keeps increasing. Elements of stability do remain in the system, however, as the three traditional party families are still present and constitute the backbone of the system (Deschouwer 2012, 129–35). Which other factors accounted for the rather rapid decline of the early regionalist parties? Part of that story lies with the transformations which occurred in the traditional parties. Reacting to the increased salience of the linguistic groups’ grievances, facing the pressures thus exercised on them, and feeling threatened by the electoral successes and impact of the regionalist parties in this regard, and conversely their own potential electoral losses, the three traditional parties became increasingly torn between their representation of national class as well as regional linguistic concerns. As a result, between 1968 and 1978, each of the three traditional parties split into two autonomous parties, thus creating six linguistic parties, namely Flemish Christian Democrats, Liberal, and Socialist parties, and the same on the Walloon side, leaving the country without a single state-wide party. By changing this way to the equivalent of a second tier of regionalist parties, the old party wings became much less sensitive to national and more sensitive to regional concerns. Each could compete more effectively with their respective regionalist counterparts and be perceived by their electorate as more apt – given their

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collective political power – to successfully implement regional demands. At the same time, their traditional national political culture made them more apt to reach compromises than their more radical nationalist counterparts. And indeed it was mainly through various coalition governments of some of the old party wings, even if often with the marginal participation of some of the regionalist parties, that reforms had been achieved in the past and that in particular fundamental constitutional reforms were implemented. The regional parties had been successful in forcing the old parties to split, but this came with the result that the old parties became the main carriers of regional demands, especially those concerning constitutional reforms. This showed that social movements taking the party route can exert considerable influence on a country’s politics, an outcome that is particularly frequent with nationalist movements (McAdam and Tarrow 2010; della Porta 2017). Paradoxically, these successes led the regionalist parties – and movements – to lose much of their own pertinence, their federalist goals being achieved, constituting a factor of their electoral decline (Deschouwer 2009b). Another factor of their decline was their frequent participation in government coalitions. As so often happens in political movements, frequent internal differences on goals and strategies led to internal conflicts. Their participation in coalitions was an additional source of such differences, leading to debilitating conflicts and party splits, and with the breakaway parties bringing some of their previous electoral support (see in this regard Deschouwer 2009b, 564, table 1). With the constant regionalist conflict in Belgium and the failure of all constitutional reforms to ever bring the country closer to lasting accommodation, the question is often raised whether Belgium will survive or end up splitting. To place such potential outcomes in context, the success of the early regionalist movements in moving the country from a unitary to a federalist system can be compared to the Quebec situation. While having already been operating for a long time under a much decentralized federalism, the goal of the dominant Quebec nationalist forces has been to move forward to complete independence. Now that federalism also prevails in Belgium, it should be noted that three of the more recent defenders of the nationalist cause – N-VA, VB, and Lijst Dedecker – hold as their goal the eventual independence of Flanders. But what kind of support does the independence option find in Belgium? So far, very little support indeed, particularly when compared to Quebec or even Catalonia and Scotland. When asked in an election study in 2009 whether all competences should be granted to regions and communities or to the federal state, only 5 percent of the Flemish voters and 6 percent of the Walloon voters opted for all competences to be shifted to the subnational units, that is, secession. At the other extreme, only 4 percent of the first group and 9 percent of the second answered that all competences should go to the federal state. Most indeed opted for intermediate positions, that is first, for the current situation to prevail, 24 and 23 percent, respectively, or second, for a larger share of competences going to regions and communities, 47 and 34 percent, or third, a

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larger share to the federal level, 20 and 30 percent (Deschouwer and Sinardet 2010, table 4.6). Similarly, according to another report, only 12 percent of the Flemish voters favor the dissolution of Belgium, even though, in 2010, 44 percent in the region supported parties in favor of that option (Abts et al. 2012, 451; André and Depauw 2015, 230; for equivalent data on Flanders, see also Lineira and Cetrà 2015, table 1). A more recent article reported that support at only 15 percent among Flemish voters, leading N-VA to promote the option of a very decentralized confederation rather than independence (Laurence 2019). According to all these studies, so far support for secession remains extremely low in the order of priorities of the Belgian electorate. Only support for greater regional autonomy remains for the time being the optimal option, in line with the positions of the leaders of the traditional parties. And the secessionist parties are marginal in pressing for independence against the former parties both stronger and above all now fully representative of regional preferences. But so many powers have been transferred to lower government levels and so few powers are now left at the national level that reducing them further “can more than ever before be seen as the final blow, as the beginning of the end of the Belgian federation” (Deschouwer and Reuchamps 2013, 265). Is that assessment too pessimistic?

Motivations involved for each of the Spanish movements The case of Catalonia: the role of the crisis Which motivations in Catalonia lay behind the masses and elite mobilization described in Chapter 2? Let us examine the main motives involved without reiterating the details already presented. But let us first consider a point of contention in the literature. As is well known, large differences exist in the relative economic wealth of the linguistically distinct Spanish autonomous communities. In 2005, the Basque Country and Catalonia ranked second and fourth, out of 17 communities, in terms of their per capita GDP, and were accompanied at the top by the small communities of Navarre and the Baleares, coming third and fifth. Indeed, only the Madrid autonomous community, ranking first, did not constitute a linguistic minority region among the richest five. At the other extreme, however, the linguistically distinct Galicia was one of the poorest, coming 14 in the ranking. In the middle, the Valencian Community occupied the tenth position (Magone 2009, 215, table 5.4).44 Thus an examination of the impact of regional economic advantages compared to that of disadvantages can be made within Spain itself. There is no doubt that the general hypothesis which necessarily links regional economic (or occupational) disadvantages to the emergence of ethnoregionalist movements cannot be supported in Spain. One must look elsewhere to explain the contentious action prevailing in the prosperous regions of Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Navarre. While the hypothesis could be relevant in the case of Galicia, the movement in that

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region is very weak. And what about the case of the Valencian Community, ranking tenth, close to the GDP for Spain as a whole? While our assumption is that generally some types of grievances are likely to be involved, no one type should be considered as the one necessary for all nationalist movements. In particular, economically advantaged versus disadvantaged peripheral groups, when active, are obviously going to be motivated differently. But if regional economic disparities cannot be a source of deprivation in Catalonia, other forms of economic grievances have been involved, leading to feelings of powerlessness. Thus unfavorable tariff policies have been in the past a serious point of contention. More generally feelings of fiscal and financial discrimination have been and remain present, with claims that the center is being more attentive to the Castilian majority in the country, and that, at any rate, it is being seen as an inefficient authority. A related and salient grievance in particular has constantly been raised: Catalans (and Basques) often complain about fiscal imbalance, that they contribute disproportionately to the well-being of the other regions, while receiving relatively fewer benefits in return – a grievance very common in richer regions (Horowitz 1985, 249–53; De Winter 1998b, 217; Burg 2015). It was again expressed as a central issue in the CiU platform during recent Catalan elections. But above all political grievances frequently tend to dominate assessments in minority groups. Typical of the fate of minorities, Catalans complain about their inadequate political representation in the country power structure, hence their dominant preoccupation with power transfers through increased regional autonomy. As seen before, political exclusion, in whatever degree, are always determinant factors of ethnic contention. Many of the financial and fiscal grievances mentioned are of course necessarily linked to power disparities. Paramount among the felt political grievances in the region is the considerable encroachments on hardly won autonomy during phases of centralization, especially during highly centralist dictatorships, as well as complete denials of basic rights and freedoms. These past experiences remain central motives of contention each time renewed phases of decentralization become possible. Finally, constant threats to the preservation of Catalan cultural and linguistic singularity have been important motives all along; indeed they were the first to be raised in the nationalist renaissance period of the nineteenth century. They have been salient during periods marked by Castilianization efforts from the center to eradicate the cultural distinctiveness of linguistic groups. This was especially serious under Franco’s regime of radical cultural oppression of the historical nationalities, constantly intensifying feelings of threats to their language and culture. Finally, threats also resulted from the constant heavy immigration of Castilian and foreign-language speakers in some of these richer regions.45 Emotions accompanying motivation, often neglected in Spain, are intrinsically linked to grievances. An exception to this neglect can be found in Guibernau’s (2000a, 1002–3) analysis of the Catalan movement, who stressed the emotions linked to memories of oppression and more generally to the sentiments

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of one’s belonging to the regional community. But the problem is more general than that. Grievances, as well as other motivational dimensions, are often intensified by the participants’ emotions, such as outrage, indignation, and fears, although some emotions can also be demobilizing, when engenderizing resignation. Typically challenging participants will tend to develop stronger passions than their opponents in positions of authority; the challengers’ intense concerns on a single, paramount cause (e.g., the autonomy cause in Catalonia, the independence cause in Quebec) and mostly on its expected positive results generate stronger feelings than the typical routine, multifaceted, and divisive issues faced by authorities (e.g., the Spanish leaders in Madrid, the federal leaders in Canada). This is something which greatly increases the effectiveness of the first groups, but may prevent the development of strongly felt determination among the others. (There may be an exception in the latter’s case, however, when authorities face immediate and potent threats, as occurred in serious crises in Quebec and Catalonia.) The joy and enthusiasm of street protesters contrast with the subdued reactions of their opponents. In short, the grievances/emotions tandem can provide very strong motives in nationalist as in any other type of social movement. Among the most important collective incentives which has been motivating Catalan militants for long, there was of course the quest for a return to democracy combined with that of greater autonomy for their region. These were options receiving wide support not only among all elites, but also among the population at large. As early as 1931, in a plebiscite on the issue of autonomy, Catalans voted in an “almost unanimous decision” in favor of it (Payne 1971, 40). Needless to say, the pursuit of autonomy remains at the top of the agenda. Desire for further devolution continues to motivate Catalan nationalists, particularly with regard to financial arrangements, not to mention demands for full federalism among segments of the elite. Catalans also favor asymmetrical arrangements, with greater devolution to the historical nationalities, and have been campaigning to become recognized, together with the Basque Country and Galicia, as nations within Spain. In addition, a strong incentive has been from the beginning and all along the resurgence, preservation, and assertion of their language and culture, constantly threatened by Castilianization trends. “Nationalism as a strategy suited both the Catalan bourgeoisie’s political powerlessness and its historical attachment to Catalan culture” (Diez Medrano 1995, 111). Again emotions such as pride, hope, or enthusiasm are likely to reinforce the drive for the incentives pursued. With regard to the pursuit of autonomy, it should come as no surprise to observe that recently in regional polls asking whether Catalonia had achieved too much autonomy, a sufficient level of it, or an insufficient level of it, an impressive majority thought that an insufficient level of autonomy had been achieved. In addition the latter proportion kept increasing over the last ten years, for which that data series is available: while in 2006, that view was shared by an average of 53 percent, the proportion kept growing, particularly after 2010, until it reached an average of 66 percent in 2016. Conversely the average proportion of those who

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thought that a sufficient level of autonomy had been achieved declined in that period from a minority of 35 percent to an even smaller one of only 23 percent.46 For other recent polls, see Guibernau (2000b, 2006); and Burg (2015). The strength of popular dissatisfaction with the level of autonomy achieved is a major motivational incentive for further contention in Catalonia. If Catalans have for long been autonomist, they have not, until very recently, been favorable to the creation of an independent state. Before the last few years, support for that option remained low in Catalonia. In various polls, from 1976 to 1991, the proportions in favor were increasing slowly, but never went above 16 percent (Diez Medrano 1995, 174–6, table 23). But the recent political crisis in Catalonia provided motivation for the growth of a large sudden increase in support for independence, although the levels of popular support for that option varied somewhat depending on whether respondents were presented with a single or a multiple-choice question. One good measure of the latter was the preference of respondents between various options, that is, mainly between an independent state, a state within a federal Spain, or an autonomous community. Figure 3.1 is based on repeated surveys carried out every year between 2005 and 2017; in the first year, independence was chosen by Catalans among an average of only 13 percent, and by 2009 that proportion had slowly reached 19 percent. However, between 2010 – the year the Constitutional Court invalidated sections of the revised Catalan Statute of Autonomy – and 2013, that proportion very quickly gathered momentum, to rapidly reach a peak of 47 percent. But as happened with most other movements, it seemed to have reached at least a mild phase of decline, down to 37 percent by 2017, although a level higher than before 2010. All in all, as seen in Figure 3.1 the support for independence during the current crisis has become by far the preferred option. Conversely, respondents choosing autonomous community as an option – the current arrangement – stood at 39 percent in 2005, and remained the preferred option until 2010, but it dropped to only 21 percent by 2013, although it regained some popularity by 2017 (29 percent), moving ahead of federalism as in earlier periods. Note how all along the federalist option kept the support of about a third of the respondents, until it also started to lose some of its supporters in 2012. The felt “outrage” by many following the Supreme Court judgment led to a radicalization of popular attitudes, a desertion of moderate solutions, and, in the end, even the desertion of a federalist one – although this milder option has yet to be accepted by national political elites. Let us mention that with a simpler question, when independence was the only choice offered to respondents, support for independence was even stronger: thus in 2013, 55 percent declared they would vote for it, rather than the 47 percent in the multiple choices reported above for that year (same source as Figure 3.1). In a recent study, Burg (2015) observed, not surprisingly, an important relationship between outrage and resentment toward Madrid and the Supreme Court, and support for Catalan independence; the relationship between the two even appeared to have been strengthening in recent times.

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50 45

47 45

40

39

39 37

37

37 35

39

35

40

40 37

36 34

30

33

34

34

33 31

29

32

27 25

28

25

22

26

24

23

20

21

15

17

18

25

23 23

22

21

19

22

Independent State

15 10

13

State in Federal Spain

5

Autonomous Community

0 2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

2018

Figure 3.1 Spain: preferred constitutional options in Catalonia, 2005–18

Note: This is the longest series available. See Centre d’Estudis d’Opiniò 2005–2018, “Baròmetre d’Opiniò Politica (BOP),” http://ceo.gencat.cat/ceop/AppJava/pages/estudis/categories/IlistaCategoria. html?colld=3&lastTitle=Bar%F2metre+d%27Opini%F3+POl%EDtica. The data for each year are averages when there were more than one poll for that year, which was usually the case. Respondents were asked which of a set of relationships they would prefer between Catalonia and Spain.

It is of much interest to realize the similarity between this recent substantial increase – and peak so far – in support for independence in Catalonia and the equivalent experience of a rapid peak in support for independence in Quebec around 1990 and subsequent decline, when the Meech Lake Accord, to the despair of Quebecers, failed to obtain the necessary unanimous approval of all provincial legislatures in Canada. In both instances sudden substantial increases in support for a radical option resulted from feelings of outrage and rejection experienced by Catalan and Quebec leaders and members of these communities. In addition to anger, the relatively high levels of recent support for secession in Catalonia was facilitated by the fact that, in 1991, as members of a richer region, higher proportions of Catalans thought that with independence the economic conditions in the region would be better (40 percent) than would be worse (27 percent) (Diez Medrano 1995, 177, table 24; see also Burg 2015 on this). On a third motivational component, the situation in Catalonia is the obverse of the Quebec one: expectancies of success in reaching the goal of independence and in its economic consequences were higher in the first community than in the second. Let us add that in Catalonia self-confidence, strengthened by sentiments of superiority and based on economic achievements, probably spurred such expectancies (Linz 1973a, 62; see also Conversi 1997, 2 and 6). In addition, early and swift successes in the attainment of important modernization goals must also have intensified expectations of additional success.

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Motivations in the Basque Country Many of the grievances affecting Catalans were exerting equivalent motivating effects among Basques. What was said about the impact of regional economic advantages apply to them, except that the upper classes in the Basque Country, strongly tied to, and influential with, their Spanish counterparts did not share the feelings of powerlessness felt by their counterparts in Catalonia. This is not to say that other Basque classes did not share such feelings as members of a minority in the country, justifying their quest for autonomy. Feelings of disproportionate fiscal contributions were also prevalent among them. The recurrent centralization efforts from Madrid were particularly aggrieving for both communities. As were the perceptions of permanent threats to their language and culture, particularly the severe cultural oppression experienced during dictatorship phases, except that, given the serious weakness of their language, those feelings were even stronger among Basques. That cultural weakness was also an underlying factor for their stronger feelings of threat from large waves of Castilian-speaking immigration in their region. But other grievances were particular to members of the Basque movement. Paramount among them was the abolition of their fueros, so symbolic of their autonomy and so central in the emergence of their nationalism. Similarly, Linz (1973a, 81) reports the presence of some cultural division of labor, with non-native Basques moving into top managerial positions, something not occurring in Catalonia. The violent repression to which ETA was exposed was also motivating gradually increasing sympathy for that movement among ordinary Basques. Finally, the emergence of ETA during the Franco regime was in part motivated not by external factors, but by the resentment of the young PNV members against the passivity of the traditional party leaders. The collective incentives or goals of the Basque movement are obvious from what precedes: political autonomy, which while attained in large measure remains “incomplete,” with the eventual goal of complete independence kept alive; this goal also remains stronger within the EA than within the more popular PNV, and even more so as the unqualified goal of the radical ETA and HB. All the parties are of course moved by the immediate pursuit of getting into power, as well as by their socio-economic programs of various shades. Evidently among Basques the restoration of their language and the defense of their culture remain also central goals. There are many positive popular attitudes towards these options. Heywood (1995, 24, table 1.2) reports that the most popular political option among Basques during the 1970s and 1980s has been autonomy, with preferences ranging between 34 and 48 percent. If the proportions favoring federalism are added to those figures, one gets a majority support for some form of decentralization, ranging between 53 and 60 percent. Conversely, support for independence, although increasing during that period, ranged only between 11 and 31 percent. However, different data bearing only on that last option indicate that its support between 1976 and 1991 stood at slightly lower levels, ranging between 9 and 25 percent, with that peak having

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been reached around 1980 (Diez Medrano 1995, 176, table 23). As seen before the support for independence in Catalonia was then lower, although this has changed substantially in more recent times. Further decentralization, possibly with asymmetry, the right to self-determination, and recognition as a nation all remain alive as current incentives. However counter-incentives prevail among opposition forces; as among Catalans, many Basques – particularly among top economic elites – consider that the economic interdependence of their region with the rest of Spain ought not to be overlooked. Indeed, in all nationalist movements complementary economies are significant incentives pulling substantial numbers of citizens to oppose secessionist or even decentralization pursuits. What about Galicia? In a pattern typical of weak movements, the Galician one has received much less attention from analysts than its two counterparts. As a result there are but few discussions in the literature on the grievances prevailing among Galicians. A weak movement implies relatively small levels of activism, hence little effort at the articulation and sensitivity to grievances and incentives among their potential followers. Some degree of activism did however take place during the early revival, albeit centered only on cultural and linguistic grievances; these motives have been since then the ones most often stressed by the movement and its political leaders. Yet there were objective conditions in Galicia which could have provided grounds for grievances articulation, as they did in the Basque Country and Catalonia, such as the power curtailments occurring during phases of centralization and especially dictatorships, or their small representation and relative neglect in the institutions at the center.47 Even more unique, objective disparities, such as their regional economic disadvantages and their perceived lower status, accompanied by prejudices, did not seem to be the source of serious grievances, contrary to what is so often the case in equivalent regional situations. Why were all of these conditions in Galicia not generating more grievances? The source for that was presumably not the lack of internal motives, as just mentioned, but the absence of other determinants. One is not surprised to find that collective incentives were rarely and only weakly articulated in that movement. Practically the only ones to which attention was paid were the quest for the preservation of the community’s cultural heritage, especially its distinct language, and the pursuit of political autonomy, with Galicia being among the first, with the other two historical nationalities to be granted autonomy statutes in the new constitution. But full independence was not a concern in Galicia. As for the autonomy goal, it prevailed largely without much effort, but as an imitation of Catalonia’s pursuit of it; indeed, since the return to democracy, “there was a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm” for autonomy among Galicians, as reflected in particular by a very high level of abstention (71 percent) in the 1980 referendum on the

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autonomy statute (Heywood 1995, 26); this confirmed earlier comparative data on popular support for decentralization form Linz (1973a, table 4, p. 88). In 1998, however, the main nationalist party in Galicia joined those of the Basque Country and Catalonia in signing the Declaration of Barcelona, which demanded that Spain recognize each of the three as nations within a multinational state – a demand incidentally also pursued by Quebec and met by a resolution which was overwhelmingly adopted by the Canadian Parliament in November 2006.48 Let us return to the lack of vigor of the Galician movement.49 In particular, why was there so little activism to promote the goals of the movement? The factors involved find their roots in the social-structural conditions of that historic nationality. The region is one of the most underprivileged in Spain: it is relatively underdeveloped, with a largely agrarian economy, low levels of education, and a low level of urbanization. While these elements denote the presence of objective disadvantages, it is important to stress that they also entail shortages in supportive organizations and in resources, particularly human ones, always crucial for mobilization into contentious collective action. It was also hypothesized earlier that in terms of motivation such disadvantages generate fatalism, pessimism, and low expectancy of success in such action, although the literature on Galicia examined is silent in this regard. Galicians’ weak organizational networks, compared to those of the Basques and Catalonians, have been examined. As an indicator in particular, the number of voluntary associations per 1,000 inhabitants was estimated in 1960 to be 38 and 44 in the last two regions, respectively, but the number stood at only 14 in Galicia (Linz 1973a, 87, table 4). Poverty, large peasantry, and ensuing low levels of education all combined in Galicia to generate only small pools of middle-class and especially intelligentsia personnel, which as will be seen are considered essential human resources for the generation of nationalist beliefs and movements. This smaller pool of potential leaders was further weakened by the Castilianization of the urban elites and middle classes, and their integration into the national political and bureaucratic elites, with obvious sentiments that their opportunities were tied with the latter. There was but a relatively small Galician literary production. Large numbers of teachers were using Castilian, with the result that many children could not speak Galician. Two other elements must be added to all this. First, large net migration has prevailed in Galicia; the emigration of lower- and lower middle-class elements were seen as depriving the region from potential dynamic nationalist elements. Second, the dominance of a conservative Catholic Church and in particular of its rural clergy provided no basis for activist mobilization (Linz 1973a, 90–1; Heywood 1995, 25–6). In short, the economic and social structural conditions in Galicia combined to deprive its people from the essential organizational and human resources on the basis of which ethnoregionalist mobilization similar to that of their Basque and Castilian counterparts could develop. In short, extreme economic disparities could be paralyzing. Poverty, among individuals as well as

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collectivities, can become translated into dissatisfactions, but they are also conditions involving fatalism and apprehension of costs in breaking ties to the center, as well as shortages of resources for collective action.

Why is Switzerland different? The conditions of linguistic harmony at the national level There is no doubt that the political institutions of Switzerland examined before have been conducive to the current high levels of communal harmony in Switzerland as a whole. However, my key hypothesis is that these political factors alone are insufficient to account for that situation. After all, many of these institutions also prevail, for instance, in Belgium, but they have not led to equally high levels of harmony in that country. To repeat, what is too often missing in the institutional perspective are motivational factors, especially grievances, the absence or presence of which in plural societies can make a significant difference in levels of peaceful or conflicting relationships. The generalization proposed is that the grievances often underlying linguistic conflicts are simply absent in Switzerland, hence the high level of harmony. To be sure, this is not to deny that in general those institutions can contribute to alleviating grievances or even remedying them, when present, although this often occurs with difficulty, when not without success. But in turn grievances can play a determining role in making dissident participants unwilling to reach accommodation. The role of grievances or their absence is taken into account by some authors studying consociational theory. Obler et al. (1977, 41), for instance, have argued that advocates of that theory “neglect the importance of relative deprivation as a source of sub cultural hostility. The degree to which scarce resources are, or are perceived to be, allocated inequitably among subcultures may be more significant than the degree of elite accommodation” to explain conflict, such as the difference in this regard between Belgium and Switzerland (see also Steiner 1974; Steiner and Obler 1977; Hooghe 1992). Let us examine some empirical evidence indicating how the absence of serious grievances greatly facilitated the presence of large levels of harmony in Switzerland. A first indication of this is that during the long phase of Swiss nation-building, from the late thirteenth to the early nineteenth century, the gradual territorial consolidation of highly dispersed political communities “was achieved without dynastic guidance or early central government” or without “conquest or forceful unification,” all conditions which could have easily generated long memories of grievances. On the whole consolidation was achieved “by compact and accommodation,” even though originally this required at times a show of strength against dissidents, so that it was not always completely voluntary (Daalder 1974, 109). “The Confederation remained essentially a system of alliances for specific purposes among independent political units,” on the basis of the equality of all cantons (McRae 1983, 40–1).

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There is also evidence of the absence of various types of inequalities between at least the two larger Swiss linguistic groups, the German- and Frenchspeaking ones. With regard to socio-economic equality, McRae (1983, 80–92) showed that in 1970 there was a very great similarity between the occupational rankings prevailing in the German- and French-language regions. Over most of the twentieth century, an equivalent similarity was observed regarding regional and individual incomes, as well as economic development. Similar conclusions were reached by Schmid (1981, 33–6).50 Data from the 2000 census, obtained from the Swiss Federal Statistical Office, indicate that the situation did not change for the two main linguistic groups during the last 30 years, as shown in Table 3.1. The equality in the occupational rankings of German- and French-speaking Swiss is rather striking. While the first group benefits from a minor advantage among managers and executives,51 the second has an equivalent slight advantage among professionals, semi-professionals, and technicians, so that they have an equal standing in the upper-middle class as a whole (48 percent). But Italians and Romansh stand behind them in these rankings. Conversely, if all language groups are at par in the lower-middle class, Italians and Romansh are relatively more represented within the working

Table 3.1 Switzerland: occupations of active members of the labor force according to their main language, 2000 Occupations

All upper middle-class occupations Managers and executives Professionals Semi-professionals and technicians All lower middle-class occupations Clerks Services and sales Workers, farmers, primary occupations Crafts and skilled workers Semi-skilled workers and operatives Unskilled workers Farmers and primary occupations

Main language German

French

Italian

Romansh

%

%

%

%

48 12 14 22 27 14 13 26

48 9 15 24 29 16 13 24

36 8 10 18 27 14 13 37

36 10 9 18 27 11 16 37

14 5 3 4

13 4 4 3

21 7 7 2

18 6 5 8

Source: Data from the 2000 census, Swiss Federal Statistical Office, provided to, and slightly rearranged by, this author. Note: Occupation categories follow the International Standard Classification of Occupations, ISCO 88 (com). Unreported occupations are excluded. Main language was identified as mother tongue until 1980.

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class. Incidentally, in the Netherlands, also a plural society, but divided on religious lines although not on ethnolinguistic ones, the segments are basically equal on socio-economic lines, and the country happens to exhibit a very high level of harmony (Lijphart 1968a, 90). The Swiss situation regarding status differences is also revealing. In particular the large majority of German-speaking Swiss do not enjoy a higher level of status than their French counterparts. Indeed, despite its clear numerical disadvantage, the French group is the one enjoying greater prestige, as shown, for instance, by the prevalence of the French language in German/French social interactions and the greater propensity of Germans to learn French than the other way around (McRae 1983, 72–4). As McRae appropriately put it, “French has a prestige in Switzerland that effectively counterbalances its numerical weakness” (p. 73). This could not but contribute to the development of harmonious relations. Note incidentally that in Belgium the higher status of the Walloon minority does not produce the same effect, because the Flemish majority keeps alive a backlog of previous disadvantages that do not exist among the German majority in Switzerland. Indeed, other factors than the prestige of the French language in the latter country were important to counter potential grievances generated by power and political imbalances resulting from the substantial numerical majority of the German-speaking Swiss, given that such imbalances in multiethnic societies all too frequently lead to majority domination over minorities. Foremost among these factors is that “no effort whatsoever is made by the German-Swiss… to assert any linguistic dominance,” even if this was not always the case before the nineteenth century (Mayer 1972, 79). This was in particular manifested in the 1848 constitution with its recognition of the equality of cantons and of the three main languages, to which Romansh was added subsequently. One key principle to counter this is the sharing of power on linguistic lines even when numbers do not entail it. Many Swiss political arrangements play decisive roles in this regard. The broad coalition cabinets, which include not only all major parties, but also an equitable – when not more than equitable – representation of the linguistic groups, remain crucial in this regard. So does the linguistic representation in the public service as a whole, “which has been reasonably satisfactory,” despite mild imbalances for the Italian- and Frenchspeaking Swiss during certain periods or in some government departments, albeit also favoring the French group in some instances; more formal measures to attend to such problems have however been adopted in recent decades (McRae 1983, 132 ff., citation from p. 133; Turgeon and Gagnon 2013, 420–1). Similarly, given that cantons largely follow linguistic lines, the high level of cantonal autonomy means a high level of linguistic community autonomy and power sharing, especially important for the linguistic minorities. These groups can also be involved in the elaborate policy-making decision processes, especially in the direct democracy phase of referendums and initiatives, all these working against the accumulation of unresolved problems and grievances. Finally, the fact that the very fragmentary organization of the

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party system does not follow linguistic lines implies the constant necessity for linguistic elites and groups to first negotiate and accommodate their differences within integrated parties. To conclude this section, let us return to the apparent anomaly of the absence of linguistic parties in Switzerland, contrary to what prevails in the other countries so far examined. In line with the perspective of this section, my hypothesis is that this absence reflects in part the absence of serious linguistic grievances in that country. After all, the creation of communal parties in plural societies tends to take place when deep dividing cleavages are present, and even persist when these divisions no longer prevail (Lipset and Rokkan 1967), as indeed is the case even in Switzerland, where religiousideological parties have persisted to this day. But if the absence of severe linguistic grievances make linguistic parties dispensable, in turn, as implied by Turgeon and Gagnon (2013, 420–1), the absence of linguistic parties makes it more likely that the presence of minor grievances will not be very salient and sufficient for the emergence of such parties – as well as other forms of mobilization. What divided the Swiss Jurassians? There was a presence of motivation, both historical and current, sustaining the Jura mobilization, as our description of the region in Chapter 2 amply revealed, so that only a very brief recapitulation of the motivation involved will now be presented. The Jura was annexed by outside forces, without the wishes of its population, to join Bern in north Jura. As elsewhere, grievances centered originally on religious issues, but subsequently on linguistic ones. Centralization and homogenization efforts of the Bernese elites prevailed early during the nineteenth century. Feelings of political dependence in the early period, combined with subsequent sentiments of economic dependence and neglect prevailed, with insensitivity of elites at the center, and especially with the lack of autonomy. All this was accompanied by fear of “Germanization” (Dunn 1972; Keech 1972; Bächtiger and Steiner 2004; Linder 2010). During the last few decades, the affaire Moeckli turned out to be an extremely important episode, strongly symbolizing this backlog of grievances. With regard to incentives the obvious ones were the cultural and linguistic, as well as the political, gains expected. There were therefore ample motives behind the conflicts described. Sources of relative harmony in Ticino Let us turn to the case of Ticino, so far overlooked. If the harmonious relations between German- and French-Switzerland are in good measure due to the absence of serious grievances, in particular the absence of socio-economic inequalities, how can the presence of high levels of harmony, in particular in Ticino, but also in Graubünden, be explained, given the economic disadvantages

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prevailing in these two cantons? Moreover, the high levels of conflict in the Jura and the high levels of harmony in the two last cantons may seem paradoxical. After all, these regions share many characteristics. They are all relatively small communities, which are geographically peripheral, isolated, and especially underdeveloped mountainous areas. Like the other two regions Ticino maintained a low level of development and occupied a position of economic marginality, although this was shared with other cantons not linguistically singular. Yet how can these other regional differences in harmony or conflict be explained? This presentation, largely based on McRae (1983), will be mainly focused on Ticino, a canton which constitutes the basic homeland of the Italians, the third linguistic group in size within Switzerland. While two centuries ago Ticino was originally only a subject territory of the Swiss Confederation, without equality with the existing cantons, its tradition of autonomy and its linguistic diversity were recognized by these cantons. When freed from its subjection, it chose however to remain within Switzerland, becoming in 1803 a separate canton, now with full equality. As late as 1880, the canton was still 99 percent Italian speaking, but soon economic linkages with its richer German neighbors stimulated its development. This led to an influx of German immigrants, so that by 2000 the Italian community had gradually decreased to 83 percent. The German immigrants came with greater skills, largely lacking in Ticino, and as a result they filled a disproportionate number of higher economic positions in various sectors of the economy. In addition to that, these immigrants showed resistance to assimilation, as manifested, for instance, by the creation of their own schools. As a consequence of all this, the early part of the twentieth century turned out to be a period of linguistic and cultural unrest in Ticino, with serious concerns among intellectuals and an overall increase in linguistic consciousness. All in all the tensions were less severe than in the Jura. Moreover, after the 1960s, the tensions in Ticino became “less acute,” within a “more relaxed and confident atmosphere” (McRae 1983, 214–15). The attenuation of the unrest resulted, in the first place, from an improved educational system and a gradual, but almost complete disappearance of German schools, in line with the principle of territoriality, and the Germans’ greater assimilation into the Italian community. A second factor was the disproportionate resources devoted to the development of the broadcasting network, important in view of the weakness of alternative Italian cultural centers. Moreover, unprecedented flows of cultural influence, exercised by increasing publications coming from Italy during the postwar period, contributed to the reinforcement of Italian values and self-confidence. Finally, crucially important, according to McRae, was the presence of a cantonal government which could be fully mobilized for the defense of the Italian language and culture in a highly homogeneous canton. This was all the more important as there appeared to be few associations devoted to Italians’ preoccupations regarding the survival of their culture and language (McRae 1983, 215–16).

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The largely harmonious climate of the last 50 years in Ticino can also be accounted for by other factors, largely of a motivational nature. There were no residues of historical grievances related to the entry of Ticino into the Swiss Confederation. It joined the country voluntarily and soon became a full canton, contrary to the Jura which was annexed as only a part of the Bern canton under the influence of external diplomacy and with internal disagreements, to finally become a canton only in 1979. Returning to the more recent past, there were relatively few signs of serious discontent and mobilization. Ticino appeared to have become as well integrated into Swiss society as most other cantons in similar circumstances. Part of this was no doubt due to the traditional attention paid to the country’s linguistic minorities with economic disadvantages, in particular by the central government. Thus the canton was privileged by disproportionate federal subsidies in many areas of social life, such as special linguistic subsidies to strengthen the educational system and economic support in other domains of the arts and culture, as well as economic policies to foster economic development. These advantages in turn constituted substantial incentives pulling Ticinesi to national integration.52 All in all it seems that the only serious grievances potentially present could have been generated on the basis of Ticino’s relative economic disparities when compared to the relative advantages of the average German and French cantons. But if these can be the source of claims for economic assistance, they did not lead, in the absence of severe historical grievances, to disruptive linguistic conflict or to the emergence of autonomous or secessionist movements (Bächtiger and Steiner 2004, 44). One hypothesis which can be suggested for this lack of mobilization would be that the Ticinesi were more likely to compare their economic situation to the equivalent one of the poorer populations from other mountain cantons, whatever their linguistic background, than to that of German or French cantons from richer regions. Hence Ticinesi would be less likely to experience linguistic relative deprivation and to mobilize on such grounds, like the Jurassians, than simply to acquiesce, albeit reluctantly and passively, to their regional conditions. Let us summarize a few important generalizations on motivation encountered. While we found nothing to invalidate the model presented at the beginning of this chapter, some specific aspects were clearly documented. Felt grievances most often played a central role in the movements examined, but different types were involved. In some cases socio-economic and status discontents were central, but in others they gave way to political ones as key motives, with specific variations each time. In particular, however, very underprivileged communal groups could be greatly handicapped in their ability to engage in contention for a lack of other determinants, especially hope, organization, and resources. With regard to collective incentives, much variation was present over time, with religious ones playing dominant roles in earlier periods, followed by cultural, especially linguistic, ones as central, and the domination of political goals during the last 50 years or so; the latter

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involved the distribution of powers, from some form of political autonomy to outright secession. Finally, expectancies of success play a significant role which must never be overlooked. It should also be stressed that all motivational components are subject to change over time, often moving groups from weak to intense propensity toward collective contention.

Notes 1 Blalock (1967, 34) offers the following concrete and simple example: “If there is no need (e.g., hunger is satisfied), or no expectation of success, or no external reward (food), then no behaviour directed toward this objective will take place.” 2 In the case of Northern Ireland, the communal cleavage and inequalities were between religious (Catholic and Protestant) rather than ethnic groups. On the British case, see also, for instance, Urwin 1982; Rose 1971. 3 In the sole presence of aspirations for incentives, without grievances, the ethnic group would be very likely to simply engage in routine rather than contentious collective actions (Pinard 2011), as in the case of American Jews, another example of advantaged minorities mentioned by Hechter. 4 Notwithstanding this claim (2000, 101, esp. fn. 18), Hechter also wrote that with regard to the “masses” as opposed to the elites, the cultural division of labor was the important motivating factor (p. 71). 5 For other evidence along the same lines, see Cederman and Girardin (2007) and Buhaug, Cederman, and Rod (2008); see also Lemarchand (2004) and Zartman (2004). For a discussion of this as well as of contrary, but weaker, evidence, see Pinard (2011, 49–50). 6 The categories of intellectuals and intelligentsia, more specifically, should however be preferred to the wider and less precise notion of educated middle classes. 7 If the inferiority were of a political nature in a minority out-group otherwise better off in class terms (e.g., the Catalans in Spain), then this would be sufficient to generate discontents and render the negotiation of a compromise difficult, even in the absence of status disparagements. On the part of the majority, tensions alone, when not self-interest, could lead to discrimination and preferences for one’s own group. 8 The latter being much more comparable to Switzerland than the other two countries Wimmer considered, Mexico and Iraq, countries at much lower levels of development. 9 This is an argument presented to me by Axel Van den Berg in private conversations. 10 Demographic stress refers to such conditions as relatively high birth rate and poor public health conditions, and ecological stress, to such conditions as competition for vacant lands and forced internal resettlement. 11 For a general perspective close to that of Gurr, see Anthony Smith (1981, ch. 2), who claims that economic grievances cannot be the only one, that indeed political and, he adds, status deprivations are more important, and that other factors than motivational ones are also involved, such as ideology, organization, and coordination. 12 Gurr’s (1993a, 3–5) communal groups include not only ethnic and linguistic groups, but also cultural, religious, and regional groups, among others. 13 Unfortunately, only politicized communal groups were considered, so that the sample excludes more quiescent or less aggrieved groups, such as the French and German linguistic groups in Switzerland, groups other than the Catalans and Basques in Spain, even the Scots and Welsh in the United Kingdom. The author now recognizes that they should have been included (Gurr 1993a, 9–10, 141). They are crucial as contrasting cases and for comparative purposes.

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14 Although the interaction effects assumed to prevail between grievances and mobilization were not examined. 15 The other types of communal groups are indigenous peoples, ethnoclasses descended from slaves and immigrants, militant religious sects, and communal power contenders. 16 In an earlier study comparing 19 multiethnic societies, Hewitt (1977) also found the severity of economic and political disadvantages – the only two measured – to be related to the severity of interethnic violence. 17 There are other perspectives which cannot possibly be reviewed here. Let us mention, for instance, van den Berghe (1981), who tends to lump all inequality dimensions indiscriminately together, as if they were all necessarily linked, or Michael Smith (1969) and Rabushka and Shepsle (1972), who argue that ethnic conflicts are primarily rooted in the necessary cultural clashes generated by ethnic diversity and segmentation. The so-called competition model has been critically examined in Bélanger and Pinard (1991). 18 Expectancy of success received attention in some studies not mentioned here; for a review of these, see Pinard 2011, 87–9. 19 While this movement was not an ethnoregional, geographically concentrated one, the processes to be discussed are relevant for this as well. 20 Interestingly enough and in sharp contrast, Falardeau (1964, 114) wrote that over many previous decades the result of the entry of French Canadians in subordinate positions of the industrial factory was “frustration, loss of self-confidence and a growing consciousness of alienation.” 21 Some evidence concerning increased self-confidence and decreased cost apprehensions in Quebec are presented in Pinard et al. 1997, ch. 4. 22 These arguments follow closely those of Anthony Smith (1981, ch. 2) mentioned earlier. 23 It follows that one cannot deny, as Connor did (1984), the relevance of economic (and status) deprivations on the grounds that they cannot account for the ethnic movements of more well-to-do regions: Ethnic grievances of an economic or status kind are simply one possible type of deprivations, not a necessary one. It should also be clear that I do not hold that purely non-ethnic, economic grievances, flowing from recessions, high unemployment rates, and the like, are important factors of ethnic movement. On this I agree with McGarry and O’Leary (1995); indeed Sorens (2004) finds practically no effects of general economic conditions on secessionist support. Our generalizations are not concerned either with individual, but with collective ethnic economic inequalities and all the grievances just discussed are related to collective ethnic goods. McGarry and O’Leary’s position is not entirely clear in this regard and it leads them to greatly underestimate the role of ethnic inequalities of an economic kind. 24 Calculated from Census of Canada 1931, Vol. 7, table 49. 25 Census of Canada 1961, Series 7.1–12, table 13. 26 Relatively to men of British origin, those of French origin fared better, occupationally, in Canada as a whole than in Quebec and better in Quebec than in Montreal. But this was not due to the fact that the French proportions were reaching lower levels as the comparison moved from Canada to Quebec to Montreal. Indeed, their proportions increased, but in a far more modest fashion than those of the British, so that the differences between the two groups increased in favor of the British (Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism 1969, Book IIIA, 42–5). 27 Calculated from a reclassification of data provided by Census of Canada 2006, Cat. No. 97–564-X20006007, as released on the internet. 28 In Canada as a whole, the occupational inequality between French and British males and females (as well as that between most other ethnic groups) had also

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Determinants of nationalist conflict I been decreasing between 1951 and 1991. Indeed, when all ethnic groups are considered, their inequalities declined during those years, on average and for many specific groups, especially from 1971 to 1991. But most of the decline occurred between 1970 and 1980 (Lautard and Guppy 1999). Note that both unilingual females and males were always earning less than their bilingual counterparts. The share of the Francophones grew at a slower pace between 1991 and 2003, and it can be estimated to be approaching its maximum of some 70–75 percent around 2015 (Vaillancourt et al. 2007). For a brief concrete description of the members of the new Francophone business class, see McRoberts 1988, ch. 12. Note that these results, covering roughly the 1950–85 period, are consistent with those of, say, Porter (1965) and Clement (1975), who also considered ethnic elite representation relative to their ethnic proportion in the total population; but they are inconsistent with those of Ogmundson and McLaughlin (1992), who while showing in particular a decline of British elite representation unfortunately failed to standardize their results. Note that standardized measures could indicate increased representation in some groups without a decrease in another, as they are relative to a group’s population. To give a concrete idea of the British degree of elite overrepresentation (despite the absence of standardization), they constituted 92 percent of the business elite in 1951. The corresponding proportion was still at 68 percent in 1985. They constituted around 75 percent of the other elites in the early periods and around 50–60 percent in the late periods. The French reached 15 percent only lately in the business elite and were at around 20–25 percent or less in the other elites (Ogmundson and McLaughlin 1992). The evidence confirming the salience of ethnic grievances, and especially of political exclusion, in civil wars is reviewed in Pinard (2011, 49–50). Even better than that is the situation in which no one group forms a majority, leading to multiple balances of power, or even if a majority group is present, leading to power sharing by all groups, as currently in Northern Ireland and Switzerland. Lijphart (1977, 127) mentioned the concurrent majority rule under the Act of Union as a consociational measure, but this was to the benefit of Upper Canada. While counting for 23.6 percent of the Canadian population in 2009, their representation was 27.1 percent in all federal institutions and even 31.5 percent at the senior echelons of the core public administration (Turgeon and Gagnon 2013, 418–19). See the instances reviewed in Chapter 4. Also Watts (1997, 112–15). Indeed Breton (1998, 73–8) has argued that linguistic and survival anxieties constituted the first phase of Quebec nationalism, to be in part followed by phases stressing first socio-economic grievances and then economic and political control and power. Important instances of such tensions outside Quebec included the Riel rebellion, the Manitoba school question, and participation in war efforts at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century (Morris and Lanphier 1977, ch. 9). Note that the socio-economic disadvantages are only mentioned in the historical review of the paper, possibly because of the rapid progress being made in this regard after 1960. The status grievances are also ignored, given I suppose that they cannot be altered directly. Struggles over the allocation of status, as well as over other symbolic resources, “are not explicitly cast in such terms. Rather, they are played out over matters such as institutional practices… proposed constitutional changes… public policies” (Breton 1999, citation from p. 299; also 1984). For instance, the improved linguistic, economic, and fiscal conditions acknowledged by leaders of the PQ during the late 1980s were an important reason for the party’s turn away from sovereignty in the short run and its immediate focus instead on national affirmation under the leadership of Pierre Marc Johnson (see Parti Québécois 1986).

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42 For further discussion of the role of emotions, see the section on the Spanish movements. 43 For parallel analyses of ideological-religious conflicts in Belgium, as well as in other small countries, see Lorwin (1974a). 44 This general pattern of inequality has prevailed for a long time, with only minor variations. For earlier comparisons, see Heywood (1995, 35) and Moreno (2001, 4). 45 In 2012, for instance, only 63 percent of the population over 14 years of age were born in Catalonia, while 19 percent were born elsewhere in Spain and 18 percent in a foreign country. 46 For the rest, a yearly average generally below 5 percent said that too much autonomy had been granted and another average of about 5 to 7 percent did not express an opinion. The yearly averages were computed, usually for three or four polls every year. The data are from a series of Centre d’Estudis d’Opiniò 2006–2017, “Baròmetre d’Opiniò Politica (BOP),” www.einesceo.cat/evolutius/valoracio-del-nivell-dautonom ia-de-catalunya/27 47 Linz (1973a, 90) mentions that some Galician politicians played an important role in Madrid. Moreover that region was not the object of fiscal discrimination (Heywood 1995, 26). 48 The resolution recognized that Quebec constitutes “a nation,” but with the strategic addition of “within a united Canada”; the latter addendum was opposed by the sovereignist BQ, whose MPs nevertheless voted in favor of it. 49 For a larger comparison of similar cases, see Pp. 55ff. 50 On the whole, this equality does not prevail for Italian and Romansh; this will be considered below. 51 This may reflect the growing financial and industrial power of the economy among Germans (McRae 1983, 92). 52 This situation is possibly akin to the lack of nationalist movements in the so-called Nordic area (Elklit and Tonsgaard 1992), although these authors do not consider grievances, but only external incentives.

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Social-psychological determinants of nationalist conflict II Framing, values and beliefs, protest cycles

Framing processes: the construction of meaning Besides motivations, there are other social-psychological or cultural dimensions which are strongly influencing contentious collective action. In early collective behavior and social movement approaches, these dimensions were regrouped under categories such as beliefs, sentiments, values, and ideologies. More recently many of these components were brought together within a new perspective, the framing process approach. Given that the core of that perspective centered on problems of motivation, it is appropriate to consider it immediately after our section on the latter. Subsequently, the impact of other beliefs and values, also central in the analyses of nationalist movements, will be considered separately. In sociology, the framing perspective was developed by Gamson, by Snow, and by their respective collaborators (Gamson, Fireman, and Rytina 1982; Gamson 1992a, 1992b; Snow, Rochford, Worden, and Benford, 1986; Snow, Benford, McCammon, Hewitt, and Fitzgerald 2014; Snow and Benford 1988, 1992). According to Snow and his associates, social movements are not only carriers of mobilizing beliefs and ideas, but they must also “frame, or assign meaning to, and interpret, relevant problematic events and conditions, in ways that are intended to mobilize potential adherents and constituents, to garner bystanders’ support, and to demobilize antagonists” (Snow and Benford 1988, 198).This construction of meaning occurs through alignment or coordination processes which elaborate linkages between the preoccupations, beliefs, and values of potential and actual participants, and movement action, goals, and ideology. The aim is to make them congruent and complementary among movement militants and organizers, so that they become driving forces for the activities of these movements. Four alignment processes are said to be involved: bridging, the linking of unconnected considerations; amplification, enlarging the scope of existing beliefs and values; extension, to cover other issues and concerns; and transformation, to alter old understandings and meanings (Snow et al. 1986). There are three tasks or functions fulfilled through these processes, that is, first, establishing a diagnosis of existing problems, especially unjust situations and the attribution of blame for these; second, offering a prognosis, with the elaboration of proposed solutions and appropriate strategies to reach them;

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and third, generating some action motivation, inciting adherents to actually get involved in action (Snow and Benford 1988; Benford and Snow 2000; for an elaboration of these functions, see Snow and Benford 1992, 136–7). Gamson (1992a, ch. 1), an initiator of that perspective within the social movement literature, differs from the above by proposing slightly different framing components. He sees framing as a particular type of political consciousness and proposes first injustice,1 accompanied by emotions such as anger and moral indignation toward responsible agents; second, agency, as a consciousness of political efficacy to change these conditions; and third, collective identity, the forming of a “we” against an adversarial “they.” Of the three components, injustice is considered to be the key to integrating all three (p. 114) (for an alternative presentation of his views, see Gamson 1992b). Klandermans (1997, ch. 2) adopts Gamson’s framing perspective with substantial elaborations. The framing perspective made significant contributions to the social psychology of social movements. First it elaborated in great detail, through the alignment processes, the ways through which would-be and ongoing protestors construct understanding of conditions, situations, and experiences in their environments as unjust, inexcusable, or immoral (Snow and Benford 1992). Implied in those views is that framing is fundamentally a dynamic process through which “collective action frames… are continuously being constituted, contested, reproduced, transformed, and/or replaced during the course of social movement activity,” under the influence of various elements of the socio-cultural context (Benford and Snow 2000, 628). The perspective is not however without shortcomings. First, as recognized by its proponents, the research it has generated remains largely descriptive and focused on the processes which precede the readiness to act at any point in time. It is therefore not first explanatory and its subsequent consequences concerning participation in collective action remain poorly theorized; they are often assumed rather than empirically examined. This is probably related to the fact that the dominant research methodology has too often been qualitative and limited to the studies of small-scale forms of protest. Let us note in this regard that some authors from the framing perspective have made a distinction between framing and frame, with the preceding act of framing referring to the ongoing processes of meaning construction reviewed earlier, and frame as the subsequent products of that ideational work, at least at one point in time, which are claimed to be the essential determinant of collective action (Noakes and Johnston 2005, 12–13; Benford’s section in Snow et al. 2014, 30). The first phase, the framing processes, involves the three core framing tasks mentioned. These basically present the authors’ motivational scheme (although not labeled as such): first, the internal motive of discontents or grievances, simply identified by the authors as problems of social life which are in need of change (and also including the identification of responsible agents); second, the external collective incentive as solutions to the problems (also including strategies, tactics, and targets); and third, an umbrella of other motivational components, the only ones mentioned being selective incentives,

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moral considerations, and hopelessness about the probability of change (Snow and Benford 1988, 199–204). Gamson, as we saw, considers injustice and accompanying emotions as grievances, as well as feelings of political efficacy regarding the expectancy of success. All these constitute imprecise and incomplete motivation models. They leave out, for instance, aspirations for the collective good or for selective incentives, or the external role of these incentives, they mix different levels of motivation, and, more importantly, they overlook the interaction effects occurring between some of the components. More about these shortcomings will be discussed shortly. As for the second phase, the positive impact of already elaborated frames on collective action – a proposition which ought to be central to the framing perspective – remains an underdeveloped portion of the theory, something which has frequently been criticized. Let us examine the serious reservations of Opp (2009) in this regard. Opp’s central criticism of elaborate frames (see his chapters 1, 3, and 4), as well indeed as the other dominant perspectives which he successively examines (political opportunity, political process, and even the dynamics of contention approaches), is their lack of a theoretically clear and explicit intervening micro factor between the macro-level relationships of the independent variables of these perspectives and collective action, as for example between framing or political opportunity, and social movements.2 To be sure, Opp recognizes that these perspectives do mention some micro factors – as just described above for framing – but Opp’s point is that most of the time these factors are used only ad hoc, not based on a micro theory. What is needed is a theoretical account, at the micro or social-psychological level, of an individual’s decision to participate in protest behavior. For those purposes he proposes first the adoption of a general theory of collective action, one that is explicitly based on Olson’s (1965) theory of rational action and is centered on the notion of incentives and their changes. Opp opts for the wider version of that theory, assuming in particular that all sorts of incentives, not only economic ones as in Olson, can be involved: in a large group, the contributions of an individual to the provision of a collective good in which she/he is highly interested is determined by the strength of the appropriate incentives, defined as costs and benefits; if similar predispositions prevail among many members of the group, then by simple aggregations they will be likely to convene to engage collectively in the pursuit of that good. To merge the macro perspectives with this micro model, Opp proposes in his chapter 11 a structural-cognitive model as a synthesis of these two levels. Briefly, his starting point is a consideration of macro determinants or “critical events.” But for explicit and full-fledged explanations, one must turn to micro-individual incentives. In turn the incentives ultimately constitute the driving motivating forces for the individual to engage in protest behavior. Other individuals with similar predispositions will join together in collective, macro forms of protest. While being very rigorous in his criticisms of large perspectives, Opp’s fundamental claims regarding the importance of a micro theory and a synthesis of it with macro ones are in my view well taken. Reservations are however

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in order regarding Opp’s own micro model and its core notion of incentives. In this regard Opp is too closely dependent on Olson’s incentive views. The central problem is that the model indiscriminately lumps together within a single concept incentives, a large number of factors, and in particular almost all motivational determinants, obscuring their distinct interactions and their effects. Grievances, moral obligations, collective incentives and selective incentives (the last two not considered separately), and expectancy of success are all mentioned as simple empirical possibilities of incentives, together with other variables such as identities and postmaterialism (Opp 2009, 108–16). This model differs from ours. While the latter starts with distinctions between internal motives, external incentives, and expectancy of success, these distinctions are absent in Opp’s single notion of incentives. So is our point that these three major components are all necessary for an individual to engage in some action. Moreover, in his model, subcomponents, mostly grievances/emotions, but also collective or selective incentives or a mixture of the two are absent. In short, given the shortcomings of the incentive component of Opp’s micro model, it is suggested that it would be preferable to replace that part of his micro model with the motivation model just outlined, as will be done in subsequent sections. It should be stressed that this is not disregarding the meaning construction of the framing processes; this construction could just as well be applied to the various components of the motivation model. To put it in simple terms, motivation starts when framing comes to an end.

Framing processes in the countries compared While large amounts of information were already provided on the motivation dimensions underlying mobilization in the four countries being compared, there is very little content regarding possible framing comparisons between those countries. The reason is simple, there is practically no research linking this perspective to ethnoregional movements, which could then be used as secondary sources. Some of the comparative data reported in Chapter 2 can however be cast within the framing perspective, although one may wonder to what extent such translations substantially change our analysis;3 I think it does. The examination of this theoretical problem will however involve some repetition, as the events underlying it have been the objects of different analyses before. With regard to our four movements, let us nevertheless consider one specific problem, the respective roles of movement leaders and would-be followers in the framing of their goals, tactics, and strategies, that is, the prognosis task. The standard presumption in the literature on framing is to consider that framing is generally accomplished by mobilizing leaders, with few roles granted to followers. To what extent is that assumption valid?4 Serious reservations can be held concerning this assumption. Let us mention some possible differences between these two groups of participants. First the central positions of leaders are generally well known, being stated in their overt discussions, in their platforms, and in the public sphere, while those of potential followers,

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whether not yet mobilized or only weakly mobilized, are often likely to remain private. Obviously the framing efforts would then go from the first group to the second. But there would also be differences between uncommitted bystanders or simple adherents, with the positions of the latter more likely to be partly public. Framing would also tend to be more exclusively in the hands of leaders if the framing concerns the central goal of the movement, rather than less central tactics and strategies. Moreover, the phases of a movement would also affect the respective roles of those groups, the role of the leaders being paramount in the early phases of a movement, with the role of the followers becoming more important in successive phases, in part depending on successes or failures of the movement over time. Finally and most importantly the framings of the leaders and activists would be more likely to be influenced by the framings of their supporters if the movement has adopted the organizational forms of political parties or referendums, opening electoral routes for the supporters’ expression of their preferred framings; this is something more likely to be missing in simple movement participation with only weak organizations or even in routine politics. Framing in the Quebec movement In the case of Quebec, for a century and a half the basic long-term goal of the movement had been framed mainly in terms of demands for greater political autonomy, this until the mid-twentieth century. Before that, there were some flurries of claims for independence, but with marginal popular support these claims did not usually last for long, while the framing of demands for autonomy was permanently remaining on the political agenda. However, from around 1960 to the present, a radical and lasting shift occurred, with demands for political independence in one frame or another. What is of interest here is that the framings of that everlasting goal and the strategies towards it have been public and the object of very frequent and important modifications. While the goal of independence was originally initiated under the aegis of the founders of the various branches of the movement, the roles of small and highly committed groups of supporters largely followed and silently adopted the framed orientations of their leaders. From around 1960 to the end of that decade, many associations and political parties emerged, generally strongly differentiated by left–right political orientations, but not on their goal of independence. From there on, with the founding of the Mouvement Souveraineté-Association in 1967 and, above all, of the PQ in 1968, under the leadership of René Lévesque, a significant shift in the dominant goal occurred, with its framing bearing on sovereignty-association rather than on straight independence: Quebec would become a sovereign or independent country, but this would be accompanied by an economic association with the other provinces of Canada. Here again the framing was the task of the leadership cadres, with the early followers adopting the new frame without much resistance. But given the known

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weakness of public opinion support for full independence (Pinard 2002), the addition of an association to the option reflected the leaders yielding to the resistance, on the part of soft or not yet mobilized supporters, to the more radical straight independence option. After the defeat of the PQ government option in the 1980 referendum and the electoral defeat of the party in the 1985 election, the leadership of which had already moved to the moderate Pierre Marc Johnson, another drastic reframing of the prime goal of the movement was soon elaborated in 1986 and approved at the party convention in 1987. Faced with declining popular support for the option (Pinard 2002) – explicitly acknowledged by party leaders (Parti Québécois 1986) and confirming the influence of followers on the framing of leaders – the convention decided to abandon the sovereignty option altogether, now reframed as only a long-term ideal, and to adopt Johnson’s simple goal, now framed as national affirmation, a “refreshed” version of provincial autonomy, a radically different and more moderate option, That shift however could not be expected to last for long, with a return to power within the PQ of its radical wing in 1988, under Jacques Parizeau’s leadership. And indeed this led that year to a return to the traditional option, independence, now simply framed as sovereignty, appearing as less radical an option,5 but without the association component, no longer viewed as a precondition to sovereignty. The PQ was defeated again in 1989, but reelected in 1994, with a commitment to hold a second referendum on straight sovereignty within a year. During the previous years, support for the various independence options had increased substantially as a consequence of the failure of the constitutional Lake Meech Accord, allowing the PQ leaders to be optimistic towards the radical reframing of the option. However, as the time for the referendum approached, with polls indicating the YES could lose, the leadership, in reaction to that, reframed again the option in April 1995, this time as sovereignty-partnership, adding not only the offer to Canada of an economic association, but also of a political partnership under sovereignty. This turned out not to be an option mild enough to win, but close to it; on referendum day, in October, it faced a close defeat, with 49.4 percent of the vote while 50.6 percent voted NO (for an analysis of the referendum, see Pinard et al. 1997, ch. 8). Finally, 2005 marked, as of this writing, the latest reframing of the PQ’s goal, back to its traditional radical position again, that of simply an independent country. At its convention that year, it was decided that when the party would come back to power a new, third, referendum, after due political preparations, would be held with a straightforward question asking to make Quebec a sovereign country, without mention of a partnership component; any discussion about the latter would only come after a YES referendum victory. One possibility is that this time the reframing was not so much a response to popular opinion, but a response to outside contenders, that is, the Supreme Court of Canada decision, followed by federal legislation, stating in particular that to be legitimate, a Quebec referendum question would have to be clear.6

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The PQ did come back to power in 2012, but aware of popular resistance to that reframing, it again introduced during the campaign a strategic change, stating that a referendum would be held only at a “moment judged appropriate.” Given that the party had been elected as a minority government, and one which lasted for only 18 months, holding such a referendum would have been at any rate impossible. Since then the PQ has been out of power, but the 2005 reframing has remained the official party position. In addition to these framing changes on the central goal of the movement, there have been many strategic changes occurring at the time of elections, always on the basis of expectations that public opinion was such that it would lead to negative results. For the 1980 referendum on sovereignty association, the referendum question asked only for a mandate to negotiate the option. In the 1981 and 1985 elections, the PQ promised, if elected, not to hold a new referendum during the forthcoming term in office. In the 1989 election campaign, Parizeau discussed the issue of sovereignty, but only suggested the possibility of limited referendums on the recuperation of specific powers. Similar tactics were also used by Pauline Marois in 2008. Finally, for the five remaining elections between 1998 and 2014, the plans to hold a referendum were not entirely shelved – something that among PQ activists would not have gone easily – but to hold one only if expectations of victory prevailed, that is, if “winning conditions” were present (1998), when “mobilization efforts proved successful” (2003), “as soon as possible” after due preparatory activities (2007), “when the timing was judged appropriate” (2012), or finally “not until the population was estimated to be ready” (2014). As for the 2018 election, the party stated that no referendum would follow during the following term of a potential PQ election In summary, for the Quebec movement, the evidence presented reveals an important influence of followers in the framing of goals and strategies. This is no doubt related to the permanent recourse to the electoral route – and to the accompanying public opinion polling – for the followers’ expression of their views, mostly kept private. Moreover, the data presented refer to late rather than to early phases of the movement, with framing being then more likely to be affected by potential electoral and referendum defeats. Results could of course be different in, say, small religious movements during their early phases, like those studied by Snow (see Snow et al. 1986). Framing in the Belgium movements While Canada had already gone through a very long period of federalism, a very central framing issue in that country from the 1960s on became the pursuit of Quebec political independence through new social movements and parties. But in Belgium the processes regarding the relative roles of leaders and followers in the framing involved has been much different. For one, the pursuit of goals and strategies had two different aspects in that country. First, the main goals to be framed were more moderate, simply involving the

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pursuit of greater political autonomy, rather than independence; indeed the latter prevailed only, and then marginally so, in Flanders. The milder goals of autonomy could be pursued by leaders, again through political parties, but without having to hold referendums and indeed without much challenge from their followers, who were largely sharing the leaders’ framing on such goals. Second, the political parties mostly involved in this framing, mainly the three traditional parties, and their respective linguistic wings tended to be the ones dominating political coalitions, therefore in a position to act on this new framing. But these parties were also largely agreeing on these goals, while the third parties, increasingly favorable to independence on the Flemish side, were marginal or absent from coalitions. So the conditions were very different from those in Quebec, where the two main parties, the Liberals and the PQ, alternated separately in power and were strongly opposed to one another on goals – federalism versus independence. But one aspect of framing nevertheless involved party followers. This consisted in the framing shifts in the traditional parties from national to regional perspectives, which as seen led each of these three parties to split into two parties on regional lines. In so doing, they were influenced not only by their own followers, as in Quebec, but more so by the emerging regionalist parties, which were increasing the salience of linguistic grievances, issues which were deemed not sufficiently attended to by the traditional parties. Framing evolution among the older parties was therefore much influenced by the newer parties. But regarding the central goal of autonomy, this occurred for only one period of time, a very long phase, contrary to the constant wavering of the PQ in Quebec between various modes of independence from one election to the next. In Belgium, framing was limited to increasing demands for greater autonomy, which were more largely dominated by brokerage between different parties’ elites. The situation in Belgium therefore turned out to greatly facilitate the gradual – but not easy – movement of the country to greater political autonomy and finally to federalism, through six constitutional state reforms between 1970 and 2011. This was also facilitated by the apparently strong popular support for greater autonomy and in particular the very weak popular support for straight independence. It was also facilitated by the absence of strong centralizing political elites, contrary to Spain. Framing in the Spanish movements Let us turn to the relative roles of leaders and followers in the framings involved in Spain, in particular in Catalonia; this is a very interesting case in this regard. The situation in that country was in many ways similar to that in Belgium, that is, the elaboration in Spain of constitutional change towards greater political autonomy in response to persistent demands from the three historical nationalities. This however came later, only with the transition period following Franco’s death in 1975, and it was instituted rapidly with the

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return to democratic institutions; it was even extended to all of Spain, as a quasi-form of federalism, framed as autonomous communities. Framing was then realized through a much extended form of consensus among political elites and even the general population, given the relatively moderate changes implied by the pursuit of greater autonomy. As usual during incipient phases of change, the general public was less involved. But this climate of consensus at the national level drastically collapsed in Catalonia during the first decades of this century, with extreme polarization between the Catalan and Spanish governments, as well as serious divisions within Catalan elites. The severe conflict which developed and has by now (2019) lasted for more than ten years, involved much framing activity, with frequent and substantial change in it. It started in 2006, when a revision of the region’s Statute of Autonomy was challenged in the Spanish Constitutional Court as unconstitutional and was adjudicated as such by the Court. The result of this judiciary rejection of a previously politically endorsed agreement produced a strong feeling of rejection and outrage among both Catalan elites and the general population of the region, very much like the ultimate rejection by two provinces of the Meech Lake Accord in Quebec, which had been previously approved in national conferences. Before that Catalan episode, the dominant elites, particularly in the CiU, had slowly and gradually reframed their original goal of political autonomy, originally obtained with a Statute of Autonomy in 1979, by increasing their demands for more of it, including the revision of that statute in 2006. From then on, however, a series of episodes followed rapidly involving substantial reframing of goals and strategies. Catalan citizens exerted what appeared to have been strong impacts on their elites’ actions in this regard. The rejection of the revised statute in 2010 led the Catalan government, once reelected that year, to reframe its demands as a “right to decide” their conditions, in particular obtaining full fiscal autonomy. The demands were rejected by Madrid. This led the Catalan leaders in 2013 to very quickly move towards the option of independence for Catalonia, through a “Declaration of Sovereignty” defining Catalonia as a “sovereign political subject.” But the Spanish constitution containing a clause declaring Spain as an indivisible entity, presented a formidable roadblock to the pursuit of independence, and this clause was to be repeatedly used to block that option. This time the Constitutional Court utilized it to declare the declaration unconstitutional. So to keep using different pressures on the central government while attending to pressures from its followers, the Catalan government kept coming back with new strategic frames. It made plans to hold a referendum on independence in November 2014 and asked the Madrid government to allow this to take place, but the whole project was of course rejected by the latter. After again a massive demonstration in September 2014, the Catalan leaders reframed their project as a non-binding, unofficial poll on secession, but the Court even suspended this symbolic consultation, except that this time

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Barcelona decided to proceed with it anyway. That poll was very highly supported by the participants, but remained of course without any legal constraint. This time President Mas decided to turn to another strategy, this time to one looking legally sound. The plan was to hold a plebiscitary snap election in September 2015, framed as a de facto referendum on independence. Although reelected, but with only a minority of the vote, the pro-independence government decided by resolution to move ahead by initiating the process of secession, which would lead to independence by a referendum on a new constitution in 18 months. Once more the Court declared that the resolution had no validity. On the basis of a previous argument, what is especially relevant at this point is that the leaders’ framing efforts were constantly backed by large segments of the Catalan population. First, from the beginning of the crisis, huge popular demonstrations took place regularly in Barcelona, with unequivocal independence themes and slogans like “Catalonia, the next European state.” So far such demonstrations occurred practically every year from 2010 to 2015, usually on September 11, the national day of Catalonia. Significantly, these demonstrations often preceded the new strategies adopted by Catalan leaders, as can be seen from the events described. This is not the kind of substantial popular support one often observes in functioning democracies. Moreover it was critical that, contrary to Quebec when the 1990 crisis occurred at a time when the pro-independence party was largely paralyzed by being out of power, the Catalan crisis proceeded with the nationalists/secessionists at the helm. Second, while popular support for independence had remained below 20 percent before the crisis started in 2010, that proportion suddenly increased significantly from 2010 to 2013, to attain 43 percent as a preferred option among many others, and even to a majority of 53 percent on a positive choice for or against that option. One may wonder however if a majority for secession would have easily been attained had an actual referendum been held. In short, if the framing of goals and strategies was actually carried out by political leaders, the general population was certainly not, as implicitly assumed at times, either indifferent or simply a silent majority.

Values and beliefs in nationalist movements Now we turn to sets of beliefs and values which can be expected to constitute cultural components involved in contentious ethnopolitical action. The first set obviously includes communal collective identities, solidarities, and loyalties, as well as nationalist beliefs and ideologies. Another set of values includes postmaterialist values and the larger set of postmodern values, that is, the secular and self-expression values sustaining the large number of new social movements since the 1960s in Western societies. Certain values and objectives observed among college students will also be examined. These beliefs and values are deemed to have been crucial for the development of modern nationalist movements as well as of other new movements of the last 50 years.

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Communal identities, solidarities, loyalties, and nationalist ideologies One finds among the cultural dimensions underlying ethnopolitical action a cluster of closely interrelated sentiments usually identified as ethnic or communal identities, solidarities, and loyalties. They are concepts so close to one another that it is not always easy to differentiate them, although one could say that they are interrelated. Collective identities refer to sentiments held by members of an ethnic group that they share much with one another regarding their values, goals, interests, and fate, all giving rise to “we” feelings. These identities in turn produce feelings of solidarity, as sentiments of great interdependence between the members of the group engaged in the pursuit of these shared beliefs. Identities also contribute to feelings of loyalty, as sentiments of fidelity to communal groups and institutions from which gains have presumably been derived (see Hunt and Benford 2004 for a discussion of the first two concepts). Closely related to the above sentiments are nationalist beliefs and ideologies.7 They could consist of simple sentimental attachments to the communal ethnic group among its ordinary members, but become increasingly articulated as belief systems as one moves to the more educated layers of their community.8 Collective identities do not only constitute cognitive assessments. Their definition as shared sentiments clearly implies that they involve emotions, frequently deep ones. Jasper (1998, 415) even wrote that “most of all, (collective identity) is an emotion,” and that “the ‘strength’ of an identity comes from its emotional side” (see also Jasper 1997; Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta 2001, 8–10; Gould 2002, 191–2; Van Stekelenburg and Klandermans 2007, 164). Johnston (2009) has suggested that the notion of identities should be fruitfully extended to other ignored categories of cultural factors, such as performances and artifacts. It must be stressed, however, that while the discussion so far involves beliefs and sentiments present among members of ethnic or communal groups towards group institutions, these sentiments can simultaneously prevail towards the larger state institutions in which they are also partly integrated. One can then more properly think of dual identities, loyalties, and other beliefs, within individuals and subgroups. This is quite important since in multiethnic societies, both communal and state/national sentiments usually co-exist, with the relative strength of each varying substantially, although in situations of polarization and conflict the first tend to predominate. The determinants of those beliefs The determinants and consequences of the beliefs and values examined must also be considered. In a nutshell, starting with determinants, these ethnic or national sentiments are first and foremost affected by the degree of communal segmentation or state/national integration present in a society, and by the degree of ethnic grievances, especially economic, status, and power inequalities. Following Stinchcombe’s (1975, 599–616) theory of ethnic, as well as of

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nationalist, loyalties, the greater the degree of communal segmentation, by which members of an ethnic group are fully encapsulated within the organizations and institutions of that group, the greater the degree to which they have most of their life problems solved through that group and thus the greater the degree to which their personal fate depends on that of the group. Hence the greater their degree of loyalties to that group. Conversely, it follows that the greater their degree of integration in state/national organizations and institutions, the greater the degree of their national loyalties. With regard to communal loyalties, the processes are further intensified when, as generally happens, some communal groups occupy lower ranks in the stratification system of the society, since, in complex ways, their members’ fate is not only dependent on their group’s institutions, but also depends on the status of their group in larger institutions, in which they are likely to be the subject of unfair treatment. This will then lead to a great erosion of national loyalties – if they exist – within the lower-ranking groups. As will be seen, it is only when communal loyalties develop with lower rankings (or other grievances) that the possibility of conflict emerges. For perspectives consistent with that of Stinchcombe, see Deutsch (1966), Barth (1969), Hechter (1975), Hannan (1979), and Hardin (1995). The impact of identities and analogous beliefs But in turn once developed these identity beliefs can, with other conditions present, incite individuals to mobilize in order to promote or defend their collective assets, organizations, and institutions, whether at the communal or national level, depending on the strength of these feelings in either the group or the nation. It must also be recognized from the outset that the belief– mobilization relationship could work both ways, with contentious action in turn intensifying the identities and related beliefs, as recognized by Gamson (1992a, 6–7 and endnote 1), Jasper (1997, 192), and Polletta and Jasper (2001, 290–2). But in nationalist movements the communal beliefs are very likely to have been present for a long time and thus provoke the action, and when preexisting, salient collective beliefs tend to lead to very strong mobilization,9 something particularly important for nationalist conflicts. Needless to say, whether pre-existing or not, these beliefs are not stable: in the dynamic processes of action, through framing and collective action itself, as well as through the strategic efforts of leaders, the beliefs are subjected to constant processes of amplification, consolidation, expansion, and transformation (Snow and McAdam 2000; Benford and Snow 2000). Besides the interrelationships between beliefs and contentious action, there are also important reciprocal effects of beliefs and motivations, a problem less often examined in research. For instance, the impact of these beliefs is likely to be very strong on moral obligation, strong positive feelings towards the group greatly accentuating the sense of one’s duty to contribute to its collective action. It is also likely to be important in the amplification of felt grievances,

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especially feelings of rejection, exclusion, or oppression, and their accompanying emotions. Another instance is that strong feelings of solidarity accompanying shared activities could stimulate collective perceptions that changes are indeed possible. Conversely, it can be expected that shared adversities and fates will intensify collective identities and the other sentiments. In short, salient collective identities, solidarities, loyalties, and nationalist sentiments do not only exert strong effects in some direct ways on contentious action – and vice versa – but also indirectly, by first intensifying the scope of most components of motivation, and again the other way around. Postmaterialist, postmodern, and self-expression values Since the end of WWII the Western world has experienced an exceptional and unprecedented period of economic growth, of a scope that no previous society had ever experienced before; this in turn made possible the equally rapid rise of the welfare state. These structural changes have been hypothesized to be the most important source of value changes, values of an entirely different nature than those which had prevailed before, that is, a shift from materialist to postmaterialist values. As argued by Inglehart (1977, 1990, 2008), one of the central investigators of that phenomenon, the overriding materialist values which prevailed in previous periods reflected scarcity regarding dominant human needs and rested on the pursuit of economic and physical survival and security. But the new conditions of prosperity made the sense of existential security no longer the central concern, and opened the way to emphases on postmaterialist values which instead stressed belonging, esteem, and intellectual and self-expression as prominent priorities. These changes were deemed to be generational, with each new cohort becoming increasingly socialized during their youth to the new values emerging from conditions of increasing security.10 The evidence supporting those views rested on repeated surveys extending over a period of 35 years from 1970 to 2006, and covering mainly six West European countries. In these surveys, respondents had been asked in particular, on the basis of a list of two materialist and two postmaterialist goals, which were the two they considered most important. The data revealed that a substantial increase in the relative size of postmaterialist priorities over materialist ones took place among these publics over that period, and that age was strongly related to this net shift. The growth over time of the postmaterialist contingent resulted from the fact that surprisingly each birth cohort maintained their support for given goals as they were aging, that is, that there were no life-cycle effects, not to mention that each of the older, more materialist cohorts were gradually being replaced by young postmaterialist counterparts. But in addition to these long-term cohort effects, there were relatively strong short-term period effects of lower support for postmaterialism. These period effects were mainly seen as responses to economic downturns (e.g., those produced by the Organization of the Petroleum

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Exporting Countries oil shocks of late 1973 and late 1979); these were followed by recessions and inflation in Western Europe during the mid-1970s and at the beginning of the 1980s and the 1990s which led, in all cohorts, to brief downward swings toward materialism in 1977 and again in 1980–1, and in the early 1990s (Inglehart 1990, 83–103; 1997a, 61–3; Inglehart and Welzel 2005, 102–7). Inglehart (1997a, 2008) increasingly enlarged the scope of the relevant cultural shifts, with postmaterialism now considered only one component of much broader value shifts. An analysis of a very wide range of values led to the identification of two major dimensions, a first polarization between traditional and secular-rational values, and a second polarization, between survival and self-expression values, with the materialist and postmaterialist dimensions being a good indicator of this second set of values, the postmaterialism dimension being closely associated to the self-expression one; the last dimension showed the same generational trend patterns as the first. Now self-expression values included, among others, gender equality, tolerance for out-groups including immigrants, gays and lesbians, concern for the environment, civil rights, and civil liberties (Inglehart 2008). All of these value components were jointly identified as a postmodern value syndrome, resulting from postmodernization trends. While postmaterialism changes had been the best documented cultural shift, it was not necessarily to be considered as the most important one, changing gender roles and attitudes to gays and lesbians having been more dramatic (Inglehart 1997a, 3–6). Over the years Inglehart’s work has been the object of frequent criticism, in particular on his measures of the basic value dimensions, on the impact of formative socialization in the development of these values, or even on his central finding of a long trend of growth in postmaterialist values (see for instance Davis 1996; Easterlin and Crimmins 1997, and replies by Abramson and Inglehart 1996, and Inglehart 1997b, 1997c). We do not need to enter into much of these debates since our present claims are not on the characteristics and causes of those value dimensions, but on their trends and consequences in the development of politics.11

The impact of postmaterialism in contentious politics So let us turn to these effects, focusing on those in contentious politics in general. This has been a recurrent theme in the analysis of these priorities, especially in the work of Inglehart. In his Culture Shift (1990, ch. 9), he showed that postmaterialists were more likely than materialists to engage in various forms of protest activities, such as demonstrations, signing petitions, boycotts, and the like. What is important for our study of ethnopolitical movements is that, like for protest activities, postmaterialism was asserted to play a crucial role for all new social movements, as for instance the ecology, the women’s, the antinuclear power, and the peace movements. To be sure this value change was

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not the sole factor involved; objective problems (grievances), organizations, and ideologies were also important, but often value change was the most important factor (Inglehart 1990, ch. 11). Inglehart (1997a, also 2008) subsequently argued that postmaterialist issues increasingly dominated the political agenda in Western countries, and that a new political axis was emerging, cross-cutting the traditional right and left axis, with the new axis being built around new or realigned parties rooted from fundamentalist to postmodern value priorities; among the latter, a mention was even made of parties of political autonomy, such as those of the Flemish, the Catalans, and the Quebecois (1997a, 248). Finally Inglehart and Welzel (2005, chs 2 and 5) enlarged the key concept of postmaterialism to that of self-expression values – which included the former concept as a key component – and they generalized the above findings, asserting that, contrary to some claims, there was no political disengagement, but instead, under the influence of self-expression values, an increase in elite-challenging mass political participation, through various forms of protest. Postmaterialism and nationalist movements What have been the impacts of postmaterialism and similar values on the nationalist movements being analyzed? Given their impact in many new social movements, as reported above, there are strong presumptions that equivalent effects will also be observed in these other movements, although empirical evidence for that is not extensive. But that which we know of for the Quebec movement is convincing. Let us first mention that in a study of new movements in Canada, Nevitte (1996, ch. 4) reported that this country was like most other advanced industrial states in their support of these movements and that French-speaking respondents – about four fifths of them being from Quebec – were more likely to do so than Anglo-Canadians. What is more relevant here is that postmaterialist orientations led to increased support for these movements across all countries which Nevitte compared and that this also held for the three linguistic communities within Canada (English, French, and new Canadians). Overall this value orientation turned out to be “the best single predictor of support for all these movements” (p. 87). Turning to more specific evidence on ethnopolitics in Quebec, the impact of postmaterialism is convincing. In Quebec politics, during the early 1990s, this value had an independent effect in convincing both leaders and supporters to adhere to the independentist PQ rather than to the federalist Quebec Liberal Party (Pelletier and Guérin 1996). In two other studies, in which the dependent variable was now supporting the option of Quebec sovereignty, the results among Francophones were consonant with the previous ones, with postmaterialists being stronger supporters of sovereignty during the 1990s (Piroth 1998, 109–11) as well as in 2000 (Piroth 2004, 29, 38–9).12

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Regarding the Belgian and Spanish nationalist movements we did not come across much data of this type, except for one study covering the Belgian situation. Again it was found that the Flemish and Walloon voters supporting radical nationalist parties were much more likely to be found among postmaterialists than among materialists, and that the relationship was much stronger among the Flemish than among the Walloon voters; in a multivariate analysis, the influence of values remained very important for the support of these nationalist parties (Inglehart 1977, ch. 8, 234–40 and ch. 9). More generally, De Winter (1998b, 208–11) briefly presented a classification of a dozen West European ethnoregionalist parties on various dimensions, and concluded that several had a clear profile on postmaterialism and new politics issues. Cycle of protest perspective: contradictory or complementary claims? Inglehart, while rightly insisting on the development of postmaterialist and equivalent priorities, with their long-term, steady increases – except for shortterm period effects with no lasting impacts – unfortunately overlooked an important approach regarding the course of development of social movements, that is, the cycle of protest perspective. It is highly relevant for the unparalleled cycle of generalized contention in Western societies during the 1960s and 1970s. Such cycles are characterized in particular by the strong expansion and then the strong contraction of protest, following three periods, ascending phases, peaks and maturity phases, and descending phases, and which involved most of the social movement sector.13 Among recent discussions of that perspective, one finds works by Tarrow (1989, 1994) and especially by Brand (1990). Tarrow presents a general overview of many types of cycles of protest during different time periods, but he stresses the role of immediate structural factors in their emergence or development, especially political opportunities, a component examined subsequently. On the other hand, the focus of Brand, like that of Inglehart, centered on the cultural factors involved in all phases of such cycles, factors which are the center of attention in this chapter. While he briefly examined two earlier cycles, those emerging in 1830 and 1890, Brand was primarily concerned with the cycle of the “new social movements”14 which occurred in Western democracies between 1960 and 1980. The most well-known movements were at first the civil rights, the anti-Vietnam war, and student movements, and these were then joined in particular by the women’s, ethnoregional, ecological, peace, and life-style movements. The new movements were not manifestations of working-class, but of middle-class radicalism, with their activists belonging to young cohorts of students as well as to the well-educated strata of the new middle class.15 The period preceding that cycle of protest was the 1950s and early 1960s, a period of economic progress, of relative political apathy, and of a wide conservative political consensus. Then the first wave of the cycle emerged during

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the mid- and late 1960s, with a widespread and much heightened upswing of social and political mobilization, spurred by the fact that concerns were moving from the private to the public sphere, a critical analysis of existing institutional arrangements, outrage at unsolved inequity, and an exciting enthusiasm for drastic reform. A second wave followed, marking its fullblown and peak phase, during the 1970s and early 1980s. Finally by the mid1980s, the third, declining wave marked the end of the cycle. Then a widespread downswing of mobilization took place, with the disappearance of the student movement and others, some remaining only in abeyance. The popular critique of modernization was losing much of its impetus, together with a new mood of conservative self-confidence, an unconcealed hunt after money and status symbols, and a turn to parties and other institutional channels for solutions to the problems raised at the height of the cycle (Brand 1990, 30–3; Tarrow 1989, 50–6). All these views echoed the earlier intuition of Hirschman (1982), for whom society was alternating between cycles of public action and private interests. The cultural factors which, according to Brand, stimulated the development of the new social movements cycle were what he calls the social mood or cultural climate prevailing in a given period and which included a wide array of cultural elements, such as thoughts and emotions, fears and hopes, beliefs and utopias, feelings of crisis or security, of pessimism or optimism. The key component of such moods was the cultural criticism of central features of modern society, and concretely the contrast between “moral principles” and “the harsh reality of economic exploitation, political oppression and social misery.” All this was accompanied by firm beliefs in the possibility of realizing the reforms envisioned (Brand 1990, 28–30). From our perspective, this amounted to a model of felt grievances, collective incentives, and expectancies of success. Note that here the main concern is with discussions of the overall determinants which initiated the various phases of a cycle, not with the specific factors which could be affecting the ongoing courses of mobilization or demobilization within each phase, such as the role of organizations among challengers, the relative size of their popular mobilization, the choices of moderation or radicalization strategies, or new political opportunities emerging; while important these factors cannot account for the development of the cycle itself (on these specific factors, see for instance Kriesi, Koopmans, Duyvendak, and Guigni 1995, ch. 5). Let us add that it was very likely that the relationship between the cultural climate of criticism and movement mobilization was two-way and that mobilization was not solely a dependent variable, something neglected in that theory. While Inglehart had produced over the years a wealth of quantitative data to support his long-term postmaterialist trends, Brand did not offer any equivalent data to support the cultural underpinnings of his relatively shortterm cycle periods, but only qualitative descriptions of these components. It so happens, however, that there are data sets which are consistent with Brand’s assertions.

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An important source of such data is the American Freshman surveys, which by now have been carried out every year for 50 years, from 1966 to the present, under the auspices of the Higher Education Research Institute at the University of California Los Angeles. The surveys have been administered yearly in the United States to some 150,000 or more first-time full-time freshmen, as they entered their first year in college in at least 200 institutions granting baccalaureates. The surveys included a very wide set of questions, but especially some 20 measures of personal life objectives or goals (for the complete 50-year trend data, see Eagan et al. 2016). We do of course recognize the possible shortcomings of data limited to the United States and to young people. Moreover, it would also have been very useful, for our purposes, if the data collection had been initiated before the emergence of the 1960s cycle of generalized protest – a problem faced with Inglehart’s own trend data starting only in 1970. But it will be seen subsequently that structural analyses of the broad transformations which followed WWII are generally accepted as dominant factors for the emergence of the 1960s cycle of protest, so that the shortage of individual survey data for that early period is not too serious. The theory of Lemieux (2011) on so-called generational parties bears similarities to Brand’s theory of protest cycles. Lemieux considers such parties as based on the mobilization of young generations or new voters, and contrary to other parties, they are also characterized as going through three development phases, emergence, maturity, and decline. They become prominent parties, being in power or forming official opposition, and they last generally from 30 to 40 years. The framework was developed mainly in an analysis of three such parties successively created in Quebec during the last century, with the PQ as the most recent. There are however shortcomings in Lemieux’s approach, in particular as being wedded too closely to a political science perspective. It considers only political parties, not any other form or vehicle of protest, and only Quebec parties are central in his analysis. The parties considered are not seen as developments occurring in periods of severe crisis, but in any political periods, be they quiet ones. The analysis is too closely tied to political factors, neglecting possible contributions from generalized studies of contentious collective action. For instance, no attention is paid to the impact of different types of values and beliefs, and of changes in them, except for increases in dissatisfaction and developments of solutions to such grievances. But all in all the cycle perspective adopted by Lemieux is a promising one. Returning to the Freshmen surveys, the measures of the numerous life objectives among freshmen were introduced by the following statement: “Please indicate the importance to you personally of each of these,” with the possible ratings offered being not important, somewhat important, very important, or essential.16 Note that the stress is on personal goals, an essential point to be discussed below. The ratings of most of these objectives were over time either quite stable or showed relatively minor variations, but two of the items showed substantial and opposite trends. One of these two goals was

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“developing a meaningful philosophy of life” while the other was “being very well-off financially.” I would suggest that the first goal is referring to a selfassertion, postmodern value syndrome, while the second clearly signals a materialistic, economic orientation. From the beginning of the series, and compared to the whole set of other objectives submitted in the questionnaire, the first objective we examined, on a meaningful philosophy of life, was viewed by freshmen as the most important of all objectives measured in 1967, with 86 percent judging it as such. But the trends observed turn out to be opposite to those of Inglehart. As Figure 4.1 reveals, the data on that first, presumably postmaterialist, objective do not exhibit any upward trend, quite the contrary. After the three stable years of the late 1960s, support for that objective underwent a rather sharp decline: it dropped from 79 percent in 1970 to 43 percent in 1987. The important observation here is that this decline started at a time when the peak of the movement cycle had already been reached and then it continued during the whole period of the decline of the movement cycle during the 1980s. Thus the decline in support of a meaningful philosophy of life accompanied the decline in the cycle of protest movements of that period, suggesting that the first could have been a factor in the second. Indeed, from the late 1980s on, support for that objective became relatively stable, remaining somewhere in the low and high 40 percents, except for possible minor upswings during the early 1990s and the middle 2000s. But overall, after the 1980s, the low level reached could be hypothesized to represent the “normal” low level to be expected to prevail during stable and quiet political times. With regard to the second objective, being well-off financially, the trend is strikingly the obverse of the previous one. The relative disinclination until 90

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Being very well off financially

82

80

72 70

60

50

42

44

45

40

30 1966 1968 1970 1972 1974 1976 1978 1980 1982 1984 1986 1989 1991 1993 1995 1997 1999 2001 2003 2005 2007 2009 2011 2013

Figure 4.1 American freshman: selective life objectives (percentages), 1966–2014 Note: Objectives considered by freshmen as essential or very important. The data on objectives for 1988 are excluded in the source, due to methodological changes Source: Eagan et al. 2016

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1974 to the pursuit of private interests was evident, standing just above or just below 40 percent – that is, during the high level of the movement mobilization cycle. But movement demobilization occurred concurrently with a sharp increase in monetary aspirations, the support for this objective very quickly climbing, in barely more than ten years, to reach the 72 percent mark by 1986. It then remained relatively stable at that level for some 20 years, until 2007. After that point it exhibited a minor upswing to reach the high 70 and the low 80 percents until the end of this series. Again, incidentally, this represented a summit level when compared to all the other 20 or so objectives measured in these Freshmen studies. Moreover trend data, based on different issues in these surveys, developed in a similar direction, such as the increases, over the years, in some of the most important reasons given by students for going to college, that is, to be able to make more money or to get a better job (Eagan et al. 2016, 68–70). Easterlin and Crimmins (1997, 68), relying on a shorter time segment (1974–86) of the college freshman data (as well as on some other data sets bearing on high school seniors), argued that “a sharp shift to private materialism,” not postmaterialism, was taking place among American youth, consistent with the longer time series we just presented. In a debate with Inglehart (1997b, 1997c) neither of these authors questioned the validity of the latter data, nor the apparent inconsistency of these results with those of Inglehart, but engaged in a search of possible explanations for these sharp differences. Inglehart suggested that three factors could be involved: changes in the yearly composition of the student samples, which would have been recruiting increasingly less educated students, differences in the measurements of the values, and the possibility of period effects. They retained mainly the problems of the measurement differences, but without coming to explanations of them, simply calling for further research.18 I want to present an alternative analysis. Not only does that analysis accept both sets of findings as valid, but it presents an explanation for them which stresses the complementarities rather than the inconsistency of the results. Now it is important to notice that in earlier writings, Inglehart (1990, 169) had made a distinction between societal goals and personal goals; the societal goals would be concerned with collective and long-term, broad goals, as in his materialist/ postmaterialist measure – which in its short version is referring to order, rising inflation, political participation, and freedom of speech – while the personal goals would refer to more immediate, individual concerns, strongly related to personal self-interests, such as those concerning one’s job goals, like a safe job without the risk of unemployment, a good salary, friendly work surroundings, and feelings of personal accomplishment in the work accomplished – all goals also mentioned by Inglehart but barely analyzed. Incidentally Easterlin and Crimmins (1997, 70–1) used the term “personal self-fulfillment” for some of these goals in their own data. More generally, the societal goals, central in Inglehart’s work, would more likely develop slowly19 over extended, even secular periods of economic

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development, political modernization, and intellectual progress, and go from less to highly developed societies. Personal goals, on the other hand, could be claimed to affect more deeply one’s immediate individual interests, especially economic ones. They could during long, socially stable periods, exhibit little substantial changes, but they could be rapidly and strongly modified in relatively short periods of severe, generalized, and relatively sudden contentious politics, as during cycles of protest. Moreover, these changes could occur without affecting many people’s societal goals on the postmaterialism continuum. Thus it could be suggested that among young people, these personal changes would be easier to make and be more pronounced. At any rate these two sets of values could develop independently of one another.20 Now Inglehart is right that societal goals are part of the underlying determinants of the materialist/postmaterialism syndrome, but my claim is that the personal goals, like those measured by the college freshman trend data, are the cultural determinants involved in the cycle of protest perspective. If that position is valid, it would presumably take relatively long periods of time to witness a return to the personal goals as they were at the peak of the cycle, since such encompassing cycles are relatively infrequent occurrences. Interestingly enough, the independence of these two sets of values can best be illustrated by other data from the Freshman surveys. While, as described, the students’ personal monetary goals returned to domination at the end of the cycle, the same students continued to increasingly adhere to some societal postmaterialist goals, also measured in the same surveys. These data revealed that students were increasingly endorsing more progressive political and social views.21 This is exemplified by their increased agreement with the legalization of abortion, an approval which moved from 56 percent in 1977 to 64 percent in 2015, its greatest level of support. Similarly, the legalization of marijuana was agreed to by only 20 percent in 1968, but that support grew over time, except for a lapse during the 1980s, under the Reagan administration, and it ended up at 56 percent in 2015. As a last example, the legal recognition of same-sex marriages was supported by 51 percent in 1997 (the first time it was asked), but that proportion rose to 81 percent in 2015 (Eagan et al. 2016, 27–9, 86–8). Issues like these, which obviously constitute societal goals, are indeed explicitly mentioned by Inglehart as being part of the extended postmaterialist values syndrome (Inglehart 2008, 141–4, especially 142). Thus the freshmen who were becoming more materialist on personal values were shown in the same surveys to be more postmaterialist on societal values. These two sets of values, far from being inconsistent, represented different cultural aspects of the same reality.

Cycling processes and nationalist movements: overall similarities Let us return to the cycle of contentious politics and in particular to that of the ethnopolitical movements and parties which emerged during the stormy 1960s. There is generally a consensus regarding the views of Brand that practically all of the new social movements of that period followed the

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cyclical patterns he described, although he presented no specific analysis of that for any of the movements. What about the evidence for the main nationalist movements which emerged in three of the countries compared in this study?22 We examined earlier the developments of these movements and suggested factors proper to each regarding such developments. Now our hypothesis is that the cycle perspective offers significant explanations relevant for all of these movements, and presumably for other movements of the same type. Their emergence, maturity, and decline phases are implied to be related to equivalent phases in the life objectives of freshmen presented in Figure 4.1. We will turn first to the Quebec situation. Cycles in Quebec In Quebec a flurry of writings, associations, and minor parties emerged around 1960 with the essential goal of making Quebec an independent country. The two main early parties were the RIN in 1960 and RN in 1966, soon to be merged with the PQ in 1966; in terms of seats, the PQ quickly became one of the two main parties in that province between 1973 and 2018, except for the elections of 2007 and 2018. But in terms of votes the PQ did go through the three cycle phases expected (Figure 4.2). First a phase of emergence, when in its first electoral participation in 1970 the party reached 23 percent of the votes. The PQ then moved quickly to a phase of maturity, attaining its peak during the 1981 election,

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with 49 percent of the vote. What is striking, however, is that it went from then on through a long phase of decline, at first moderate in the four elections between 1985 and 1998, when it obtained an average 42 percent of the vote, and then more severe in the six elections since 2003, in which it was limited to an average vote of 28 percent. During the last of these elections, in 2018, it finally reached its lowest point ever, with only 17 percent of the vote. In a paper on the 2014 election, Mahéo and Bélanger (2018) were led to wonder whether the PQ was bound to disappear (see also Montigny 2016). On the other hand, the BQ, the federal wing of the movement, only created in 1990, cashed in the weaknesses of the two traditional federal parties in that province at the time, the Liberals and especially the Conservatives. The BQ emerged as the dominant federal party in six of the following eight federal elections, with votes between 38 and 49 percent, its popularity peaking at 49 percent in both 1993 (its first electoral participation) and 2004. Its decline was slower to come than that of some other nationalist parties, but it was a crashing one when it occurred in two recent elections: with the resurgence of the federal Liberals, the BQ vote dropped to 23 percent in 2011 and finally to only 19 percent in 2015, although making a moderate comeback to 33 percent in 2019 (Figure 4.3).23 While that party had obtained stronger support than the PQ during the 1990s and the following decade, the two parties, especially the PQ, are now very weak, with scores of 17 and 33 percent, respectively, in the last election they participated in. The current fate of both parties shows signs of decline in the recent past, being victims of the cycle processes discussed.

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Consider the popular support for the current constitutional option – the complete sovereignty of Quebec, with no partnership as a complement. That option also reached an unprecedented strong backing of 58 percent in 1990, under the impact of the demise of the Meech Lake Accord. Support then soon declined to percentages in the high 30s, at the time of the 1995 referendum and until the end of the 1990s, and dropped further to the mid- or lower 30s during the first and second decade of the present century. By 2017, that percentage stood at 30 percent, its lowest point attained in that series, except for 1988 (Figure 4.4). Seen differently the data exhibit a long-term declining phase of support for some 25 years, only interrupted by one short period effect in 2005, attributed to the so-called sponsorship scandal involving federalist forces and possibly to a very serious labor conflict.24 All in all, whether in support for the two main sovereignist parties or in adherence to their current constitutional option, peaks have been followed by long phases of decline, although less sharp in the case of the option than in that of the parties, in part because some supporters of the option have shifted to other provincial parties.25 That is, in line with our hypothesis, phases of nationalist support in Quebec, in particular their declining phases, can be observed to have been inversely related to increases and high levels of private materialism and, above all, directly related to the decline and low levels of self-fulfillment values, as

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shown above. Conversely, the declines of political support cannot be claimed to be related to Inglehart’s original value syndromes, which were slowly increasing during all those cycles. Flemish, Walloon, and Brussels cycles Similar developments occurred in the Belgian movements. Since many details were presented earlier, we will be brief and consider the three main original ethnoregionalist parties in that country; they exhibit the same cyclical patterns found in Quebec. In Flanders, the VU was created in 1954 and its emergence remained relatively weak until 1965 (see Figure 4.5). Its maturity was however attained between 1968 and 1977, with an average of the regional vote just below 18 percent. Its actual peak, at 19 percent, was reached in 1971. Note that it occurred at about the same period as that of the PQ, only a decade earlier. The VU then followed a phase of decline during the late 1970s and the 1980s, dropping to an average of 13 percent. The decline then accelerated during the 1990s, the last decade of its existence, when it reached a low average of only 9 percent. It finally disappeared in 2002 when it split into two other parties.26 The N-VA was the most important of these parties. Its emergence was rather slow before 2010, standing at 5 percent when the party was not in a coalition. It did however mature into a major Flemish party during the elections of 2010 and 2014, each time with regional votes of about 40 percent. 25

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It remains an open question whether it will also experience a decline equivalent to those of many other ethnic parties. There has been no full cycle developed so far. In Wallonia, a cyclical pattern did prevail with the RW (Figure 4.6). While as in Quebec, for instance, it was preceded by other minor groups, the RW’s emergence occurred only in 1968. It started quickly with 11 percent of the regional vote that year, to soon attain its best result, in 1971, with 21 percent of the vote; this peak occurred the same year as it did for the VU, both profiting from each other’s polarizing challenges. This level was maintained in 1974, but the RW soon followed a declining wave, first with 9 percent in two elections of the late 1970s, and finally to only 6 percent in 1981, and then disappeared “from mainstream politics,” remaining only as a marginal movement (Deschouwer 2009b, 569). Finally, in Brussels, the FDF, created in 1964, emerged at about the same time as all the others just discussed. In its popular vote in Brussels, it obtained 10 percent in 1965, and soon reached the strong score of 40 percent, its peak, in 1974, again at about the same time as the other two Belgian regionalist parties (see Figure 4.7). Its support remained relatively stable during the 1970s, with a popular vote of about 35 percent. But a long decline occurred during the following decades, with a major drop to no more than about 11 percent, between 1985 and 1991, that is, in the last three elections preceding its alliance with the Liberals; in its comeback to running alone in 2014, the party was again limited to 11 percent of the vote. It is however the only survivor of the

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original three Belgian regionalist parties. In short, the presence of a similar cyclical pattern of support reinforced the hypothesis that these support cycles were related to the cycle of personal values presented earlier.27 Cycles in Spanish regions In the case of the ethnoregionalist movements in Spain, the situation is more intricate given the absence of democratic institutions before Franco’s death in 1975; this obviously delayed the full emergence of democratic nationalist politics for a decade, although some weak mobilization did occur even before the transition period. Let us start with Catalonia which has had the strongest nationalist movement ever since. We have already reviewed the party situation in that region as part of the description of the overall political developments there and, in particular, in the detailed presentation of the serious crisis which emerged during the first decades of this century. Now we return to the specific party situation in relation to the protest cycle theory, again with a concentration on the dominant Catalan party, that is, the CiU coalition, which has governed the region for most of the time since 1980, alone or occasionally in different coalitions. That party first ran in Catalan elections in 1980, and its emergence was immediately quite significant, with 28 percent of the vote. As seen in Figure 4.8, the CiU immediately reached its peak with 46–47 percent of the vote in the following three elections from 1984 to 1992; such proportions of the votes have never been attained since. Very much like the other instances examined, a regular

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decline took place during the following four elections, between 1995 and 2006, first with scores around 40 percent and then around 30 percent. However, the data of Figure 4.8 indicate a reemergence to around 40 percent in two of the last three elections from 2010 to 2015. This could seem surprising, but note that this sudden resurgence was presumably the result of the region’s political crisis, which developed in the first decade of this century and is as yet unresolved.28 The impact of the crisis on Catalan constitutional options was even stronger, although also showing mild signs of cycling effects. While, as seen in the earlier Figure 3.1, support for independence started growing slowly during the first decade of this century, but with the development of the ongoing 2010 crisis, that support grew rapidly and substantially, to reach a peak of no less than 47 percent in 2013. It then showed a small gradual decline for the following years (2014–18), although support remained higher than it had been during the pre-crisis period. It did however show the beginning of a decline, as in our other series, but a moderate one, which is no doubt due to the ongoing severe crisis. Signs of a loss of militancy are also suggested by the decline in the size of yearly mass demonstrations since they started in 2010, except after the 2019 reactions to the condemnation of the nine Catalan leaders. It is impossible to foresee the immediate future, given the uncertainties regarding the crisis. The election trends in the Basque Country, in the post-Franco era, constitute a complex situation because, among other things, of the large number of nationalist parties (often three or four) and of the involvement of the violent ETA associated with some of these parties. Be it as it may, the trends do not appear to

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support the clear cycle processes observed with the other nationalist parties. This may well be a result of the fact that the PNV, the main nationalist party, is not a new movement of the recent cycle; indeed over the years it had become a traditional party. It had been part of the political system for a very long time, and since its creation in 1895 had survived all the political regime changes which occurred over the twentieth century, despite its weakness during the two authoritarian regimes. But in 1980, in the first regional election of the transition period, the party reemerged and made a strong comeback, obtaining 38 percent of the vote; it even reached 42 percent in the second election in 1984 (Figure 4.9). From then on the PNV went through two distinct phases, one of a decline to around 28 percent of the vote in the four elections between 1986 and 1998, but only because of a split in the party, leading to the creation of EA, which competed against the PNV, and a second phase, during the following five elections, between 2001 and 2016, when the party recovered its strength by forming joint coalitions with EA and even running on a joint ticket in 2001 and 2005; it then got results again close to 40 percent. When EA ran separately, the sum of the PNV and EA votes also continued to stand close to 40 percent.29 Consider now Spain’s third historical nationality, Galicia, and the cycles followed by its strongest nationalist party, the BNG. The Galician nationalist movement was weak when compared to the other two Spanish ones. Created in the early 1980s, its emergence was slow and not impressive, as it obtained less than 10 percent of the vote in the two elections of that decade (Figure 4.10). It soon however attained its maturity and peaked in the two elections of the 1990s. Then, as with most of the other nationalist parties examined, it followed a long and unequivocal decline in the subsequent five elections; it went from 23 percent of the vote in 2001 to a low level of support of only 8 percent in 2016. 45

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And what about other countries? The only region for which equivalent data can be reported is Scotland and it constitutes a clear exception. Support for the Scottish National Party has so far shown no signs of decline, with its support increasing in its five devolved elections since 1999 (except for a minor loss in 2003); its vote increased from 29 percent in 1999 to a peak of 46 percent in 2016.30 But Scotland has been so far involved in only five devolved elections, so it is yet unknown what long-term trends will produce.

The role of issues in the decline of nationalist parties Beyond the cycling processes involved, there is presumably, with regard to the decline of ethnic parties, an additional factor present. When you examine the platforms of these parties, they are quite different from those of the traditional parties with which they compete. The platforms of the latter usually cover a comprehensive number of issues in most fields, be they economic, political, or social, albeit with different stresses and orientations on the left or right axis. But most of the time, especially for center parties, there is not a single specific issue which is much more salient than all the others and that defines the party. Even in the case of, say, socialist parties, a large number of issues are dealt with in their platforms, even though their general orientation qualifies their specific stands on them. But in the case of nationalist parties, while their platforms may also cover many issues, one of them is paramount and indeed defines the parties as

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nationalist parties, be they by their stress on the moderate pursuit of various degrees of political autonomy or on the more radical pursuit of more or less complete independence. In either case, such a single-issue focus does not have, for large numbers of voters, the permanent salience of many other issues which appeal to the strongly held interests of ordinary voters. However, when these ethnic parties enter a declining phase, under the influence of new moods of conservatism and the stress on the pursuit of voters’ economic interests, their leaders cannot easily push in the background their relatively narrow nationalist framings and adopt, like traditional parties, multiple-issue platforms, many of which are likely to be more salient. And even if nationalist leaders then try to turn to wider platforms, many actual or potential supporters will not easily disregard their former narrow nationalist framings and follow them on their enlarged route; many will simply shift to parties already identified with comprehensive, multiple-issue platforms.31 Consider the PQ as a good example of these processes. From the beginning, the pursuit of independence was the dominant, number one issue on its platform, defining the party. But even during its phases of growth, that issue was perceived by many of its leaders as too radical for many potential supporters, and the issue was constantly softened, by adding to it an economic association or political partnership with the rest of Canada. Subsequently, after the failures of two referendums, despite these softening efforts, elections were constantly carried out with the pursuit of that goal simply postponed to more favorable circumstances. But constantly these tactics led many voters to serious ambivalence between elements of attraction to the party and reservations towards its independence option. This was manifested by poll results showing that the PQ could never benefit as much as its opponents from satisfaction towards it when they were the incumbents, or from dissatisfaction towards the latter, mostly the Liberals, when they were the incumbents (Pinard 2005). During phases of decline, these processes simply amplified the negative effects of change in the attitudinal moods described by Brand which produced in the first place the decline of the PQ. During the last two decades (except under a minority PQ government in 2012), when dissatisfaction towards a Liberal governing party prevailed, what occurred was not mostly a turn to the PQ, but increasingly to the two emerging, only moderately nationalist, but multi-issue, parties. First this occurred with the rise of the Action démocratique du Québec (ADQ), with increasing popularity in elections between 1994 and 2008, with a peak in 2007 and its becoming the official opposition party in the election of that year. Then it was followed between 2012 and 2018 by the emergence of a similar party, the CAQ – which had merged with the ADQ – with the CAQ ultimately coming to power in 2018. That year, high dissatisfaction and a strong desire for change led the incumbent Liberals, after close to 15 years in power, to its worst showing ever, with only 25 percent of the vote, a loss of 17 percent. This did not lead voters, however, to turn or return to the PQ, with its more limited and less salient32 issue focus, that party dropping to only 17 percent of

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the vote, but to turn to the CAQ, with 37 percent of the vote, a gain of 14 percent.33 It is crucial to note that the federalist-sovereignist, Liberal–PQ polarization, so central during the previous 50 years of Quebec politics – a polarization which is at the core of the analysis of Bélanger et al. (2018) – broke down in the October 2018 election in favor of an opposition between a federalist and a mildly autonomous, Liberal–CAQ, axis, with the sovereignist issue, and even the autonomy issue, almost totally absent from the electoral campaign. Let us briefly mention that something analogous also took place earlier in Belgium, its situation being described in Chapter 3. Facing the challenges of the ethnoregionalist parties engaged in the pursuit of their grievances and ethnic autonomous goals, the three traditional multi-issue parties – the Christian Democrats, the Liberals, and the Socialists – each split into separate Walloon and Flemish linguistic wings, which allowed them to add regional ethnic issues to their more varied platforms. This greatly facilitated for these parties the promotion of a set of reforms, ultimately leading to the adoption of a full-fledged federal system. But presumably this accelerated the further electoral decline of the original nationalist parties, with their narrow issue platform of decentralization, being adopted by the traditional parties. Note that all this did not profit the traditional parties, which were also declining, but rather non-ethnic third parties – the Greens and a radical-right party.

Conclusions on cycles The main conclusion from the analyses of this section is that there are striking concordances between, on the one hand, the cycles of increases in personal materialism among college freshmen and of decreases in their selffulfillment values and, on the other hand, the decline cycles of support for the nationalist parties which we have been considering. These results, consistent with the cycle of protest perspective, are however inconsistent with postmaterialism theory. To be sure, there were specific differences in the exact cycle phases of each movement, but these we claimed are likely to be related to idiosyncratic factors in the development of each, as examined in different sections, such as, for instance, differences in preexisting party systems, dissatisfaction with the lack of sensitivity of existing parties to ethnoregionalist concerns, as well as general dissatisfaction with all governing parties, the radical versus the moderate agendas of the new ethnic parties, and the presence or absence of charismatic leaders in them. Unexpectedly, we also observed that the emergence and maturity waves of these parties tended to be of relatively short duration, while their decline waves tended to last much longer. For one thing, the enthusiastically rapid emergence of ethnoregionalist parties – as in craze-like phenomena in elementary forms of collective behavior – may include, in addition to the cultural cycling processes, other factors leading all of them to be quick to reach their declining phases, such as yet underdeveloped organizational arrangements, overconcentrated

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potential pools of leadership, low levels of lasting partisanship, only slow to develop, the absence of quick returns to mobilization, and declining expectancies of success. Conversely, the declining phases may be relatively long simply because the leaders of these nationalist movements are likely to have developed vested interests in their survival, given the early phases of their new political careers. Finally, some of the persisting organizational changes generated from the actions of ethnonationalist parties can be briefly summarized. For one thing, their strong nationalist ideologies easily produce internal tensions and competition, and in particular the emergence of new parties on their left, such as Quebec Solidaire in Quebec, the N-VA in Flanders, the ERC and Candidatura d’Unitat Popular in Catalonia, and HB in the Basque Country. Together, for instance, with the emergence in Quebec of middle-of-the-road parties, only moderately nationalist (the CAQ, preceded by the ADQ), which obtained quick success because of goals simply limited to greater political autonomy and larger issue platforms. Indeed this process, with the CAQ which just came to power, ended up fostering the growth of multiparty systems. Moreover, in Belgium, the presence of ethnoregionalist parties led to the fragmentation of the traditional parties, and with other changes greatly contributed to the gradual elaboration of a much decentralized federal system.

Notes 1 As noted by Benford and Snow (2000, 615), it is questionable whether certain types of movements, such as religious, self-help, and identity movements, need include an injustice frame. 2 Opp also discusses many conceptual problems regarding framing, but these will not be examined here. 3 In his discussions on framing, Opp (2009) also makes similar remarks; he even presents translations of text on framing in plain English without “any change of meaning” (Pp. 257–8, 271). 4 For a brief discussion of this issue, see Opp (2009, Pp. 299, 255). 5 While both independence and sovereignty refer to secession, many voters saw the latter as less radical and support for it was stronger (Pinard et al. 1997, 35–40). 6 Supreme Court of Canada, Reference re Secession of Quebec, 1998; Government of Canada; Clarity Act, S.C. 2000, c. 26. 7 John Hall (1993) has rightly argued that there are many types of nationalism, but only one of his types, labeled nationalism by trade, comes close to the one envisioned in this study; his notion is however limited to the current nationalism of privileged regions in developed countries, such as in Catalonia and the Basque Country, and Hall sees them as motivated by the promotion of their economic interests. 8 Let us add that in my view these beliefs and sentiments are self-interested and rational, are fundamentally modern and political, but with important social moorings, that their scopes are enlarging with modernization, that among the masses they can persist for long periods with low degrees of consciousness, needing to become articulated by their elites and leaders; for brief details on these points, see Pinard (2002, 252–4). For consistent perspectives on nationalism, but usually covering longer time periods, see especially Mann 1992, 1995; also Hroch 1985, 1995; Hechter 2000; Wimmer 2002; McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly 2001, ch. 8. The

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reader should note that most analyses of nationalism consider it, above all, as the phenomenon to be explained rather than as one determinant among many of nationalist conflicts. For a review of the evidence on these two-way relationships, see Pinard 2011, ch. 6. These claims underlie Martin’s (1994) analysis of generational support for sovereignty in Quebec. Thus whether Inglehart really measures postmaterialism or some other phenomenon, such as authoritarianism, as argued by Davis, is less crucial for us than whether and how they affect various forms of contention. In the multivariate analysis carried out in the last study, the impact of postmaterialism was particularly strong among the young and overall support for the option was highly dependent on Francophone grievances. Note that there is no contradiction between the declining support of the young with postmaterialism maintaining a stronger effect among that age group. Inglehart could not for instance account for the sudden decline of these movements. He did recognize the puzzle created by the post-1970s disappearance of the movements (1990, 318 ff.), but offered only ad hoc explanations: the end of a central issue, the war in Vietnam (as if there were not many other important “issues” for many other movements), and the desertion of the now aging postmaterialist supporters to positions of power and authority in various social sectors (as if they could not have been replaced by constantly emerging new age cohorts). The references to new social movements vary slightly, but will refer here, as is often done, to the types of movements listed in this paragraph (see Tarrow 1989). The new middle-class concept is very ambiguous; we have empirically established the relevant group to be the larger intelligentsia and the intellectuals proper, with the exclusion of its managerial segment (Pinard and Hamilton 1984b, 1989a; Kowalchuk and Pinard 1993). The essential and very important answers are combined in what follows. On the disinclination among college students, in those periods of substantial economic growth, to be concerned with jobs and career, see McAdam (1988, 13–19); see in particular the revealing interview quote on Pp. 16–7. Easterlin and Crimmins challenged the composition argument and the one about possible period effects; the latter cannot be maintained since such periods would have had to be extended over many decades within the 50-year data set. According to Inglehart (2008, 131), “intergenerational value change, by its very nature, moves slowly.” Even if they tend to be related to one another at any given point in time, as shown by Inglehart (1990, 169–70). With a set of items different from the objectives, students were instructed to mark one of four categories: disagree strongly/disagree somewhat/agree somewhat/agree strongly. The results presently reported added together the last two agree answers. Except of course Switzerland where no such movements emerged. For a recent analysis of the cycles of the BQ, see Bélanger et al (2018, 121–8). On the impact of the sponsorship scandal, see Yale and Durand (2011). The other apparent period effect, in 1996, is based on a single poll and is not confirmed by other data series. This paragraph considers only the hard option of complete sovereignty for which we have trend data (1988 to 2017) – an option which since 2005 became the official one followed by the PQ. For more detailed analyses of trend data, including data on other options (independence and sovereignty association/partnership), and covering earlier periods (1962–95), see Pinard (2002); for most of the periods from 1976 to 2008, see Yale and Durand (2011); also Montigny (2016). For details of what followed, see Chapter 2.

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27 Again support for independence in Belgium remains very weak and the absence of trend data on the issue does not allow us to examine cycling effects, if any. 28 Note that in 2015, the old CiU coalition had split, with its remaining partner, the CDC, running now in an alliance with ERC instead of UDC, under the name of Junts pel Si. It was then not the same party. In 2017, ERC ran on its own and CDC was refounded as the Catalan European Democratic Party, under Puigdemont, and in an alliance with other pro-independence actors, under the label of Together for Catalonia, obtained 22 percent of the votes. But this score cannot be compared to the preceding scores of the CiU, as it was now a smaller entity. 29 In 2009, EA again ran separately, but it had become very weak (less than 4 percent of the vote), so that it did not hurt the PNV, which kept its usual percentage of the vote (38 percent). 30 The data are from Bélanger et al. 2018, 10–14. Note that for long the Scottish National Party has done well in United Kingdom general elections. Regarding the September 2014 Scottish referendum, YES obtained 45 percent of the vote. 31 On the stress on single-issue appeals, particularly among leaders, in extreme-right movement parties, see Kitschelt (2006). 32 Clearly sovereignty was not at all a salient issue, at least among young voters, during the 2018 election campaign. IPSOS, in a poll for La Presse+, carried out between August 31 and September 6, 2018, with 510 Quebec young voters aged 18 to 25, included a question asking them which two of a set of 14 issues were the most important to determine their vote. The first four issues with the highest proportions choosing them were education (40 percent), health (32), environment (26), economy (20), while the last four were public finance, debt, and sovereignty, all chosen by only 4 percent; sovereignty was therefore among the least salient issues (IPSOS, Report dated September 13, 2018). 33 This also led to a smaller increase for Québec Solidaire, a radical-left party with much stress on socio-economic issues, which obtained 16 percent of the vote, a gain of 8 percent.

5

Structural determinants Broad transformations, opportunities, and segmental, organizational, and resource mobilization structures

The facilitating effects of broad historical transformations Before and behind many of the more immediate determinants of contentious collective action, one could often observe the long-term dynamics of broad historical processes. With regard to the stormy 1960s, these processes occurred gradually, although irregularly, during most of the decades following WWII. These are the big social changes Tilly (1978) mentioned and the broad socioeconomic processes or major social changes McAdam (1982) and McAdam et al. (2001) discussed. Such changes were seen by these authors as including industrialization, urbanization, state making, expansions of capitalism, widespread demographic changes, decolonization, and war. One could add rapid economic growth, secularization, and long-term cultural transformation. Their impact resulted from the fact that in the long run they could much alter the power balances between various contending groups by creating new configurations of challengers. As usual, they “undermine the calculations and assumptions on which the political establishment is structured” and could “prove disruptive of the political status quo.” The effects of urbanization and industrialization, for instance, are likely to be important, but indirect, through a restructuring of existing power relations (McAdam 1982, 41). In the long run, they lead to “changing coalitions, cleavages, and structures of power” (Tilly 1978, 231; Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly 1975, 252–4). More concretely, the importance of these transformations reside in the fact that they could, for instance, exert critical impact on the driving motivations of the groups, their framings, self-identities, and other beliefs, the cycles of their action, not to mention all the other determinants discussed in this chapter. These long-term social transformations, albeit with regional variations within countries, appear to have been basically the same for all the nationalist movements which emerged during the 1960s and early 1970s, and indeed also for all the new social or new left movements of that period, such as, for instance, the women’s, the environment, the student, and the peace and anti-nuclear movements. They emerged in a typical cycle of protest, with diffusion to many different groups (Tarrow 1994, ch. 9). These broad changes are some of the factors which account for the occurrence of all the movements at about the same

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time. It will therefore not be necessary to examine these changes for each of the four ethnic movements of this study; our examination will be limited to the Quebec movement, for which more data are available, with realistic assumptions that relatively similar broad social change processes were at work in the other countries compared in this study. The impact of exceptional economic growth is presumed to have been witnessed in the three other countries compared, as indeed it was in so many other countries. Thus Goldstone and McAdam (2001) have argued that the baby boom and the exceptional economic growth and prosperity of the postwar era in the United States unleashed various processes which were quite important conditions facilitating the rise of the 1960s and 1970s new left movements. Among these processes were the remarkable growth of highereducation institutions and of student enrollments in the postwar period, as well as various social-psychological traits mentioned before, such as generational identity, high optimism, and a high sense of potency.1 Analogous arguments about the impact of the postwar economic growth on the massive increase of the 1960s social movements were made by other authors as well, although the inferred processes implied were different from those just described. The position of McCarthy and Zald (1973) is well known. They argued, following their resource mobilization perspective, that this growth, characterized by massive increase in gross national product and personal income, generated a substantial affluence. Such affluence made it possible in turn for movements to substantially rely on outside resources, such as individual charitable giving based on discretionary income, as well as the institutional funding of movements by foundations (the number and the wealth of which were much growing), by churches, and even by governments. This led to a massive increase in “funded social movement organizations (SMOs).” In turn this facilitated the development of staff careers on a part-time basis, or for interim full-time periods or even for life careers. The end result was the emergence of “professional social movements,” characterized in particular by large full-time leadership and a small or inexistent membership base.2 Finally, Inglehart’s perspective also included the argument that the historically unprecedented prosperity of the postwar era contributed to a generational shift from emphasis on materialist to postmaterialist value priorities (1990, chs 1 and 2), and that this shift was an important independent factor in the emergence of new social movements (ch. 11).3 Broad transformations in Quebec Let us examine the great transformations which in Quebec prepared the ground for the 1960s cycle of protest. The first to be mentioned is the secular growth of the Quebec population, in particular its increased growth rate at a time immediately preceding or accompanying the 1960s emergence of the independence organizations. During that decade (1951–61), the population of Quebec had increased by no less than 29.7 percent, while the average increase

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during the five previous decades (1901–51) had never been greater than 21.8 percent, with an average of only 19.7 percent.4 More specifically, the increases started at the end of the war, with 27.5 percent between 1946 and 1956, and continued during the next ten years, with 24.9 percent.5 Such large increases were caused in part by the postwar baby boom and by an important renewal of immigration. The large population growth in that period corresponded to the period of germination and emergence of critical views and organizations, especially about independence, and often occurred among the socio-demographic groups most under pressure to rejuvenate stagnant institutions, to stimulate the growth of the state and its welfare institutions, and to generate this new movement. But other great transformations, no doubt more important, occurred during that same period. The first to be mentioned was the exceptional growth of the economy, particularly during the postwar period, but even before that. The industrialization and economic development of Quebec, like that of all of Canada, have been for a long time among the most advanced among developed countries. The economy exhibited in particular rapid growth during the first 60 years of the twentieth century. But to that, one must add that it showed an accelerated and unusually rapid growth, with unequal prosperity, after WWII until the 1960s (Raynauld 1961). This, once more, corresponded to the period immediately preceding the emergence of Quebec’s many independentist organizations (as well as of its Quiet Revolution). Returning to long-term transformations in Quebec, let us consider the development of urbanization. In line with its economic growth, the province became highly urbanized during the first half of the twentieth century. It was no less so than the rest of Canada – indeed it was like that of Ontario and more so than that of some other provinces, contrary to the myth that Quebec had remained more rural than the rest of the country. Its level of urbanization increased from 36.1 percent in 1901 to 66.8 percent in 1951.6 What is striking is that its rate of urbanization was very high during the decade of WWII and the following two decades (1941, 1951, and 1961), with an average rate of increase of 6.5 percent.7 Given that the bulk of the Quebec social movements discussed were most often launched and located in Greater Montreal – the single large metropolitan area in Quebec at the time – the important concern should be with the agglomeration’s rate of urbanization.8 And indeed this rate was exceptionally high during the three decades following 1940, with rates of growth peaking at no less than 51 percent in the middle decade, and standing at 22 and 30 percent in the other two, respectively.9 This urbanization contributed to the restructuration of rural–urban power relations, facilitating the important political changes considered. Before the emergence of political contention during the 1960s, another large and critical transformation took place. In line with its economic development and urbanization, Quebec’s socio-economic structure – in particular its occupational structure in the active population10 – became highly modernized, yet

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with significant differences in occupational sizes between men and women. Starting with women, between 1911 and 1981 the proportion of white-collar11 females almost tripled, from 26 to 68 percent, while conversely the proportion of blue-collar women dropped from 71 to 26 percent; there were practically no women among farmers during the whole period (3 percent or less). Among men the situation was quite different. While among white-collar males, the respective figures during that period greatly increased, this was less pronounced than among women, with increases among men from 17 and 39 percent; on the other hand, the proportions of blue-collar men barely increased, going from only 47 to 52 percent, while the proportion of farmers largely disappeared, declining from 37 to 4 percent.12 All in all, these represented impressive changes in the class structure. Quite interesting are the growth rates of the male white-collar class, with the rates exhibiting substantial changes. In general, during the last half of the twentieth century, the rate of growth of the middle class was faster than earlier. This was particularly true of the two decades preceding the turbulent 1960s (see Table 5.1). For those 20 years (1941–61), it doubled its number, for a total rate of growth of 102 percent, compared to only 55 percent for the working class. For those two decades separately, the rates of growth were 47 and 37 percent, respectively. Rates preceding or following these two decades were smaller, the largest being 26 percent for the 1921 decade, with exceptions of larger rates for the 1911 and the 1971 decades. Among male blue collars the rates over the whole period were generally much smaller. Again, the very large rates of growth among male white collars on the eve of the stormy 1960s can be assumed to have been a major facilitating condition for the emergence of the movements which followed. This is all the more so that, as will be seen, this occupational group and especially its subcomponents constituted the core of the movements’ leadership. The demographic transformations just described contributed in turn to the expansion of the state and its centralization, and to modifications in its political institutions, including those of the welfare state. This generated increased concerns about who should control the state and these institutions. Indeed, the levels of contention did not only involve emerging social movements, but also of course the responses of the authorities being challenged, not to mention the increased levels of contention within each of these groups, to determine which of them would control which courses of action. To summarize, there is a striking coincidence between, on the one hand, the emergence of the Quebec independence movement during the 1960s and, on the other hand, the exceptional postwar economic growth and prosperity, the rapid urbanization of the province, especially of its Montreal metropolitan area, the growth of the public sector, and most importantly, the growth of the middle class. One could not overstress the very substantial impact of these broad structural transformations, such as increased sensitivity to felt grievances, increased attraction of collective goals, greater feelings of self-confidence, optimism, and sense of political efficacy, and greater focus on the

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Table 5.1 Growth rates of Quebec main occupational groups, males, 15 and over, 1911–81 All occupations

White collars

Blue collars

Farmers

Percentage of increases (N in thousands) %

(N)

%

(N)

%

(N)

%

(N)

1911–21 1921–31a 1931b–41 1941–51 1951–61 1961–71a 1971b–81

16 28 13 22 14 13 25

(547) (635) (813) (922) (1127) (1289) (1447)

59 26 9 47 37 25 37

(90) (144) (181) (198) (291) (399) (517)

9 48 14 33 17 4 35

(256) (279) (414) (474) (629) (735) (699)

4 4 13 -25 -37 -42 4

(200) (209) (218) (246) (186) (117) (33)

1921–41 1941–61 1951–71a 1911–71a

45 40 29 166

38 102 72 453

70 55 21 199

18 -52 -63 -66

Source: Drawn by the author from Censuses of Canada, 1911–81 Note: Numbers in parentheses (N) represent the totals in thousands at the beginning of each period. Percentages have been calculated on non-rounded numbers. See note of Table 5.2

framings of all of these mechanisms. In addition, these great changes led to the growth of organization substructures and of the volume of resource mobilization.

The development and impact of political opportunities Under the pervasive influence of the political process and contentious politics approaches in the study of social movements, the central notion of political opportunities has become one of the core determinants in the analysis of mobilization and contentious collective action. McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996, 2) consider political opportunity structures one of the three broad sets of interrelated factors – together with mobilizing structures and framing processes – for the emergence and development of social movements. A key unique element of opportunities is that they explain the “when” of social movement formation, rather than their “how” or their “why,” these two being the central questions in practically all previous perspectives (Tarrow 1994, 83). In line with other statements, political opportunities have been defined by Tarrow as “consistent – but not necessarily formal or permanent – dimensions of the political environment or of change in that environment that provide incentives for collective action by affecting expectations for success or failure” (Tarrow 2011, 163). It is noteworthy that this definition involves two

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dimensions of motivation, incentives and expectancy of success. Opportunities have also been defined as “the probability that social protest actions will lead to success in achieving a desired outcome” (Goldstone and Tilly 2001, 182); these authors define threats as “the costs that a social group will incur from protest, or that it expects to incur if it does not take action” (p. 183). Threats and opportunities are said to co-occur; “most people engaging in contentious politics combine response to threats with seizing opportunities” (Tilly and Tarrow 2007, 58). While the general focus is on the impact of opportunities on contentious action, such action could itself create opportunities, as for instance when it generates new coalitions. Tarrow (1994, 85–9, 1996, 54–6) presented a list of four types of changing conditions creating political opportunities as signals for action, and these types were said to be the most salient: the opening up of access to power, such as electoral changes or the democratization of authoritarian systems; shifting and unstable political alignments, with changing fortunes of political parties or the formation of new coalitions; the availability of influential allies, such as labor or churches; and conflicts within and among elites, as when portions of them shift their allegiance to challengers. Tilly and Tarrow (2007, 57) added the extent of repression or facilitation by regimes and the multiplicity of independent centers of power within regimes, as well as decisive changes in all of those dimensions. But Tarrow (1994, 89–96) also considered stable structural conditions as constituting political opportunities; such conditions included the strength or weakness of the state, the structure of the party system, and its ability to absorb public demands, as well as the repressive nature of the state which could both suppress or intensify contention.13 In our view, these could be facilitating conditions rather than changing opportunities. European authors following a different approach – that of the perspective of the new social movements based on broad political system analyses – presented modified versions of opportunities. While in their empirical research American authors tended to engage in historical case studies of social movements, their European counterparts were more likely to carry out comparative analyses of movements in different locations. Regarding political opportunities, their focus tended to be on stable conditions and a general list of three types of opportunities was proposed: formal institutional structures, distinguishing weak and strong states; informal procedures and strategies with regard to challengers, the strategies being either exclusive (e.g., repressive) or integrative (e.g., facilitative); and the configuration of power relevant to the confrontations of challengers, especially power confrontations among parties on the left, whether they are split or unified and in opposition or in power (Kriesi, Koopmans, Duyvendak, and Guigni 1997). McAdam (1996, 27) presented a list of opportunities which he claimed to be a synthesis of all these notions. While insisting that the notion be restricted to political opportunities, his list was not very different from those of Tarrow and Tilly (as far as changing conditions were involved), but did not seriously

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consider the list of Tarrow based on stable conditions or that of Kriesi and his co-authors, largely based on such conditions. However, the central role of political opportunities and their very vague and broad scope, according to many theorists, became the object of much criticism. Gamson and Meyer (1996, 275) are among the early and sharp critics of the political opportunity concept. The first lines of their paper were that “the concept of political opportunity is… in danger of becoming a sponge that soaks up virtually every aspect of the social movement environment,” threatening to become a “fudge factor for all the conditions and circumstances that form the context for collective action.” These authors went on to write: “Used to explain so much, it may ultimately explain nothing at all.” Basically the concept was claimed to include too many other facilitating conditions that should properly be distinguished from it regarding their effects. No less critical were the views of Goodwin and Jasper (2004a and 2004b; Jasper 2012). These authors were not only extremely skeptical about the usefulness of the political opportunity concept, but even about the overall political process theory. Their criticisms included, among others, the fact that political opportunity structures should not be considered necessary prerequisites for the emergence of contentious politics; that the concept of structures should not be linked to opportunities as most often only shifting, short-term opportunity conditions were considered; that the latter ought to be clearly differentiated from stable long-term conditions, these being the structural ones; and that there was no consensus regarding the long lists of factors considered as opportunities as well as regarding the short list presented as a synthesis by McAdam (1996). In the end, Goodwin and Jasper found no justification to subscribe to the opportunity concept or to the political process theory. Sharp criticisms of opportunity theory were also leveled by Opp (2009, ch. 6), although they were resting on different grounds. His central disagreement focused on the lack of theoretical and empirical rigor of that perspective, particularly with regard to the intervening micro model of motivation implied as a link between opportunity and contentious action: the sole concept of incentive, suggested by proponents of the opportunity perspective and which was limited to expectancies of success, was generally implied or presented without any elaboration, offered no other possible motivational dimensions – which could differ for different participants; it was practically never accompanied by empirical tests of its relevance regarding various choices of action. In addition Opp considered only changes in the environment as opportunities, and saw no reason to limit the kinds of such opportunities to political ones, claiming that they could also be economic, cultural, or of any other kind. Finally, the general structural-cognitive model of protest he developed, as a synthesis of micro social-psychological and structural factors, considered many other determinants, with opportunities being only one of them, and not the central one. What is important is that while McAdam (1996, 24ff.) rightly recognized that the concept of political opportunity was a substantial addition to social movement studies, he acknowledged Gamson’s and Meyer’s reservations. He

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wrote that the vagueness of the concept led many to consider “any environmental factor that facilitated movement activity was apt to be conceptualized as a political opportunity” (p. 25), and he went on to propose that clear distinctions be made between that concept and the many other facilitating conditions with which it was unduly fused. I fully endorsed those views: indeed many of the other determinants discussed in this chapter (and in previous ones) can only keep their explanatory power by discussing them as facilitating or conducive factors. In addition many of the criticisms mentioned deserve to be taken into account. Opp is right, above all, in arguing for the consideration of an elaborate micro model, so sadly missing from the political opportunity perspective. While in particular expectancy of success could very well be a central motivational dimension intervening between opportunity and contentious action, many other kinds of incentives could be involved and intensified in the process. Opp also does well to argue that other kinds of opportunities than political should be considered and that the concept of opportunity implies changes, that is, new emerging conditions, possibly of a temporary nature, which have to be seized upon to increase the probability of the emergence of collective action or of the intensity of ongoing action. Conversely, the notion that stable, generally long-term, structural conditions should also be considered as opportunities implies illogical extensions of the concept, leading to confusion, if simply because they are not, contrary to short-term ones, likely to constitute triggers to action.14 The stable ones include most of the opportunities listed by Kriesi and his collaborators as well as those added by Tarrow (1994, 89–96) to his changing ones. Of course those stable factors should be considered together with other facilitating or conducive factors, but not as triggering ones, a function fulfilled in those situations by other changing determinants; some of these stable factors, among many, include segmentation arrangements, federalist or autonomous institutions, as well as one-party dominance and the non-representation of ideological groups within existing parties.15 What about the long-term, yet slowly changing social structures, that is, the big social changes and broad processes discussed by Tilly and his associates, involving transformations such as industrialization, urbanization, and other demographic changes? They also seem at times to be implicitly considered as opportunities, because they are changing, but contrary to the other opportunities, for which the usual sense of the term tends to refer to quite short-run, rapidly changing conditions, those big changes develop slowly over very long periods. My preference is to consider the latter as singular conducive determinants, together with the other conducive factors mentioned before, the effects of all of which combine with other more immediate dynamic factors.16 In short, stable or slowly changing, long-term conditions can exert very strong effects, but not the dynamic ones usually implied by the concept of opportunity. They could be essential conditions for the emergence of collective action if some other factors are changing, such as increasing grievances

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or resources. In this regard one must question the assertion that “outbreaks of contention cannot be derived from deprivation people suffer,” for such preconditions are “far more enduring than the movements they support” (Tarrow 1998, 71). To be sure deep misery can persist unaltered for long, but there are periods during which grievances, not opportunities, increase rapidly, as for instance in political movements of economic protest in so many historical instances (Pinard 2011, ch. 2) – something which does not imply that both increased grievances and changing opportunities could not occur at the same time. In addition, periods of severe grievances could themselves produce new opportunities, as when widespread political corruption becomes public or when the perception of wearing effects regarding parties with long tenure in power could give rise to shifting party alignments. Also, Goodwin and Jasper were right to argue that opportunities cannot be the necessary prerequisites they have been claimed to be, short of which no collective action could take place; nor is one justified to consider them as one of the three key variables for the analysis of contentious politics.17 These criticisms were supported by Zald and McCarthy’s (2002, 162) recent summary of the results of several studies that “there exists quite mixed support for the role of variation in political opportunities in explaining rates of collective action.” They could be at times quite important while being altogether absent at other times; they could be more salient for some forms of collective action than for others. Political opportunities in the four countries With regard to the four countries compared – indeed for only three of them, as this is not very relevant for Switzerland, where nationalist ethnic contention is absent – the impact of the political opportunities involved in the development of their movements will now be examined; it will not however be possible to do that in a large number of instances, if only because of the lack of readily available evidence. But significant opportunities can be considered and, in the case of Quebec, many others have been examined previously in greater detail in analyses of the frequent waves of mobilization and demobilization which occurred in the independence movement (Pinard et al. 1997, chs 2, 4, and 8; Pinard 2002). Political opportunities in Quebec In that movement, following secular modernization processes, the 1960s turned out to be a period of very rapid and widespread transformation. The social changes which suddenly occurred were so substantial that they became identified as a Quiet Revolution. While its main manifestations started with electoral change in 1960, this had been preceded in the previous decades by the germination of new ideas and visions and of new associations articulating criticisms of the established order (Bergeron 1980). But widespread concerted action, influenced by such developments, started with the defeat of the conservative

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Structural determinants

Union Nationale party, which had dominated Quebec politics for most of the previous 25 years. That defeat was precipitated by the death in 1959 of its autocratic, albeit very popular leader, Maurice Duplessis, its founder and ruler for practically all that period, followed only a few months later by the death of his dauphin and successor, Paul Sauvé. The 1960 election which followed brought the more progressive Liberal Party to power, which rapidly embarked on a series of substantial reforms in its own organization as well as in many public policy domains, in particular in the dominant sectors of education and of health and welfare, and in their large bureaucracies. This soon generalized to almost all non-governmental institutions, so that a widespread redistribution of power and influence in practically all social domains prevailed; this amounts to a situation of generalized instability rather than cases in which a single challenging group is involved (McAdam 1982, 42). Changes occurred in work organizations and their rapidly transformed labor unions, in an accelerated decline of the influence of the Catholic Church in all those domains in favor of the state – a decline in large part due to its lack of replacing personnel, opening those avenues to a new secular intelligentsia – in the concentration and control of the mass media, and in federal-provincial relations, mostly under the influence, respectively, of largely English-speaking groups in Ottawa and of almost entirely French-speaking ones in Quebec (Breton 1972, 35–41; see also McRoberts 1988; Harvey 1992). Anticipating intellectual developments regarding the notion of political opportunity, Breton wrote that all these fundamental changes produced changes in levels of opportunity for further control and influence (1972, 42). The highly volatile climate of change which first prevailed in traditional institutions kept generating opportunities – accompanied foremost by significant changes in expectations of success, but also by other motives, such as grievances – among larger numbers of groups, in particular among previously less involved new contenders, including especially higher-level circles focused on the goal of independence for Quebec. Remarkably, during the 1960s, these opportunities led to the creation of no less than eight challenging parties and associations promoting that goal, the most significant of which involved the RIN in 1960, the Mouvement Souveraineté-Association in 1967, the PQ in 1968, and the Front de Libération du Québec in 1963, the latter constituting a violent wing and is the specific object of Breton’s analysis.18 By contrast, for instance, between 1940 and 1959, only one nationalist party had emerged, the Bloc populaire canadien in 1942, and one secessionist association, the AL in 1957.19 In short, the electoral changes of the 1960s and the social transformations which followed constituted substantial opportunities for the mobilization and action of one crucial group of contenders, those devoted to Quebec independence, contenders otherwise controlling plenty of human resources and organizational substructures to do so. Subsequently, major developments regarding that movement also turned out to be affected by significant opportunities, seized upon first by its federalist opponents. This occurred after the PQ defeat in its 1980 referendum on

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sovereignty-association, with a Yes vote limited to 40 percent. While the party obtained its largest election victory ever the following year, both in terms of votes (49 percent) and of seats (80), serious decline soon followed regarding the possibility of success in another referendum in the near future and led to the demobilization of support for sovereignty at all levels in the movement, whether among its leaders, its militants, or its followers. Conversely, this led to the opening of opportunities for all the political opponents of that cause. This was seized upon by the federal Liberal government of Pierre Elliott Trudeau, who launched renewed efforts to repatriate Canada’s constitution (yet under the authority of the British Parliament), an endeavor which for long had remained unsuccessful. This time that goal was reached. Finding ultimately allies from all other provincial governments, except that of Quebec, the constitution was officially repatriated in April 1982, to become the Constitution Act, 1982. Political opportunities had finally allowed Canadian federalist forces to reach one of their prime goals. But contrary opportunities also affected subsequent developments in the movement. Faced with the Quebec government’s refusal to sign the new constitution and the province’s deep dissatisfactions with its exclusion, opportunities opened up for a solution when changes of ruling parties at both the federal and Quebec levels occurred in 1984–5. Their more accommodating leaders decided to try again to convince Quebec to sign the constitution and, in 1987, called a conference of the new prime minister and all Canadian premiers, which led – but not without great difficulty – to the 1987 Meech Lake Accord, agreed by all, while meeting Quebec demands. But strong disagreements on these results soon developed, particularly in English Canada, and the end result was that the accord failed to be ratified by all before the set deadline of June 1990. The opened opportunities, this time, did not generate success. The failure of the accord engendered among Francophone Quebecers strong reactions, marked by perceptions of a lack of recognition from English Canadians and by feelings of outrage, rejection, and humiliation. This failure, and even its anticipation, was the main source of yet other opportunities, this time for the sovereignist forces. First, the feelings just described generated a remobilization in Quebec of popular support for sovereignty-association, reaching unprecedented levels of about 60 percent in 1990–1, as compared to low support between 30 and 40 percent in the early 1980s. Moreover, vote intentions for the PQ surpassed those for the Quebec Liberals. Second, at organizational levels, all this was accompanied by a change in the PQ platform, a return to its hardest option, straight independence. More significantly yet, in Ottawa, this led to the desertion of members of parliament from the federalist camp and their founding of the sovereignist BQ. Meanwhile, the federalist forces felt strong enough for a renewed effort. They initiated a new round of constitutional meetings in 1991, which led to another agreement, the Charlottetown Accord, in 1992. This time the accord was the object of a referendum at the national level; but it did not lead to any

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more success than Meech. Both English Canada and Quebec voted against the accord, although for opposite reasons – too many concessions to Quebec for the first and not enough for the second. Political opportunities in Catalonia With regard to opportunities, there are many similarities between those which appeared in the Spanish movements, especially in Catalonia, and those in Quebec. First let us mention that, as in Estonia, regime liberalization in Spain, emerging at the end of the Franco regime, created opportunities for the beginning of opposition and mobilization in Catalonia and the Basque region (Johnston and Snow 1998, 478). But first the intensification of the activism occurring all over Spain was greatly facilitated by the substantial opportunities generated by the passing of Franco and the almost total collapse of his dictatorial regime, and by the assumption of effective power by King Juan Carlos and his espousal of reformist goals. Federal and other politicians as well as other opponents of the regime throughout the country – including even some of the more accommodative regime supporters – embarked on quick political reforms towards first the full restoration of democracy and all of its institutions. At the same time, however, those opportunities were quickly seized upon by the leaders and followers of the nationalist movements within minority regions, particularly in Catalonia and the Basque Country, to mobilize for the pursuit of the restoration and enlargement of their regional autonomy, finally granted to all regions, as well as of the means for the preservation and reinforcement of their cultural distinctiveness. Given the overall socio-economic and political conditions in Galicia and the earlier weakness of its nationalist mobilization, the region did not much profit from those opportunities, thus indicating by the way that the latter alone cannot be a sufficient factor of intense mobilization. As the defeat of the Quebec sovereignists in the 1980 referendum created opportunities among federalist forces for the repatriation of the Canadian constitution, the demise of the Franco dictatorship opened up the vans for all that leader’s former opponents, democrats and nationalists alike, except that in this case the opportunities resulted from developments at the national level, not from changes emerging from the challengers of the regime. But as in the Meech crisis in Quebec, a constitutional crisis developed in Catalonia from an analogous constitutional deadlock, with the Catalan episode generating new opportunities for the strong nationalists. The sudden crisis was precipitated in 2010 by a ruling of the Spanish Constitutional Court which invalidated a revised Statute of Autonomy for Catalonia, otherwise strongly approved by the regional government and the people of Catalonia, as well as by both houses of the Madrid government; these approvals had indeed made the new statute come into effect. But its invalidation by the Court generated immediate Catalan outrage as well as opportunities for widespread

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mobilization. All of these processes were intensified by changes of government in both Barcelona and Madrid, opposing now, respectively, the CiU and Popular Party governments. In Catalonia, both popular and political elite mobilization were quickly greatly intensified – the popular one through huge street demonstrations and substantial increases in public opinion in favor of independence, the popular one through political action aimed at the adoption of greater autonomy, that is, the right to self-determination, and the right to carry out a referendum on independence, all rejected by Madrid. Opportunities led to success in mobilization, but so far not in reaching the movement’s political goals. As of this writing, the crisis remains unresolved, each side appearing unwilling – or unable – to reach one form or another of substantial accommodation, although some signs of effort to reduce tensions have appeared, with the return to power of a Socialist government under Suarez. Political opportunities in Belgium The political instability in Belgium and in particular the fragmentation, volatility, and linguistic divisions of the traditional party system could all be expected to generate political opportunities for the political actors, old and new. And this is what happened. The long and frequent incapacity of the leaders of the traditional parties in earlier periods – particularly before they split into linguistic parties – to articulate and successfully implement consensual political reforms meeting moderate nationalist expectations generated opportunities for more radical nationalist elites to launch regionalist parties. But as in Quebec their radical solutions to popular grievances and goals presumably led many electors to political ambivalence towards these new parties, creating barriers to their electoral growth. In turn these processes generated multiple opportunities20 for the traditional parties to occupy some of the nationalist niches and finally implement substantial reforms, through many constitutional reforms during the five decades following the 1970s, leading in 1993 to the formal creation of a federal system. The successes of these policies then led to the dispensable utility of the regionalist parties and their decline – although a wing of the disappearing Flemish VU was recently replaced by a growing N-VA.21 Given that many of those deserting the original regionalist parties turned out to be unwilling to return to the traditional parties, a third instance of opportunity came open for other new third parties, namely the Green and radical-right parties, in addition to some going to the suddenly successful NVA, the latter becoming increasingly more attentive to socio-economic issues than to nationalist ones. To conclude, we encountered some important changes in opportunities, as suggested by the literature reviewed, such as sharp transitions from authoritarian to democratic regimes, major transformations of traditional party systems and emergence of nationalist parties, and severe constitutional crises,

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and all of them engendered rather substantial episodes of contentious collective action. There were however also many minor courses of action generated by less striking opportunities and which cannot be easily generalized, but had also noticeable influences. But the characters of those events are all consistent with the rather specific nature of political opportunities and their frequent major impacts. Now let us turn to the more enduring facilitating determinants, starting first with the impact of segmented and integrated substructures.

Communally segmented and integrated substructures Motivating forces or any other social-psychological factor alone can contribute to the emergence of nationalist movements and conflicts, although most of the time other determinants will also be involved. One of these, particularly specific to these types of movement, is likely to play an important facilitating role. This is the degree of communal segmented structures separating the communal groups, especially the ethnic ones, in a given society. While also identified by many other terms, such as social pillarization, pluralism, fragmentation, or self-enclosure, segmentation refers to the fact that communal groups have developed, internally, extensive substructures of various types, such as primary social relations and various kinds of associations and organizations of their own. Concretely, these may involve cliques, friendship groups, schools, churches, business groups, labor unions, voluntary associations, leisure organizations, mass media, political parties, etc. Segmentation is therefore clearly more than simple ethnic or linguistic heterogeneity. It encapsulates people into more or less complete sets of side-by-side analogous, parallel, non-complementary, but distinguishable sets of institution. These in turn keep the groups, externally, isolated from their potential opponents or even partners, who also possess similar segmental counterparts. It is important to state that structural ethnic segmentation is quite often accompanied by spatial clustering or territorial concentration, which greatly facilitates the emergence and operation of that institutional segmentation and in turn intensifies its impact, given that it ends up creating within a single multicultural state many largely self-contained “societies.” In addition, structural segmentation is easily accompanied by different degrees of cultural segmentation – in particular language diversity, but also possibly different customs, norms, and values (van den Berghe 1967, 34–7).22 This is a situation which largely prevails, although in different forms and degrees, in many multiethnic societies,23 and in particular in all the nationalist groups compared in this study. Particularly crucial in this regard is the role of segmental nationalist political parties, which belong to a larger category often identified as movement parties. In this regard what ought to be stressed is that they are not simply the structural outcomes of pre-existing segmentation, but that they are also the results of the active pursuits of segmental movement leaders engaged in the pursuit of their goals. So that in the end some social movements do become mainly parties and, in particular, such parties become the central actors of the movements, or as in this study, regional parties become the main

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actors of ethnic movements (della Porta 2017, ch. 1; Kitschelt 2006; Pirro and Gattinara 2018). Consistent with these views, we found that in a given country, both movement support of its goals and ethnic parties’ electoral fortunes followed equivalent cycles of growth, maturity, and decline, presumably with reciprocal impacts of movement and party on one another. With regard to segmental parties (and to other segmental organizations) as structural outcomes of segmentation, the following points are important: their emergence is strongly related to the presence of territorial segmentation; such parties are among the most crucial factors in the mobilization structures and collective action of highly segmented ethnic collectivities (something rarely present in other types of social movement, such as for example women’s, student, and gay liberation communal movements); moreover, such segmental parties are very likely to dominate all other components of the organizational substructure in the action of these collectivities. To put things the other way around, a determining weakness of, say, women’s movements, resides in the practical absence of segmented substructures in them and in particular the absence of gender parties. With regard to party segmentation, its importance showed up previously in the descriptions of our four countries and in the ability of their leaders to articulate motivational forces and framing processes, but also in their struggling efforts to resist and survive popular demobilization processes. They also played central roles when facing favorable (or unfavorable) political opportunities, and in their abilities to mobilize human and other resources. Let us consider intercommunal structural integration, the obverse of communal segmentation; it refers to the degree to which the various nationalist groups are interconnected in the various institutions of a plural society, that is, these groups are not, in various forms and degrees, compartmentalized into distinct social structures, geographical locations, and cultures. As will be shown, this is something of great significance. Segmented substructures and nationalist conflict: some theoretical perspectives What is the relationship of communal segmentation to nationalist conflict claimed by various authors? Is it a significant source of conflict? Does it bear a simple, direct relationship to it, independently of any other essential factor? Let me state immediately that most theorists see some relationship between segmentation and conflict, although there are important variations in their views. A group of social anthropologists studying colonial societies were among the first to focus attention on this phenomenon; they are identified as social and political pluralist theorists. Michael G. Smith was a leading exponent of that perspective, asserting that the presence of segmentation was a sufficient condition of conflict, because of the necessary clashes of values it involved: “the differing sectional values within a plural society are a profound source of instability” and “the coexistence of divergent value-systems… involves continuous ideological conflict,” conflicts which are easily generalized from specific to larger

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ones (Smith 1965, 90–1, 174; 1969). His followers, such as Kuper (1969), fully endorsed those views. So did van den Berghe (1969, 68, 78–9), who wrote that social pluralism is characterized by “the relative presence of conflict,” that “pluralism is intrinsically associated” with such tensions, “and relative lack of consensus and integration.” A later perspective was developed by political scientists studying accommodation and conflict in small multicommunal societies of the Western world – like the ones examined in this study. It is identified as the consociational model, and was developed largely as a reaction to the oversimplified view that segmentation – frequently identified as pillarization – was irremediably linked to conflict, something contradicted by the fact that there are segmented societies, like Switzerland and the Netherlands, which have been models, not of conflict, but of very high levels of accommodation. As Lijphart, one of the central proponents of that model, argued, “instability in a fragmented system is not just possible, but even probable,” although “not inevitable,” when it is countered by the deliberate efforts of elites to accommodate the tension-producing effects of segmentation through consociational arrangements (Lijphart 1968b, 17–18, italics in original; also 1968a). While disagreeing with Lijphart on some other aspects, Nordlinger (1972) basically endorses the views just mentioned. Many other authors (e.g., Lorwin 1974b; Daalder 1974; McRae 1983, 1986) have done important work in that tradition, which cannot be examined here. A brief mention should be made of a third perspective, the so-called communication approach, developed by Karl Deutsch (1966), but which did not have as much of a following as the previous ones. For Deutsch, segmentation is only one form of barrier to communication, and indeed, in its extreme form, it is creating extreme isolation, something not favorable to conflict. More specifically, what is significant is that with modernization, contact and mobilization into intense communication between the communal groups will increase, and if in the short term, that mobilization proceeds at a faster rate than integration and assimilation, conflict will be likely to erupt; conversely, harmony will prevail if that mobilization proceeds at a slower pace. And at any rate in the long term, the author’s view is overly optimistic: the process will simply be one of assimilation and harmony. The prognosis of conflict is only for the intermediate period. Conversely, in the field of social movements, not much attention has been paid to the phenomenon of communal segmentation. In a recent essay, however, on ethnic movements, and which follows arguments in line with ours, Oliver (2017) rightfully stressed the usually neglected role of segmentation or “network cliquing,” as well as their intergenerational transmission, for the strength of such movements. But each of the three approaches just reviewed presents serious problems. Contrary to the first perspective, the social pluralist theory, nationalist conflict is far from being unavoidable on the basis of segmentation alone; other factors must also be considered. Moreover, in highly developed societies, religious

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segmentation has for a long time been in decline and is now, at any rate, rarely the source of religious conflict; moreover, serious nationalist conflicts are absent in many of the multicultural societies examined earlier. As for reaching consociational arrangements, they are far from occurring as easily as foreseen by many, because serious additional conditions are missing. Finally, the optimistic outcomes hypothesized by Deutsch have remained unfulfilled in a large number of instances. In short, a new synthesis reconciling these perspectives is clearly needed and an attempt in that direction will be presented below. Extent of segmented substructures in the countries compared No doubt the four countries being compared belong to the category of segmented multicultural societies. What is the extent of the segmentation present in each of the four and, in particular, does it prevail to an equivalent degree in each? The answers to these questions are very difficult to provide, because little data exist on these matters, and in large part because comparable assessments are difficult to establish.24 A first, very tentative assessment would be that, although the four countries do not exhibit the same degree of segmentation, and show large variations of segmentation by spheres of activity, all of them clearly show very substantial degrees of linguistic segmentation – Switzerland not being an exception. That segmentation is first associated with their extremely high degree of territorial clustering and the fact that this alone entails substantial degrees of all other types of segmentation. Their social structures are in this regard strikingly different from those of more homogeneous societies. But the differences in levels of conflict in plural societies cannot be seen as mainly dependent on different levels of segmentation; that proposition would be contrary to our argument stating that differences in levels of conflict in such societies are to a large extent dependent on differences in levels of grievances.

Communal segmentation and intercommunal integration Given the extensive amount of segmentation which generally prevails in multiethnic societies, one may wonder how such societies can hold together. This is all the more relevant since theories of segmentation – with Deutsch constituting a notable exception – often tend to downplay the degree of intercommunal integration maintained in such societies. The elements of integration left in them, while less extensive, remain significant. In a general way, one type of integration likely to subsist comes through the interactions between the segmental institutions of the various groups and especially their respective elites. The latter play a very substantial role in this regard, as well exemplified by the very central position they occupy in the consociational approach. More specifically there are a few forms of integration most likely to subsist. The first concerns the political system. Segmented societies evidently imply a common body politic, a central government, and national governing elites;

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this holds in authoritarian or democratic political systems, as well as in unitary forms of government – such as Belgium, not a long time ago, and the Netherlands – or in federal, quasi-federal, or confederal forms – such as Canada, Spain, Switzerland, and Belgium. While federalism is indeed a natural form of integration left in such societies through its political institutions at the center, it also constitutes a type of at least partial segmentation of its communal subunits. We will return to federalism shortly. Quite important of course is the integration provided by the presence of state/national coalition governments which include as many of the communal groups as possible, as in Belgium and especially in the grand coalitions of Switzerland. Closely related to that is the presence, even in the absence of formal coalitions, of representatives of the communal groups in national cabinets in as balanced a way as possible, a general occurrence in Canada. Let me add that the presence of integrated political institutions is likely to be more significant in more advanced societies, if only because of the larger roles the government plays in these societies. Party segmentation/integration and territorial clustering Political parties also play a key role with regard to political system integration. Their role becomes pivotal in democratic societies, since the degree of segmentation or integration fostered by parties tends to vary according to their spatial distribution. On the basis of an examination of the situations prevailing in some democratic societies, I developed the following hypotheses (Pinard 1976). Negative relationships tend to prevail between party segmentation and communal groups’ territorial clustering, and between party integration and communal groups’ territorial dispersion. That is, under the spatial clustering of the segmental groups, the groups tend to be organized, at the central state level, into integrated parties, whereas when the groups are territorially dispersed, they tend to develop segmental parties. Thus the linguistic groups in Belgium, in Canada, and in Switzerland are largely territorially concentrated, but their national parties (at least until recently in Belgium) tended to integrate them.25 Conversely, the religious groups are dispersed in the Netherlands and Switzerland, but the national parties tend to be segmental on those lines. The rationale behind these propositions is as follows. National parties desire to maximize the number of votes and of electoral units they control. Given that in segmented societies where territorial clustering prevails, the parties must vie for electoral districts with candidates from group A if the electorate is predominantly from group A and with B candidates in districts of group B. Hence a party system is likely to emerge in which each party will end up with both A and B members, making them integrated parties in a spatially clustered society. Exceptions could however prevail in situations of intense communal conflict, with polarization taking place and each party being forced or choosing to compete only in districts inhabited by the communal group it is aligned with in the conflict.

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Conversely, in electoral districts with heterogeneous communal composition, political leaders will court the relatively larger communal group through communal appeals and candidates of that group, without having to disregard the maximization of the number of districts controlled. Seen differently, the negative relationships could result from the fact that in homogeneous electoral districts, all parties will tend to present candidates from the same group, reducing the impact of communal appeals, while in heterogeneous districts, the various parties will find it in their interests to oppose each other with candidates from different communal groups, which will gradually lead to the formation of segmental parties. Let me add, on the basis of the preceding arguments, that the hypothesis implies single-member plurality electoral systems, in which the number of electoral districts obtained is maximized. Under proportional electoral systems or presidential systems, in which maximizing the votes prevails, territorial concentration or dispersion is of no consequence, and parties will always tend to be segmental, the reason being that under such systems, the whole country is equivalent to a single district with an integrated composition. Returning to the main hypotheses, it would seem significant that an important form of integration tends to compensate for the absence of another important type. In the first situation, the integration at the party level compensates for the territorial concentration, while in the second situation, the territorial integration compensates for the party segmentation. This is crucial for the maintenance of the global integration of the society. Indeed it is possible to propose as a corollary the following hypothesis: the combined presence of territorial concentration and state/national party segmentation, when this occurs despite a general tendency to the contrary, should constitute a situation extremely favorable to the emergence of secessionist tendencies. This combination will tend to appear whenever nationalist conflicts have become so intense that they have led to the segmentation of the central parties previously integrated, as for example in Belgium in recent years.26 If political integration is an important form of integration normally maintained in segmented societies, another no less significant form is economic integration. Except in the most primitive economic systems, it would be difficult to imagine completely segmented economies. Indeed the polity and the economy are the least likely institutions to be segmented, and the economic is one of the most effective, because the material livelihood of its members is widely and easily perceived as depending on the maintenance of this integration and hence induces powerful material incentives for its preservation. There are two aspects of economic integration which must be taken into account. Integration can take place within the various work organizations of the society, with communal groups being often mixed together at work, in plants, in offices, etc., even if less so in some industrial sectors than in others. If groups are differentially privileged economically, they will be hierarchically distributed within economic organizations, but the integration will still be present. More central however will be the integration produced by the

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economic interdependence, across as well as within communal lines, of the various organizations, sectors, and markets of the society’s economy, with this interdependence taking the form of dependence when the groups are unequal. Again, given the material character and the universality of the interests involved, the economic interdependence (or dependence) is likely to be very salient for, and deeply felt by large numbers of people in such societies and easily generates resistance to any alteration of these economic relations, such as secessionist pressures. Studies in Quebec, for instance, have shown the strong negative impact which the anticipated economic costs of independence exerted on popular support for that cause (Pinard and Hamilton 1986; Pinard et al. 1997, ch. 10). It would be surprising if similar impacts did not occur on the support of the No vote in the 2014 referendum in Scotland. Finally, a third form of integration which should be mentioned concerns social class divisions. As implied above, to the extent that cleavages on class lines cross-cut communal lines, it should lead to moderating communal oppositions and to increasing class solidarities and action. On the other hand, it should not be assumed that the forms of integration left will necessarily be conducive to harmony. They can easily be favorable to this, as implied above and in what follows. But their impact on conflict should not be overlooked. The multiple occasions of contact between the communal groups could be frequent occasions for competition between them within integrated institutions, and again if feelings of unfairness develop in such processes, conflict could all too easily erupt. Segmentation and nationalist conflict: a restatement Is segmentation the prime determinant of conflict, as asserted by early theorists and as often implicit in many of the writings on the subject? The answer to that question is negative: segmentation alone is not the most serious condition leading to the emergence of nationalist conflicts. It is only when it comes with other essential conditions, above all the presence of motivations and especially relevant grievances, that it plays a significant role in the generation and intensification of conflicts. Given motivation, segmentation plays a conducive role, facilitating the development of conflict. Other conditions examined all along can also play such a role. But all in all, if harmony prevails in segmented societies, it is more likely to be due to the absence of grievances than to the elite regulation of divisive segmentation. There are however a few situations in which segmentation can exert its own effects in different ways: by providing each communal group with their respective institutions which are themselves unequally ranked relative to each other, thus creating their own resentment; by being a source of rivalry between segmental institutions; and by cultural, especially linguistic, segmentation leading to feelings of threats among opposed groups, even if equality prevails. Ethnic segmentation can also exert other effects. It can, for instance, reduce the likelihood of conflict when it isolates groups in social domains in

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which relationships and unfair competition between them would otherwise prevail. Conversely, it can increase the probability of conflict by its impact on the maintenance and further development of communal ethnic inequalities, discrimination, and the like (Breton 1978). All in all, however, the main impacts of segmentation are the positive conducive role mentioned. A form of segmentation which can exert particularly strong influence is the presence of federal arrangements or other forms of regional ethnic autonomy, as can be found in all four countries compared. Federalism can contribute to institutional accommodation, through the devolution of powers to nationalist groups or more generally by providing partial solutions to political or other grievances and powerful means to act on many group problems, as best exemplified in Switzerland at the national level. The way Mann (1995, 61–3) put it, the gradual institutionalization of successful democracy, especially federal democracy, over a period of time was conducive to the development of only mild, non-aggressive nationalism, as in the four countries of this study; Mann contrasted them with the authoritarian regimes, without genuine federalism, of Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union, and their massive level of violence. Only the first showed moderation, even under deeply rooted interethnic conflict. But Mann concluded, about the federal democracy solution, that “unfortunately this is easier said than done” (p. 63). Indeed, federalism’s shortcomings can make it a major center of contention and conflict. It provides additional conducive conditions for conflict when serious grievances persist (Erk and Anderson 2009; Cameron 2009). Federalism and decentralization are not the panaceas they are often thought to be: witness the recent conflicts in three of the countries compared, as well as in ex-Yugoslavia, or in ex-Soviet Union. Decentralization offers major political incentives to ethnic leaders – as indeed to central leaders – who are, to say the least, rarely devoid of compelling aspirations for power. Decentralization also becomes the primary goal of nationalist groups in conflict simply because it is a solution more easily perceived as moderate, legitimate, and amenable to legislation than various solutions to economic inequalities (e.g., quotas) and, in particular, to status grievances (there are no easy legislative solutions to status inequalities). In that case political decentralization can at least symbolize status recognition. In this regard, it is somewhat ironic to observe that whenever ethnoregional movements emerge in a country with a unitary political system, their leaders tend to consider federalism or other forms of regional autonomy and devolution as solutions to their grievances (as, for instance, occurred in Belgium, in Spain, or in Great Britain in recent decades). But when such movements develop in a political system which is already federal, that system can easily be seen as part of the problem and outright secession is then viewed as a solution to remaining grievances (as, for instance, in Catalonia and Scotland more recently, and in Quebec). At any rate, as long as motives for conflict remain, decentralized political institutions can be very conducive to further ethnic collective action through

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various mechanisms. More concretely, let me add for the moment that segmentation contributes to an increase in the group self-confidence regarding its ability to be completely autonomous (Dion 1996, 280). In addition the federal structure is also conducive to the rise of strong regional parties; in Canada, for instance, it allowed the PQ to quickly become one of the two major parties within regional Quebec politics, something it would not have been able to accomplish at the state/national level,27 and which Belgian (until recently) and British nationalist parties could not do under unitary political systems. This, together with the collapse of the Union Nationale, a nationalist party and one of the two strong provincial parties in Quebec before the 1960s, largely explain why the PQ was much more successful than many other nationalist parties. It also ought to be mentioned that different degrees of ethnic segmentation or national integration prevailing among various subgroups within an ethnic community will be important for opposition and conflict between these subgroups. For instance, some subgroups within the French-speaking Quebec community (e.g., business personnel) may be more integrated with Canadian institutions and more likely to support federalist options, while other subgroups (e.g., the intelligentsia) may be more segmented and show greater support for independence; this could be very conducive to conflict between these subgroups. The same could happen between unitarists and federalists within each linguistic group in Belgium, or equivalent subgroups within Catalonia. Indeed, conflicts can easily be more intense and acrimonious within than between ethnolinguistic communities (Brass 1985). Let us examine empirically for the moment the impact of the joint presence of segmental structures and motivations. An important source of evidence on this was found earlier: while all four countries compared exhibit substantial and equal degrees of segmentation between the ethnolinguistic groups, only Canada, Belgium, and Spain also exhibit significant degrees of grievances, and only in these three does serious conflict prevail, as it does also in the Jura within Switzerland. On the other hand, Switzerland, at the national level, is devoid of both serious grievances and conflict. Segmentation alone was therefore not a significant source of conflict (Kriesi and Trechsel 2008, 7–8). Moreover, much of the early work on pluralism considered colonial situations in which communal conflicts were present; but precisely both factors, segmentation and inequalities, prevailed in those societies. Similarly, much of the work by Horowitz (1985) reviewed bore on similar combinations. Note however that the absence of substantial conflict in Galicia in Spain and in Ticino in Switzerland appears not to support the hypothesis; the reason is that while both grievances and segmentation are essential, other important factors are also missing, such as their social development and their resource mobilization.

The impact of organizational substructures Political process theorists have come to consider organizational substructures as one of the central determinants of contentious collective action. Let us

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mention that in addition such structures are closely related to communal segmentation, as the latter inevitably leads to organizational development in the ethnic groups present. Overall it is a concept larger than only segmental organizations, as it involves all organizational structures, segmental or not, with the presence of very large sets of associations, organizations, and social networks in all fields of social life – but of course with variations in each group in the scope of their development. Taken all together, they are key facilitating factors making their contributions to mobilization and collective action. In particular, when they are one of the components of ethnic segmentation, ethnoregional parties’ organizations play very central roles, in large part because they are likely to dominate all other components of the segmental/organizational substructures of these collectivities. These views are particularly developed within the main socio-political perspectives, that is, the resource mobilization, political process, and contentious politics approaches. Some authors go as far as to claim that organizations and social networks are one of the three most important factors, together with political opportunities and framing processes, in the analysis of any political contention (McAdam et al. 1996; see also Tilly 1978; Snow, Zurcher, and Ekland-Olson 1980; Tarrow 1998; McAdam 1999, 2003). A neglected point can be mentioned: such organizations may be alienated rather than conformist toward existing political arrangements, something which largely contributes to making them very powerful determinants of contentious collective action (Pinard 1975). There are countless empirical studies following those perspectives, and most are generally supportive. To illustrate this with one empirical study, consider a unique recent paper by Van Laer (2017) bearing on a protest demonstration in Brussels against climate change. The author took into consideration only two factors, motivation and interpersonal networks, but being influenced by Klandermans and Oegema (1987), he examined mainly – something rarely done – the differential impact of these two factors for each of four successive stages in the mobilization process. He found that issue-related motivations were more likely to lead to mobilization during the first stage, while various interpersonal networks had their main effects in the other three stages, especially those of becoming informed of the event, of being willing to participate, and of actually participating; in fact, in that last stage, the active and interpersonal informal relations were the most important. Thus components of the organizational structures are essential for mobilization, but in particular at specific stages. Together, segmentation and organizational structures create many facilities for mobilization and conflict. They generate large pools of potential ethnic leaders and followers who are less vulnerable to sanctions by their opponents and indeed could stand to profit from ethnic mobilization; they facilitate bloc rather than individual recruitment; they facilitate the raising of issues and the intensification and sharing of feelings of grievances; they foster stronger ethnic aspirations and selective incentives among the leaders; they more easily lead to the development of a sense of moral obligation; they decrease the

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negative collective incentives which national integration and interdependence would otherwise foster, and reduce free riding; they are the prime determinants of the emergence and maintenance of strong communal identity, solidarity, and nationalist ideology; they increase the likelihood of rapid and sustained collective protest. In short, structural ethnic segmentation and organizations are highly conducive to political protest through all the mechanisms described (Oberschall 1973, ch. 4; Breton 1978). Moreover, given necessary motivations and other factors, segmentation and its organizational substructure will exert significant effects on the intensity of conflict. To be sure, the most important cause of conflict intensity is the seriousness of a group’s grievances and the scope of their mobilization. But once these conditions prevail, that intensity is further increased through more general processes. First, segmentation implies the lack of constraining cross-cutting cleavages and cross-pressures, and the presence of multiple parallel cleavages leading to the intensification of conflict. Second, all conflicts tend to become generalized: issues become transformed from specific to general ones, new issues are raised, and disagreement turns into antagonism (Coleman 1957). This is more true in segmented societies in which all issues become easily defined as communal ones. Third, a politicization of conflict tends to occur in these societies; given that communal groups are usually well organized politically, it means that conflicts easily become intense political ones encompassing larger proportions of the group, such that minor and limited administrative decisions easily become major political issues (Melson and Wolpe 1970). Fourth, communal conflicts tend to put into question the basic political association of the communal groups, which can be more intense than conflicts concerning less central issues (Coser 1956). Finally, segmentation tends to be relatively stable or change only slowly over the long run, but even if changing, it cannot be, by itself, a source of conflict. In line with what precedes, increasing or decreasing segmentation will only change its degree of conduciveness given the other conditions for conflict. Despite the frequent conditions leading segmentation to facilitate conflict, it ought not to be overlooked that under certain conditions segmentation can be conducive to harmony. As Lijphart (1971, 11) put it, segmentation “may actually help rather than hinder peaceful relations… It reduces contacts, and hence strain and hostility, among the subcultures,” given that “good social fences may make good political neighbours.” True, but it must be realized that this is likely to hold only if one of the neighbors does not infringe on the property of another! After all, classic studies by psychologists established a long time ago that prejudice may be reduced by equal status contact between ethnic groups engaged in the pursuit of common goals, leading to the perception of common interests (Allport 1958, 267). Sherif (1966, 89) stated this in even more stringent terms: to reduce hostility and conflict, intergroup contacts must involve superordinate goals appealing to each group, but which neither can achieve alone, hence implying interdependence. In short, both segmentation and integration can be conducive to harmony as well as to conflict. But to conclude this section, one must remember that in

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segmented societies serious nationalist conflicts occur in the first place because motivational factors, and especially felt grievances, exert their own significant impacts, with segmentation and organization playing then facilitating and intensifying roles. This holds even when all of these factors are constant, with other factors then playing essential triggering roles. Finally segmentation, a structure mostly specific to nationalist movements, and organizational structures usually must contend with another facilitating factor, the mobilization of resources, to which we now turn.

The mobilization of human and material resources Gamson et al. (1982, 82) wrote that “(t)he concept of resources is an indispensable one for any discussion of power and conflict relations.” Such a statement well represents the major perspectives developed since the 1970s and their consensus on the essential role of resources in contentious politics. Indeed McAdam claimed that the significance of one of the three core components of his political process theory, organizational strength, was “largely a function” of the group’s “crucial resources” (1982, 44). For Tilly, mobilization, a core component of his original model, consisted in the pooling and control of all of a group’s available resources which could turn out to be essential to carry its collective action (1978, 69–78). But no other perspective, I suppose, was as much centered on resources as that of McCarthy and Zald’s resource mobilization model (1973). Their descriptions and the impact of financial and human resources were enumerated in great detail. To be sure, McCarthy and Zald also insisted that these resources were increasingly provided by sources from outside of the beneficiary base, a position challenged by McAdam (1982, 31–2, 61) who claimed that the resources were primarily drawn from inside members of the beneficiary base. In a reassessment of their approach, Zald and McCarthy (2002, 152, 155, 162) reached more balanced conclusions. Resources such as labor, facilities, and money can be supplied by both members of beneficiary bases or by outside conscience constituencies, but also from institutional channels, such as foundations, churches, and governments. In particular, societal infrastructural resources such as mass media, transportation means, and electronic communication systems can reduce challengers’ mobilization costs. Moreover, SMOs at the national level depend more heavily on institutional resources than local ones, with more professionalized SMOs being more dependent on those sources. In short, “financial and preexisting organizational resources are almost always shown to have a strong positive impact” (Zald and McCarthy 2002, 162). Given our focus on nationalist movements, we thought there was no particular need to examine in detail various types of resource in many types of social movement and that our attention should be focused on evidence concerning what can be considered a core type of resource in nationalist movements, that is, human resources, which are all too rarely examined in detail.

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An interesting study of ethnic mobilization, too often ignored, is that of Allardt (1981). Its significance rests on its consideration of the role of resources in a large number of territorial linguistic minorities – 46 altogether – in Western Europe. He gathered 14 measures of their economic, political, and linguistic resources, as well as the size of the minority, deemed to account for their ethnic mobilization, in particular through the formation of ethnic parties and the occurrence of ethnically motivated violence. Of course the types of measures developed were very diverse – some would say too diverse.28 The measures covered more than human resources and they were not all strongly related to ethnic mobilization, but some were and all except one were positively related, such as the proportion not employed in the primary sector, the prevalence of immigration into the minority region, the existence of well-developed linguistic mass media, the full development of the group language, to name a few important factors. When his resource variables were combined (see his table 7), Allardt showed a strong relationship between them and ethnic mobilization. Of particular interest is that the size of the minority population showed up to have by far the strongest positive relationship to the existence of ethnic parties. In line with Allardt’s perspective, the size of minorities can be deemed to constitute a crucial measure of resources, in particular human ones; the larger the minority group, the larger the pool of potential contributors to its action. Contrary to Olson’s (1965) central argument that large groups are less likely to pursue collective goods – their members choosing instead to free ride – Marwell and Oliver (1993, ch. 3), working with the idea that larger groups have more resources, argued that in contentious collective action, such groups will more likely be mobilized whenever their action is characterized by accelerating production functions.29 Allardt’s empirical result is not the only one consistent with these views. So are others showing the same positive relationship of size to contentious action.30 Van Dyke and Soule (2002) found that American states and counties with larger white populations were more likely to have a higher level of patriot/militia organizations. Sorens (2005) reported that in advanced democracies larger ethnic regions were more likely to register higher levels of secessionist vote. Finally, in a study of all independent states since 1945, Wimmer et al. (2009) found that, in a state, the shares of the excluded population on the basis of their ethnic background are strongly related to rebellions. In short, vibrant and culturally well-endowed ethnic minorities can provide many resources and be highly susceptible to political mobilization. Conversely, a reanalysis of Allardt’s data showed that small ethnic minorities, economically underprivileged, and those with a declining population were very unlikely to get mobilized. The main ethnoregional groups from Europe compared in our study – the Flemish and Walloons in Belgium, the Catalans and Basques in Spain – were all included in Allardt’s data as minorities controlling substantial amounts of resources and engaging in the highest level of ethnic mobilization; in turn Galicia was found among other minorities with fewer resources and medium

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mobilization. While our regional groups are certainly not good representatives of ethnic minorities in general – something not unusual in studies of social movements, which often stress unrepresentative large ones – they allow us to better understand ethnolinguistic mobilization and, by inference, the causes of the collective inaction of so many other ethnic minorities. A crucial point must however be stressed: ethnic communities must be underprivileged enough to be dissatisfied, but also rich enough in resources to act (e.g., the Basques versus the Galicians).

The growth of the intellectual stratum and of the intelligentsia The postwar economic prosperity witnessed in particular the remarkable growth of the “knowledge-producing occupations” (Lipset and Dobson 1972, esp. 175 ff). This applied to the growth of the intellectual stratum in the United States between 1950 and 1970 (Bruce-Briggs 1979, esp. table A-4). Substantial occupational transformations occurred within segments of the male middle class in Quebec, developments which led to large increases in the pool of human resources central to nationalist movements. The differences in the growth of the various strata of the middle class (Table 5.2) are in fact quite impressive. It is first among intellectuals 31 and second among other professionals and technicians (who are also part of the intelligentsia) that especially high rates of growth prevailed during the 1950s, with rates of 64 and 61 percent, respectively, and even more so during the 1960s among the intellectuals alone, with a rate of no less than 99 percent. By contrast, none of the rates of growth during those decades exceeded 33 percent among managers and owners or among clerical workers.32 In fact it was during the decade of the 1940s, including during WWII and the immediate postwar period, that among the last groups mentioned the immediate impact of economic growth produced relatively high rates of growth. Altogether the six decades from 1911 to 1970 saw the growth rates of intellectuals and professionals practically multiplied by no less than ten (1096 and 908 percent, respectively), way above those of the other middle-class strata. There is another structural pattern in these changes which is significant. The middle class was disproportionately located in large urban centers, particularly in the Montreal metropolitan area, and there the growth of that class was more rapid. Let us only add that between 1931 and 1961 the larger professional class (including intellectuals) grew by 292 percent in Greater Montreal, but only by 120 percent outside of Montreal. With regard to trends in other types of resources for the Quebec movement, voters supporting the independence parties and people in favor of their option are obviously also essential components of the human resources of this movement. The other two resource components to be mentioned now, that is, variations in the yearly trends in financial contributions to the PQ and memberships in it, followed relatively closely the variations in the yearly trends in popular support for its constitutional option between 1968 and 1995 (Millar 1997, 11–13).

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Table 5.2 Growth rates of Quebec white-collar groups, males, 15 and over, 1911–81 Intellectuals

Professionals, technicians (except intellectuals)

Managers and owners

Clerical workers

Percentage of increases (N in thousands) %

(N)

%

(N)

%

(N)

%

(N)

1911–21 1921–31a 1931b–41 1941–51

23 66 29 38

(5) (6) (10) (13)

41 73 49 19

(256) (14) (25) (37)

75 1 5 73

(31) (55) (55) (58)

103 29