Widening Democracy: Citizens and Participatory Schemes in Brazil and Chile [1 ed.] 9789047431893, 9789004177833

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Widening Democracy

Cedla Latin America Studies General Editor

Michiel Baud, Cedla Editorial Board

Anthony Bebbington, University of Manchester Edward F. Fischer, Vanderbilt University Anthony L. Hall, London School of Economics and Political Science Barbara Hogenboom, Cedla Barbara Potthast, University of Cologne Eduardo Silva, University of Missouri at St. Louis Patricio Silva, Leiden University Rachel Sieder, University of London Cedla Centrum voor Studie en Documentatie van Latijns Amerika Centro de Estudios y Documentación Latinoamericanos Centro de Estudos e Documentação Latino-Americanos Centre for Latin American Research and Documentation The Centre for Latin American Research and Documentation (Cedla) conducts social science and history research, offers university courses, and has a specialised library for the study of the region. The Centre also publishes monographs and a journal on Latin America. Keizersgracht 395-397 1016 EK Amsterdam The Netherlands / Países Bajos www.cedla.uva.nl VOLUME 97

Widening Democracy Citizens and Participatory Schemes in Brazil and Chile

Edited by

Patricio Silva and Herwig Cleuren

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Widening democracy: citizens and participatory schemes in Brazil and Chile / edited by Patricio Silva and Herwig Cleuren. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17783-3 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Political participation—Brazil. 2. Political participation—Chile. 3. Brazil— Politics and government—2003– 4. Chile—Politics and government—1998– I. Silva, Patricio. II. Cleuren, Herwig. JL2481.W53 2009 323’.0420981—dc22 2009027553

ISSN 1572-6401 ISBN 978 90 04 17783 3 © Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

List of Figures and Tables ................................................................ Acknowledgements ............................................................................

vii ix

Chapter One Assessing Participatory Democracy in Brazil and Chile: An Introduction ......................................................... Patricio Silva and Herwig Cleuren

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COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVES Chapter Two Grassroots Movements and Political Activism in Chile and Brazil ........................................................................ Joe Foweraker

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Chapter Three Local Democracy and Popular Participation in Chile and Brazil ........................................................................ Paul W. Posner

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THE CASE OF BRAZIL: PARTICIPATION FROM BELOW Chapter Four Participative Institutions in Brazil: Mayors and the Expansion of Accountability in Comparative Perspective ...................................................................................... Brian Wampler

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Chapter Five The Redistributive Effects of the Participatory Budgeting in Porto Alegre ........................................................... Adalmir Marquetti

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Chapter Six Politicizing the Civic: Participatory Budgeting in Porto Alegre .............................................................................. Gianpaolo Baiocchi

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contents

Chapter Seven State-Society Synergy and the Problems of Participation in Porto Alegre ...................................................... Rebecca N. Abers Chapter Eight Assessing the Claims of Proponents and Critics of the Participatory Budget: Lessons from Minas Gerais, Brazil ................................................................................. William R. Nylen Chapter Nine Surviving Regime Change? Participatory Democracy and the Politics of Citizenship in Porto Alegre, Brazil .................................................................................. Kees Koonings

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165

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THE CASE OF CHILE: CONSULTATION FROM ABOVE Chapter Ten Civic Deliberation and Participatory Budgeting: The Case of San Joaquín, Santiago de Chile ............................. Adolfo Castillo Díaz

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Chapter Eleven Participation and Mestizaje of State-Civil Society in Chile .............................................................................. Gonzalo de la Maza

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Chapter Twelve Citizens’ Involvement and Social Policies in Chile: Patronage or Participation? ........................................ Vicente Espinoza

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Chapter Thirteen Old Habits in New Clothes, or Clientelism, Patronage and the Unión Demócrata Independiente .............. Marcus Klein

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Chapter Fourteen Top-Down and Bottom-Up Democracy in Chile under Bachelet ................................................................ Patricio Navia

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Bibliography ........................................................................................ List of Contributors ........................................................................... Index ....................................................................................................

339 361 365

LIST OF FIGURES AND TABLES

Figures 5.1

Average nominal income of the household head in monthly minimum wages and population per PB region in Porto Alegre—2000 .............................................. 5.2 Average nominal income of the household head in monthly minimum wages and the per capita investments per PB region in Porto Alegre—1996–2005 ...................... 5.3 Education level of the household head and the number of public works per thousand inhabitants in the PB regions in Porto Alegre—1990–2004 .................................. 12.1 The different agents involved in setting up micro projects ..................................................................................... 12.2 Actors involved in the CHILE BARRIO Programme ...... 14.1 President Bachelet’s approval ratings, 2006–2008 ............

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110 278 286 326

Tables 5.1

5.2

5.3 6.1 10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4

Evolution of provision of garbage collection, street l ighting and pavement and the number of people who benefit from the popular housing programmes in Porto Alegre—1982–2004 ............................................... Evolution of the number and percentage of household units with water and sewage services in Porto Alegre—1989–2004 .................................................................. Enrolment in the municipal public educational system in Porto Alegre—1985–2004 ................................................ Civic Configurations and the Orçamento Participativo .... Degrees of civic deliberation at different policy levels .... The deliberative versus the clientelistic model .................. The PB in San Joaquín .......................................................... Stages of the PB process and corresponding democratic modalities ................................................................................

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112 113 121 236 238 242 243

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list of figures and tables

13.1 Results of the UDI in Elections for Chamber of Deputies 1989–2005 (Selected Municipalities of Greater Santiago) ................................................................... 13.2 Results of the UDI in Local Elections 1992–2004 (Selected Municipalities of Greater Santiago) ...................

313 314

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This volume represents an academic effort of several years in which numerous colleagues and institutions have contributed in many forms. We are particularly grateful to all the scholars we invited to participate in this academic adventure and who enthusiastically embraced this common effort at trying to understand the political, socio-economic and institutional factors which have both stimulated and discouraged the emergence of schemes on participatory democracy in Brazil and Chile. We are particularly grateful to the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO) and its programme ‘Shifts in Governance’ that generously financed the investigation ‘Assessing Public Participation at Municipal Politics: The Cases of Porto Alegre and Santiago de Chile’ which lies at the base of this volume. The initial draft versions of the largest part of the contributions collected in this volume were first presented at two workshops we held in both Santiago de Chile and Porto Alegre in May 2006. We want to express our gratitude to Marco Moreno from the Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO) at Santiago de Chile, and to César Beras from the Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS), for their great organizational skills shown during these very inspiring academic gatherings. Following these meetings we also invited some other scholars to contribute with complementary studies in order to cover a larger set of issues concerning the politics of participatory democracy in Brazil and Chile. Our thanks to all of them for having provided such illuminating contributions. We also thank Miriam Rabinovich who corrected the entire text of the book. In Leiden we counted on the support of Gerard van der Ree and Joni Uhlenbeck. Diego Barría was very helpful in the closing stage of preparing the final version. A special thanks goes to Michiel Baud from the Centre for Latin American Research and Documentation (Cedla) who supported this project from the very beginning. Finally, we acknowledge the helpful comments and suggestions provided by anonymous reviewers that helped us to improve the initial manuscript.

CHAPTER ONE

ASSESSING PARTICIPATORY DEMOCRACY IN BRAZIL AND CHILE: AN INTRODUCTION Patricio Silva and Herwig Cleuren

The processes of democratic transition and consolidation in Latin America, which started in the 1980s, continue to attract the attention of a large number of social scientists. In fact, in the last 25 years a dynamic debate has been taking place and has incorporated new political topics and phenomena that have been emerging from the different democratic experiences of the region. Therefore, it is possible to observe that with the passage of time, the discussion on democratic transition and consolidation in Latin America has been shifting its focus. Initially, attention was mainly centred on the political and social nature of the transition process itself, in an effort to account for the factors that made the authoritarian regimes of the region come to an end. Whereas some privileged the study of the decomposition process within the regime, others highlighted the role played in the twilight years of the old order by the social movements and the opposition in general (see Cammack, 1985; O’Donnell, Schmitter and Whitehead, 1986; Munck, 1989; Escobar and Alvarez, 1992). Since the mid-1990s, there has been a series of studies seeking to determine the main characteristics of the new democracies, which either compare them with previous democratic experiences or underline the elements of continuity or rupture with the preceding authoritarian regime. These studies have centred above all on constitutional and institutional issues and on the relation between politics and the economy. Such is the case of the studies on the process of the transfer of power, the nature of civil-military relations, and the connection between democracy and neoliberal economic reforms (see Haggard and Kaufman, 1995; Casper and Taylor, 1996; Agüero and Stark, 1998). However, in the early years of the return to democracy the main concern of both the political class and social scientists was the question of whether the new democracies would be capable of definitive

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consolidation and whether the classical shift of the pendulum between democracy and authoritarianism would stop. The uncertainty prevailing in this respect was not surprising, given that in the recent past of the region there had been a series of failed democratic experiences followed by their respective authoritarian periods (see Malloy and Seligson, 1987). It is precisely this fear of failing in the attempt to reach democratic consolidation yet again that determined the high degree of caution with which, in general, the new democratic authorities confronted the challenges of the transition. In this connection, a central issue was attaining governability in the sense of preserving political stability and preventing the social and political upheaval that might have led to a new cycle of institutional crisis (see Moreno, 2006). This overemphasis on governability has contributed to the establishment of democracies with a low degree of citizen participation while the Executive, and particularly the person of the President, have acquired an unprecedented amount of power to steer the country through the turbulent and unsafe waters that characterize democratic transitions. Because of this, many authors have referred to the new democracies as ‘delegative’ or ‘low-intensity’ democracies, to denote their elitist and top-down nature (O’Donnell, 1994; Torres Rivas, 1989). The result of the democratic experience to date is inconclusive. On the one hand, it is evident that the democratic systems of the region, regardless of their success or shortcomings, have managed to survive the danger of an authoritarian regression. In fact, never before in Latin America have democratic regimes survived uninterruptedly for such a long period of time and in such a generalized way. At present, in most of the Latin American countries, the possible return to a military government has become an unviable and unacceptable alternative in the population’s political imagery. On the other hand, however, the Latin American democracies in general have not satisfied the needs or met the expectations of the vast majority. This has demonstrated their inability to generate increased levels of wealth and a better income distribution to reduce the high poverty indicators. Also, the new democracies in general have failed to guarantee acceptable levels of probity in the state administration. The high degree of corruption at the level of government has already brought about the impeachment of several presidents, whereas others have been overthrown after violent popular demonstrations. All this is the reflection of the population’s growing disenchantment and discontent with the political class and politicians in general and has weakened

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the democratic regime enormously. Both the parliaments and the party political system have undergone a severe process of erosion, at the same time as assorted types of populism have strongly re-emerged in the region (Silva, 2004). In view of this new picture of institutional weakness it is not surprising that in recent years the studies on Latin America should point to the urgency of improving the levels of transparency and accountability of the new democracies, as well to the need to strengthen such supervising institutions as the Office of the Comptroller General and the judiciary, to improve probity levels and prevent the further weakening of the democracies in the region (see Mainwaring and Welna, 2003). In addition to this, the new democracies need above all to show their ability to give long-term solutions to the most urgent social and economic problems affecting the poor; otherwise the democratic system will hardly achieve sufficient legitimacy to fully consolidate its existence. Ever since the late 1980s some sectors of the democratic Latin American left began to channel their discontent with the formal character of representative democracy and to claim for an increased degree of citizen participation in the decision-taking process. This was particularly noticeable at the local government level, where criticism was aimed at the prevailing economic neoliberalism. This is the context in which a remarkable initiative originating in the Brazilian city of Porto Alegre in 1989 has opened up a new line of discussion in the debate on democracy in Latin America, namely, the issue of citizen and democratic participation in local governments (see Abers, 2000; Nylen, 2003; Baiocchi, 2005; Wampler, 2007; Cleuren, 2008). Through the setting up of mechanisms to make the population take part in such decisions as how to use part of the municipal budget a strong democratizing movement has been generated. Thus, there have been attempts to move away from a representative form of democracy into a more participatory one, allowing for the direct integration of the population in decision-taking processes at the municipal level. By and by, the Porto Alegre experience has also been replicated in other cities of Brazil and the rest of Latin America, and this has created a growing corpus of experiences and has encouraged the appearance of more comparative studies on the different participatory schemes being applied in the region (see Avritzer, 2002; Dagnino, Olvera and Panfichi, 2006). Paradoxically, over the years also the neoliberals have also begun to propagate the adoption of participatory schemes by the Latin American

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local governments and to fully embrace the concepts of citizenship, participation and civil society. Institutions such as the World Bank began to realise that the transfer of tasks, funds and decision-making entitlements from local governments to the citizenry and NGOs, as defended by the left, was not detrimental to its own goal to reduce state interventionism in Latin America. As Dagnino (2007) points out, this common use of these concepts represents a ‘perverse confluence’ between the neoliberal and the democratic participatory projects, as both projects do pursue quite different objectives in the fields of economics, state administration and people participation. When looking at the cases of Brazil and Chile and their experiences with participatory schemes one can also attest the presence of the above mentioned confluence, as the former is largely an expression of a democratic participatory project, while the latter rather represents an hybrid model of state-citizens relations largely based on neoliberal principles. *

*

*

The idea of publishing this book on experiences in participatory democracy in Brazil and Chile was born some years ago in the light of the Brazilian experience in participatory schemes and the fruitful debate installed since around similar experiences in the rest of Latin America. We were struck by the fact that despite the wide interest that the Brazilian participatory democracy experience has aroused in several countries of the region, it seems that in Chile several factors of a political, social, economic, historical and cultural nature have so far thwarted the strengthening of participatory democracy at the local level (see Cleuren, 2007). Although this collection of articles provides a fair amount of information on the participatory budgeting experiences in Brazil and Chile, our main concern does not revolve around the initiatives and results themselves, as phenomena isolated from the more general politico-institutional context that characterizes either country. Rather, through the articles collected in this volume, our goal is to explore both the main factors that have made the participatory experience possible in Brazil as well as those that have prevented it from emerging with strength in Chile. Thus, above all the idea is to determine the main conditions that must obtain for this type of initiative to emerge, and to explain via a political and sociological analysis the reason for the resistance

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of the Chilean political system to adopt more participatory decisiontaking modalities. In other words, we believe that this analysis of the participatory experiences and their dissimilar results in both countries will reveal a series of more general peculiarities of the Brazilian and the Chilean democracy. This will also make it possible for us to pay attention to a series of elements which, in our opinion, have not been suitably integrated into the study of participatory experiences in the region. Among them are the balance of power between forces of the left and of the right, the mutation of the national political culture, the burden of the recent political past in the disposition to take part in participatory schemes, the citizens’ perception of the good or poor performance of the state apparatus, the corruption levels in the public administration and last but not least, the overall welfare levels of the population. With this, our hope is to contribute to the efforts to relate in a better way the ‘micro’ studies addressed to the analysis of specific cases of local democracy and the more ‘macro’ studies dealing with the general trends that have become characteristic of the Latin American democracies.

Political Parties and Activation of Participatory Initiatives The different essays that deal with the case of Brazil show over and over again the pivotal role played by the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) in the formulation and implementation of participatory initiatives since the late 1980s. In fact, from the onset, the PT adopted the banner of widening the democratic and participatory spaces at the level of local government, and integrating the excluded social sectors into the decision-taking process. Thus, as the PT expanded its presence and political power in the different regions of the country and elected governors and mayors in several cities, the aforementioned principles were translated into participatory budgeting policies with varying degrees of success. In other words, in Brazil we observe a left-wing force that has made the strengthening of democracy the core issue in its political action, by accepting the rules of the game and making use of the institutional room for leverage to generate participatory spaces. What is more, the PT has enough political clout at local and national level to make its initiatives materialize into concrete actions. In the case of Chile, on the contrary, we observe an extremely different situation which, in our opinion, has

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impinged strongly on the prevailing little interest in generating and strengthening participatory initiatives. To begin with, it must be borne in mind that Pinochet’s military government was relatively successful in terms of reforming the country’s administrative and economic structures underpinning a dynamic process of capitalist modernization. In addition, and unlike the situation of the conservative sectors in most of the Latin American countries, the Chilean right has a clear party political representation in the country, and has had and will probably continue to have important electoral support from the population. For this reason, on several occasions from 1990 on, the right wing presidential candidates have almost won the elections. This fact is not to be ignored, as it indicates that in Chile there is practically a balance of forces between the right and the centre-right. This has meant that ever since they got in, the Concertación forces have had a limited manoeuvring space to introduce the necessary parliamentary and administrative reforms to materialize the launch of more participatory schemes for the administration of the state at all levels. In addition, in Chile the big absentee in the debate and the initiatives to introduce participatory schemes is the so called extra-parliamentary left, including the Communist Party of Chile (PC) and other left-wing sectors that do not give their support to the government coalition. Contrary to the line of action followed by the PT in Brazil, namely, operating politically within the structures and norms in effect, since the early 1980s the Chilean PC opted for a breakaway strategy. Its strong resistance to the military dictatorship included overt armed struggle. In addition, unlike the left-wing branch of the Concertación, the PC never acknowledged either explicitly or implicitly the legality of the military regime expressed in the Constitution of 1980 and subsequent legal amendments. It also contested the 1988 referendum and the presidential elections of 1989, which marked the beginning of the return to democracy in the country. In other words, the PC abstained from participating in the efforts to restore representative democracy in Chile. After the democratic restoration of March 1990 and up to now, the extra-parliamentary left has on the whole restricted its political action to whiplash the continuity of economic liberalism in the country and claim for the prosecution of the material and intellectual authors—including Pinochet himself—of the human rights violations during the military rule. In fact, the PC and the rest of the extra-parliamentary left have

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still not explicitly recognized either the institutional framework in force or the existing legislation on political parties, electoral legality or the municipal system, as they originated, essentially, in the period of the military regime. Also, as the extra-parliamentary left opposes the very nature of the current democratic edifice, which they dub a neo-liberal pseudo-democracy, this sector of the left has not wished to participate actively in municipal politics, as this would imply that they are giving their blessing to, and legitimizing, the current political system. In other words, in contrast with Brazil, in Chile there has been no left capable, willing and convinced enough to join in the participatory democracy game. There is also an important fact to bear in mind: the Chilean left has almost disappeared from the electoral picture in Chile given that ever since the democratic restoration it has failed to get significant support at the polls. Thus, even if the PC had followed the pro participatory democracy road as the Brazilian PT, it is highly unlikely that it would have had the necessary political and electoral strength to generate participatory initiatives like the ones in Brazil. However, the lack of interest to take part in municipal politics of the Chilean extra-parliamentary left is not merely the result of politico-ideological considerations. Also the binominal electoral regime prevailing in the country has discouraged this sector from participating in local politics. In fact, the binominal system has led to the generation and consolidation of two large political blocs: the Concertación de Partidos por la Democracia (which gathers together the centre-left) and the Alianza por Chile (which agglutinates the right). All the political forces that do not form part of either bloc have practically lost all possibility of winning municipal or parliamentary elections. Another important factor to underline here is that in the Chilean case, paradoxically it has been the right-wing political forces that have shown the greatest interest and displayed more initiatives to attempt to organize the popular sectors. Indeed, as Klein shows in this book, as early as the Pinochet dictatorship, the so called gremialismo started to take over the void left in the poblaciones and inner cities by the banning and subsequent repression of the left wing parties, and managed to penetrate their very organizational fabric. In the last years of the military regime, the gremialismo was to become the foundation of the Unión Democrática Independiente (UDI), a party which, up to now has been paying much attention to work in the poblaciones. For this reason, not few people within the Concertación believe that the potential

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strengthening of participatory democracy initiatives in popular neighbourhoods and sectors might eventually work to the benefit of such political forces as the UDI, which controls many municipal districts throughout the country. Thus, in a way that is similar to what the PT did some years ago in Brazil, the UDI seeks to make use of its ample municipal experience in its quest for the national government together with other right wing forces. The Weight of the Past From a Chilean perspective, what is most striking about the recent Brazilian participatory democracy experiences, and particularly about the different studies that these experiences have prompted—including the ones in this volume—is the pervading feeling that the political or ideological forces that may have openly opposed such initiatives are either very weak or non existent. A close reading of these works makes it possible to derive the conclusion that the main obstacles that the PT has had to surmount in its efforts to set up participatory schemes have been mainly of a bureaucratic-organizational and budgetary nature. From a Chilean perspective it is also striking that in the debate on participatory democracy there should be practically no historical references to the doings of the Brazilian left prior to the gestation of the military regime in 1964 or to the factors that led to the fall of the government of João Goulart. This demonstrates that the pre-authoritarian political past no longer has a bearing on the deliberations or on the opinions and feelings that both the political organizations and the population in general may have about participatory democracy. In Chile, the situation cannot be more different. The reading of the facts that led to the fall of the Allende government in September 1973 prevailing in the forces of the right and in the analyses of the moderate left that forms part of the Concertación definitely does not invite experimenting with participative schemes by the popular sectors. In fact, right or wrong, there is the vision that excess participation and mobilization of the popular sectors in the years of the Unidad Popular (via the so called industrial cordons and the companies and farms that were expropriated) and the stress laid by the government on the so called ‘popular power’ may have been one among the key factors that triggered the collapse of the institutional framework and the democratic regime in Chile (see Wampler in this volume). Thus, in Chile, unlike

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Brazil, the collective memory of the political process that preceded the democratic collapse (the Unidad Popular period) is still extremely vivid in the population. What is more, in our opinion that experience continues to somehow determine the political performance of the main actors involved, be they from the right or the centre-left. This is why the announcement of her aspiration to have a ‘citizen government’ made by President Bachelet at the outset of her administration generated misgivings not only among the conservative sectors but also within the Concertación. There was the gnawing fear that the possible gestation of a situation of political and social unrest might lead to a climate of confrontation similar to the one that the country had experienced in the early 1970s.

Citizens Versus Consumers In the case of Brazil, the efforts to expand citizen participation mechanisms have been organized effectively around the struggle for ‘citizenship’. This has involved a great effort deployed by the PT and other sectors of the democratic left to reinforce the popular sectors’ awareness of their duties and rights as citizens. In addition, the idea that popular participation in public matters is essential to improve the quality of the Brazilian democracy has always been highlighted. This emphasis on the concept of citizenship has also been typical of the academic debate emerging from the efforts to create participatory instruments in Brazil and other Latin American countries. In the Chilean case, however, the issue of citizenship has failed to be effectively incorporated into the national political debate or the mobilization of the popular sectors. We believe that part of the explanation can be found in the fact that one of the many transformations produced by the neoliberal revolution under the military government was the transformation of the concept of ‘citizen’, which gradually became almost equated with that of ‘consumer’. The liberation of the economy and the strong expansion of consumption credit under the military regime eventually led to the gestation of a true consumer society in Chile. The old collective struggle to claim satisfaction of demands by the State was replaced with the efforts of individual citizens to attain improved levels of economic and social well-being in the market. Both the systematic political repression and the exacerbation of consumerist

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individualism gradually generated a strong depolitization process in the people, which was not reverted after the democratic restoration in 1990. Thus, in present day Chile the sector of citizens that is really willing to launch collective initiatives with the purpose of applying pressure on the local or national authorities is relatively small. In addition, most of the studies seem to point out that, in contrast with the past, neither the state nor the local governments are at present the main-focus referents for the people and that the majority of the population, including the popular sectors neither expects nor wants anything from the state and, on the whole, rely on their own efforts to pull through. Coming back to Brazil, we can see that democracy in this country has proved to have more flexibility to experiment with new forms of integrating citizens into the decision-taking process. Thus, the political discussion on the desirability of opening up representative democracy to new participatory forms has not been met with open hostility. In Chile, on the contrary, the democratic restoration of 1990 was seen by most of the population as a recovery of the representative democratic system, which Chileans had always been proud of as their country had been one of the few democratic exceptions in a region where the existence of (semi) authoritarian regimes was the rule. Therefore, representative democracy itself was not questioned by most of the population as it was considered that the country was getting reunited with its true political nature. Also, the main concern for years has been to try to eliminate the ‘authoritarian enclaves’ inherited from the military regime, a legacy expressed in a large number of laws referring to a wide assortment of matters (designated senators, immovability of military commandersin-chief, electoral system) and the survival of the Constitution of 1980 enacted under Pinochet. For this reason, the efforts of the Concertación have so far been addressed to the big constitutional issues and the demands by some sectors to improve popular participation in decisiontaking have been put on the back burner. The eventual satisfaction of this demand has been seen as counterproductive to the attainment of the constitutional reforms as it might generate tensions with the centreright, whose collaboration in Parliament is required for the elimination of the legal remains of the past.

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State Efficiency, Economic Welfare and Participatory Democracy A question that is seldom asked in the discussion on participatory democracy has to do with the role that the malfunctioning of the national and local governments plays in the generation of demand for increased participation of the population in the decision-taking process. In other words, is demand for increased citizen participation a variable independent of the performance of the state and the local governments? A careful reading of the articles dealing with the Brazilian case demonstrates that the arguments and legitimate demands for the introduction of participatory schemes find at least part of their justification in the visible dissatisfaction of the population about the way in which they are governed. As pointed out in several of the contributions in this volume, factors such as impatience and irritation with the traditional clientelistic practices of the local oligarchies, the strong corruption existing within the public and municipal apparatus, and the lack of transparency in the use of central government and municipal funds have triggered a politico-social reaction that is at the root of the demands of the citizens and left-wing forces for the citizenry to gain increased control and supervision of how the authorities go about their job. In other words, quite frequently the struggle for participatory democracy does not find its origin in the single objective of improving the quality of democracy itself, but mainly in the perceived need to keep an eye on a central or local government whose actions leave the citizens unsatisfied. What about those few countries in Latin America in which the state seems to be relatively efficient, the local municipal governments do their job reasonably well and where corruption is relatively low? Does this have a negative influence on the population’s proclivity to mobilize and claim for increased participation in decision-taking? In our opinion, this seems to be what is going on in Chile. In fact, ever since the democratic restoration of 1990 the Concertación governments have been developing a wide range of ambitious and original social programmes which, in terms of budget, design, coverage and results have been unique in Latin America. These programmes include job creation, pension schemes, access to health, housing loans, improved education coverage, etc. Indeed, all the figures indicate that as from 1990 Chile has attained a dramatic reduction in its poverty levels as a result of the social policies and the strong economic growth experienced by the country since. In

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addition, the marked political and social deterioration experienced by many of the countries in the region in the same period has led many Chileans to revalue the idea that Chile is a no-nonsense country, where things work. All this means that, in time, Chileans have come to adopt more conservative positions to protect what has been attained and to avoid the political, social and administrative vices and difficulties that have flourished in other Latin American countries. It is this generalized awareness of the existence of a relative well-being that has led many to reject all kinds of experimentation in the politico-social mobilization of the popular sectors. From this perspective, the foreign experiences in participatory schemes are considered to be the consequence of the populism prevailing in several Latin American countries. This populism is seen as one of the worst evils affecting the rest of the region, and both the Chilean political class and large sectors of the population intend to keep it beyond the national boundaries at all costs. Paradoxically, the relative probity and efficiency to be found in the local governments also has to do with the veritable political draw between representatives of the Concertación and the Alianza por Chile parties existing in most of the Chilean townships. This has produced a high degree of horizontal accountability given that each sector keeps a vigilant eye on the other: the slightest slip of a mayor or member of the municipal council is immediately exposed to the public eye by the opposing party. In addition, there is the Office of the Comptroller General and a judiciary system that also monitors the performance of mayors, councillors and government departments at local level, which are empowered to apply effective and public punitive measures. We believe that the lesson to be drawn from the Chilean case is that if there is a substantial improvement in performance in the municipal structures and government agencies at local level in other Latin American nations, this might lead to a process of citizen demobilization as is currently happening in Chile, the Netherlands and other European nations. If this is correct, then we are faced to a great paradox. In the case of Brazil the more successful participatory schemes are, the better the performance of the municipal authorities and local agencies in the long term. And this might in turn lead to gradual citizen demobilization as the goal of having given themselves local governments that are more efficient and transparent will have been attained.

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The Structure of the Book This volume has three sections. The first one includes two comparative studies by Joe Foweraker and Brian Wampler on the evolution of social movements in Brazil and Chile and the way in which the state and the political parties have positioned themselves vis-à-vis the question of participatory democracy in both countries. The second section is devoted to the Brazilian case. Brian Wampler, Adalmir Marquetti, Gianpaolo Baiocchi, Rebecca N. Abers, William R. Nylen and Kees Koonings have contributed with a critical analysis of the different facets of participatory experiences in Brazil, underlining both their achievements and the many political, organizational and financial obstacles that they have had to face as the years have gone by. Finally, the third and last section is devoted to the Chilean case. In this section, Adolfo Castillo, Gonzalo de la Maza, Vicente Espinoza, Marcus Klein and Patricio Navia analyse a wide range of historical, institutional political and cultural factors that may help us to understand the rugged road of participatory experiences in the new democratic Chile inaugurated in 1990. Comparative Perspectives Whatever Brazil and Chile may have in common, it is the existence in each of these countries of the idea that they constitute exceptional cases within the Latin American reality. Brazil is fully aware of its colossal size both in physical and economic terms, of its cultural and linguistic exceptional status and of its historical and institutional development, which has been relatively different from that of the Spanish-speaking nations in the region. For this reason, most of the studies and scholars that explore the political, social and cultural reality of Brazil rarely do it from a genuinely comparative perspective. The same happens with Chile, although the reasons are different. Its inhabitants consider their country as an ‘insular’ nation, separated by great physical defences from the rest of the region, about which little is said, except to stress the differences and not the elements in common with the neighbouring countries. Chileans are accustomed to hearing that they are the politically most stable, and economically and socially most prosperous nation in Latin America, and that they are about to abandon their status as third world country. Thus, the comparative studies undertaken do

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not generally consider other countries in the region but industrialized countries, in order to measure how much or how little remains to be done in relation to different international benchmarks. Thus, it is not surprising that up to now there should be so few comparative studies between Brazil and Chile in the political, economic and social fields. Although this book does not deal with comparative research proper, as the contributions have resorted to different methodologies and study foci, and most of them deal with just one of the countries under scrutiny, it provides nonetheless a series of analytic instruments that may permit an initial comparison between the new democracies in Chile and Brazil from the perspective of the state and political parties and the way in which the latter interrelate with the citizens and deal with the issue of strengthening democracy. In Chapter 2 Joe Foweraker rightly suggests looking into the evolution of social movements in both countries from a historical perspective, including the authoritarian experiences of the recent past. This will make it possible to observe the full extent of the process of adaptation of such movements from an authoritarian to a democratic environment. As Foweraker says, the social movements have had to reformulate their relationship with the state, including the shift from a mobilization logic to a negotiation logic. In the case of Brazil, after the return to democracy such negotiation has been undertaken under the banner of demand for citizen rights. By definition, these rights are universal and therefore, they constitute a rejection of the particularistic and clientelistic practices that have historically permeated the historical process in Brazil. According to Foweraker, in Chile there has always been a tradition of universal citizen rights. We believe that it may have been this factor that, unlike the case in Brazil, weakened the drive of the mobilization for citizen rights. This author also argues that the relative defusing of the social movement in Chile has been not only the result of deliberate action by the democratic authorities and of the prevailing neoliberal system, but also of the relative satisfaction of the Chilean population with the state of affairs in their country. Particularly important is Foweraker’s analysis of the role played by NGOs in the relative loss of mobilization momentum of the grassroots organizations. As a matter of fact the state has been delegating the implementation of a series of social policies to the local NGOs, which have therefore been co-opted in different degrees onto the state apparatus. This is particularly valid in Chile, where hundreds of NGOs

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have been somehow or other integrated into the application of social programmes, to the detriment of grassroots organizations. However, Foweraker values the introduction of a tender system by the Chilean state, which allows not only NGOs but also grassroots organizations to bid for funds for support programmes. This has made subsidies by the government more transparent and has reduced the space for corruption and clientelism. In Chapter 3, Paul Posner explores the issue of local democracy and citizen participation in both countries, highlighting the marked differences that can be observed in the nature of the state and the party political system. And, indeed, the fact that Brazil has a highly decentralized federal state whereas Chile has an extremely centralized unitary state has determined in both countries both the space and resources to launch citizen participation schemes. In turn, the party political systems in Brazil and Chile show characteristics that are quite different. Whereas the Brazilian political parties are in general strongly clientelistic and weak, Chile has historically had a system of strong doctrine-based political parties, which have existed for a long time and are genuinely deep-rooted among the different social groups of the population. In this sense, Posner is right to underline that the emergence of the Partido de Trabalhadores represents a clear innovation within Brazilian politics as it seeks to expand the democratic spaces existing in the country in order to put an end to the old clientelistic tradition. On evaluating Chile’s attainments in terms of democratization of the local governments, Posner is quite critical. To begin with, in 1990 the Concertación parties resolved to keep the popular sector depoliticized and demobilized at local level. The high degree of control of the central government over the local municipalities and the reduced funds of the latter—a legacy of the authoritarian period—is a situation that has not been reverted by the Concertación governments. Thus, there are neither political nor material incentives enough to participate actively at local level given that the local governments have little decision-taking power and less funding. As for the Brazilian case, Posner is also right in saying that the municipalities in this country have always had a certain degree of autonomy and operational range to implement policies oriented to their constituencies. What is more, after the democratic transition the local elites did their best to preserve or even increase such autonomy so as to continue to cater for their political clientele. In addition, there

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has been a strong increase in the funds transferred from the central government to the municipalities as a result of the adoption of the 1988 Constitution. The availability of financial resources at local level, the possibility of formulating policies for local development and the presence of political forces like the PT, which were ready to play the citizen participation trump card, generated a very favourable climate for democratic schemes such as participatory budgeting and others. The Brazilian Case: Participation from Below The following six chapters centre round several aspects of citizen participation in the participatory schemes undertaken at local level in Brazil. In Chapter 4, Brian Wampler analyses the participatory budgeting experiences in São Paulo, Recife and Porto Alegre and the way in which these participatory schemes has transformed the relationship between the political power and the citizens, namely, between the mayors and the civil society organizations. Despite the different decentralization processes that have taken place in Brazil and the consequent transfer of budgeting and administrative powers to the municipal level, Wampler underlies the fact that the mayors have continued to hoard for themselves a large part of the decision-taking power at local level. Wampler identifies a series of factors that led mayors and other elected officials to favour participatory budgets. Among them is the use of these participatory schemes by the new municipal authorities as a means to break down the traditional practices of private exchanges between elected officials, bureaucrats and traditional leaders of the civil society and thus weaken and set limits to the influence of their political opponents. In Chapter 5, Adalmir Marquetti explores the available empirical evidence of the impact that participatory budgets in Brazil have had on income distribution and reduction of poverty. By analysing data on public investments in the city of Porto Alegre, Marquetti confirms that in the period 1996–2005 the poorest areas of the city did indeed show the highest levels of per capita investment. Thus, direct democracy has truly had a positive effect on the process of redistribution of investments and services and on the degree of efficiency attained in Porto Alegre. Thus, for example, the northeast sector of the city, which is inhabited by the poorest people, had the largest ratio of number of projects implemented per thousand inhabitants, whereas the centre zone of the city, which

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is traditionally one of the better off, had the lowest ratio of municipal investments per number of inhabitants. Thus, in Porto Alegre the PT objective of inverting the traditional priorities of municipal expenses in favour of the more deprived sectors has materialized. In Chapter 6, Gianpaolo Baiocchi shows how the participatory experience in Puerto Alegre has been generating a growing civil engagement in public affairs, in direct connection with public officials and other municipal representatives. The author centres his study on a couple of neighbourhood associations and shows how the community activists combine their status as militants with that of citizens. In other words, the analytic distinction between social movement activity and civil engagement, which is often made in learned papers, does not occur in the day-on-day practice of these active participants in neighbourhood associations. What we do see is that the institutionalization of participatory budgeting has forced the older activists with a background of participation in social movements to undertake a thorough reformulation of their struggle methods. They have had to adapt to the new logic of discussion, negotiation and mutual respect among all participants—including the municipal representatives—which this new form of citizen participation at local level has brought about. Thus, one of the lessons to be drawn from the degree of dynamism and legitimacy reached by participatory governance in Porto Alegre is that such governance is not only the product of the active participation of the social movements and the neighbourhood associations, but also of the type of relationship attained between the civil society and the municipal authorities. In Chapter 7, Rebecca Abers explores to what degree the Porto Alegre citizens have actually managed to determine the fate of the municipal budget. Most of the classic studies on participatory schemes originating in the state indicate that these are created by the authorities as an instrument to increase the legitimacy of the national or local governments, but that this does not really mean that they relinquish control over the decision-taking process. The control of the agendas and available information by the local authorities, combined with their technical expertise makes the process of manipulation of the decision-taking process become relatively easy. However, as shown by Abers, in Porto Alegre not only did the local authorities see their legitimacy increase, but so did the participatory schemes themselves, which have become an effective form of governance and a genuine arena for negotiation between the civil society and the state.

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In Chapter 8, William Nylen presents the participatory budgeting experience in the city of Minas Gerais. To do so, Nylen embarks on a critical assessment of various claims that highlight both the emancipatory and representative nature of participative budgeting schemes and the existence of a series of alleged negative collateral effects of such schemes. On the one hand, the proponents of participatory budgeting point out that such schemes mainly mobilize the popular sectors and that, therefore, they are an important instrument for empowerment as they generate social awareness and political activation in the so-far-excluded. On the other hand, the critics of participatory budgeting claim that these citizen participation schemes unnecessarily create a climate of antagonism between the social organizations and such representative institutions as the municipal council. According to the author, the analysis of the participatory budgeting experience in Minas Gerais throws an overall positive balance. Although these schemes do increase the degree of antagonism between the social organizations and such bodies as the municipal councils, it is also true that the struggle of the social organizations against the permanence of the traditional clientelistic relations often defended in the official spheres should be considered as a positive contribution to the democratic process. In Chapter 9, Kees Koonings analyses the application of citizen participation mechanisms in Brazil, from the perspective of the inclusionary governance agenda of the democratic Latin American left. Koonings seeks to determine to what degree the PT municipal administrations have managed to improve the quality and scope of the local democracy efforts focussed on strengthening the citizens. Also, the author explores the way in which these participatory experiences may become part of the citizens’ political practices even if, in time, the initiators of such schemes (the political forces associated with the PT) fail to remain in control of the municipal government. This last question is crucial after the PT did indeed lose its control of the Porto Alegre local government in 2004. As pointed out by Koonings, the defeat of the PT at the municipal elections of October 2004 evinced that the social sectors that had obtained no direct benefit from the participatory schemes (the elite and the wide-ranging middle classes) finally got their own back and voted massively for the opposition candidates, thus bringing the PT governments in Porto Alegre to an end. Although the new authorities have adopted a more technocratic and less participatory decision-taking style, they have not abolished the schemes proper, which seem to

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have become part of the local political landscape and an expression of citizenship in Porto Alegre. Ultimately, all the contributions dealing with participatory experiences in Brazil collected in this volume permit to see a series of weaknesses and contradictions both in the formulation of such schemes and in the results attained. However, there is almost a generalized opinion that the participatory democracy experiences in Brazil have constituted a great school for citizen training in a society in which the popular sectors had traditionally been subordinated to extremely clientelistic relations. Indeed, the participatory schemes elicited a newly aroused dignity in the most neglected social sectors which, to a greater or lesser degree, came to feel part of and take part in the democratic process at local level. In addition, it taught many people the complexities of being in the driver’s seat of government and taking decisions for the sake of a large community, with the aggravating factor of always having limited resources to cater for the needs of one and all. Apart from this, the sole existence of the participatory schemes has made it clear to the traditional Brazilian elites that they can no longer continue to rule as in the past, without taking into account the opinion and wishes of the vast majority. In turn, the municipal bureaucracy has had to start getting used to the existence of citizen-related forms of accountability which, somehow or other, have contributed to modernize the public apparatus and to sensitize the public officials that whether they like it or not, they are not at their own service and that of their old clientelistic networks but of the community as a whole. Consultation without Participation: The Chilean Case The following six contributions centre on the strained relationship existing in present day Chile between representative democracy and the demand to introduce schemes that may permit the true and direct participation of the population at the level of local governments. Each of these works acknowledges the strong impact that a series of factors of the past have had on the present relation between the state and the civil society and the (im)possibility to create spaces for democratic participation at local government level. Among the most important are the experience of the democratic breakdown in 1973, the political and social effects of Pinochet’s long regime and the impact of the neoliberal model launched in the mid-1970s.

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In addition, in Chile there is a literal balance of political power given that since the democratic restoration in 1990, the pro-government centre-left forces and the opposition forces of the right have been at a stalemate. This unusual political setup has meant that the claims for increased room for citizen participation have never managed to gather the necessary support from the population or the political class. There is also the fact of strong centralization of the political power and financial resources in the hands of the central government—a historical feature of Chile. This has severely limited the funds made available to the local governments and has visibly reduced the incentives for the population to get involved in participatory schemes known to be short of funding and, to boot, short of decision-taking power. In Chapter 10, Gonzalo de la Maza launches the analysis of the relations between the state and civil society in Chile after the democratic restoration in 1990. These relations have been strongly conditioned by the characteristics of the political and economic model prevailing in the country. The democratic transition was the product of a pact between the right-wing forces that supported Pinochet’s dictatorship and the centre-left sectors that took over as from 1990. The foundation of this pact was the commitment to safeguard the bases of the neoliberal model and to keep the civil society demobilized as a means to guarantee governability. As shown by the author, from the outset, since 1990, the Chilean state has been taking the initiative in the fight against poverty and other social ills by deploying a wide battery of public policies addressed exclusively to the more disadvantaged groups. However, although these policies have been relatively successful, they have been characterized by their technocratic character and, above all, by scant citizen participation in their design and implementation. In Chapter 11, Vicente Espinoza analyses in detail the mechanisms used by the Chilean state from 1990 on to attempt to relate more directly to the community. As pointed out by the author, the state has created a large number of biddable funds which the citizens may apply for via the presentation of projects aiming at improving the living conditions of the neighbourhood or the municipal district. Thus, the citizens may make proposals for specific projects, but it is the state and its specialized agencies, and not the citizens that decide which projects do or do not receive financial support from the authorities. According to the author, the biddable funds format has forced the citizens to ‘learn’ the technocratic logic and jargon so as to have the chance to have their proposals accepted. On the negative side, the dispute for funding by

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the state has tended to divide local communities as the other neighbourhoods or groups are considered from a zero-sum perspective as opponents and not potential allies. All this notwithstanding, some interesting instances of participation have materialized, as demonstrated by the programmes ‘Chile Solidario’ and ‘Chile Barrio’, in which the citizens and their organizations, not so much in theory but in practice, are empowered to negotiate with the national and local authorities at the stage of implementation of those programmes. In recent years the idea that has been gaining strength is that it is not enough for public policies and programmes at municipal level to be relatively successful: they must also have a strong citizen participation component. Influenced by the Brazilian experience, some municipalities in the popular zones of Santiago have begun to experiment with participatory budgeting. In Chapter 12, Adolfo Castillo Díaz analyses the case of the Municipality of San Joaquín, which has not only been one of the pioneers in setting up participatory budgeting schemes in the country, but has also had quite promising results. According to the author, the process of citizen democracy launched by this municipality does not correspond to either the conception of representative democracy or of participatory democracy, given that in both conceptions the initial assumption is that the citizens have well-established preferences, interests and identities when they start participating. According to Castillo Díaz, the San Joaquín experience seems to indicate that the political generation of preferences among the citizens is, on the contrary, the result of a long process of deliberation between them, the municipal authorities and the NGOs which, more often than not leads to the reformulation and re-adaptation of the initial positions of each of the actors involved. The participatory budgeting experience in San Joaquín has resulted in a sharing of power between the municipal authorities and the citizens, without the former losing its authority or power to take the final decision on all the projects discussed with the population. This has led Castillo Díaz to conclude that the participatory budgeting mechanisms in San Joaquín can be classified as a combination of municipal deliberative democracy and representative democracy. In Chapter 13, Marcus Klein analyses the successful penetration of the Chilean right in the world of the poor, by means of the proselytizing activities of the Unión Demócrata Independiente (UDI) in the popular municipal districts and municipalities in Santiago. According to the author, the popular support that the UDI has managed to generate and

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preserve for its militants elected to municipal government is mainly due to its resorting to a wide network of clientelism and patronage in the poblaciones, with the objective of fighting and eliminating the influence of the left on the poor. In addition, the UDI has known how to manage and mobilize the strong anti-left and anti-Unidad Popular feeling that has always been present in the imagery of a not insignificant portion of the popular sectors. Although the UDI declares to be in direct contact with the poor, the mechanisms that it uses in its political action are mainly top-down and the concept of participatory democracy forms no part of either its political discourse or praxis. Thus, both the strong presence of the UDI in the popular zones and the massive popular support that it knows how to generate are, in our opinion, an important factor to explain the many difficulties encountered by activists of part of the left, who propose participatory initiatives that have the same aims as those of their Brazilian comrades. In the last chapter, Patricio Navia analyses the ample debate generated in Chile since the installation of Michelle Bachelet’s government in March 2006 on account of the avowed wish to encourage participatory democracy and constitute a ‘citizen government’ (gobierno ciudadano). On the one hand, Bachelet has visibly reinforced and expanded the public policies addressed to the more disadvantaged sectors of the country and has made it clear that her government aims at ambitious social targets. These policies have had ample funding available thanks to Chile’s extraordinary revenues as a result of the high price of copper in recent years. However, Bachelet was soon enough forced to abandon her participatory agenda with the emergence in May 2006 of a widespread movement of secondary school students (the so called ‘penguin revolution’). Thousands of students took to the streets of Santiago and occupied dozens of schools demanding a radical improvement in the quality of education and their direct participation in the formulation of the educational public policies. The accompanying climate of confrontation pervading the streets spurred the collective memory of many Chileans who saw in the student movement a repetition of the climate of violence leading up to the fall of the Unidad Popular in 1973. Thus, public opinion took a stand against the promotion of popular participation. In addition to the penguin revolution, Bachelet had to face the worst crisis of popular support ever undergone by one of the Concertación administrations on account of the resounding failure of the new transport system (the ‘Transantiago’) introduced in Santiago

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by the government, which produced massive popular discontent. Navia concludes that the dramatic loss of popularity by the government on account of these two trouble-stirring events led Bachelet to concentrate all her efforts on the recovery of the citizens’ support. Thus, Bachelet has had to renounce her original idea of strengthening popular participation and heed the generalized appeal of a large part of the population to restore presidential authority and strengthen a strictly representative democracy.

COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVES

CHAPTER TWO

GRASSROOTS MOVEMENTS AND POLITICAL ACTIVISM IN CHILE AND BRAZIL Joe Foweraker

Introduction This chapter surveys the recent trajectory of grassroots political activity in Latin America, and examines its role in promoting social development in the continent. The argument focuses on the activity of social movements and non-governmental organizations (NGOs), with special reference to Brazil and Chile, and explores their relationships with national governments and international agencies. The objective is to assess the impact of grassroots pressure on the kind of policy formation and institutional reform that can improve the quality of social policies that are implemented by the state. An early caveat is in order. Latin America contains more than twenty independent republics, and so encompasses very diverse social conditions and political dynamics. This essay sets out to describe and explain the general patterns of grassroots activity and interaction with the state in Latin America today (before looking more closely at Chile and Brazil) and therefore makes general claims and observations. But such brave generalizations are in no sense intended to deny the variety of Latin American politics or the inevitable ‘exceptions to the rules’. Indeed, the very contrasts drawn between Chile and Brazil provide clear examples of this variety. The recent role of grassroots political activity in Latin America has evolved and must be set in historical context. In particular, it is important to establish how this activity was first shaped by the experience of authoritarian and military rule, and then changed by the transitions to democratic rule. That context can reveal the characteristic relationships of this political activity to the state, the balance between ‘old’ and ‘new’ forms of grassroots organizing, and the nature of grassroots demandmaking, especially the demands for rights. The focus on democratic

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transition highlights the challenges of projecting grassroots pressures into political society. This inquiry into the recent role of grassroots organizations looks at the ways they have adapted (or not) to the conditions of democratic rule and neoliberal policy prescriptions. It will be seen that social movements have often declined or been transformed (or both), leading to an emphasis on negotiation rather than mobilization, and an increasing interaction with state agencies. NGOs, in contrast, have both multiplied and become more visible, but where they interact with the state they may become subordinated to state policy, and where they fail to interact they may be ineffective. This does not mean that social movements and NGOs cannot achieve some positive impact on social policy or institutional reform, but it does indicate that their impact is unlikely to be fundamental.1

Social Movements and the State The first period of mass-based politics in Latin America was that of the populist regimes of the 1930s to the 1960s that sought national industrialization through import-substitution and pursued corporatist policies of labour control.2 Over these years the range of social movements was relatively limited, and confined to the grand class-based actors like the labour and agrarian movements, with more occasional mobilization by students and teachers. But two major developments, which happened to coincide historically, were to transform this scenario. First, there was the major shift from rural to urban and industrial society that placed the majority of Latin Americans in a completely different social and

1 Modern forms of mass communication mean that grassroots political organizations, especially NGOs, are now more visible than ever before. There is very little cost in maintaining a token political presence, or in reporting a record of political activity. It can be tempting to read the reporting as reality, or to see visibility as effectiveness. A balanced analysis, however, will acknowledge the grassroots contribution to social policy debates and social improvements, while recognising that this contribution is patchy, partial and severely constrained for reasons of both economics and politics. The tone of the analysis must therefore be more sober than sanguine. 2 This meant that key sectors of the labour force, especially in industry and the public sector, were organized within state-chartered labour unions that were integrated into or closely tied to the bureaucratic apparatus of the state, or even the ministry of labour. This form of corporatist control characterized the regimes of Vargas in Brazil, Cardenas in Mexico and Perón in Argentina, among others.

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political environment. Clearly, this shift had been prepared by the industrialization projects, and prompted by the increasing capital intensity of agriculture, but its full demographic and social impact was not felt until the 1970s, when the great majority of Latin Americans were living in cities of more than 100,000 inhabitants. Second came the crisis of the populist state (and of the oligarchic state in Central America), and the advent of the repressive military and authoritarian regimes of the 1970s and 1980s. Linking the two developments was the huge growth of the state apparatus and the massive increase in forms of state intervention in countries as different as Brazil and Chile. Most studies of social movements explain them in terms of civil society and confine them to civil society (Foweraker, 1995: 9–35). But, in fact, social movements have developed in continual and intimate interaction with the state. Since the state is the main source of scarce resources, social movements have had to approach the state in order to secure some of these resources. Since the state tends to monopolize power and decision-making, it becomes a prime focus of protest and demand-making. The growth of public administration, and the multiplication of productive and regulatory agencies that have expanded state involvement in economic and social life, mean that class struggles typically pit the poor against the state (Davis, 1989: 227). It was, therefore, no coincidence that social movements arose at the same time that ‘institution building took place in the political system as a whole’ (Boschi, 1987: 201). Social movements gravitated to the state, despite the crisis of the traditional left and the adverse political climate of the authoritarian regimes. The state is both provider of public services and guarantor of the conditions of collective consumption. But it often proves incapable of carrying out these tasks in an efficient or effective fashion. There is a weak tradition of welfare provision in Latin America, and the military regimes further restricted such provision. In Chile this was a result of the regime’s deliberate policy of de-industrialization and its rejection of any responsibility for welfare. In Brazil, in contrast, the ambitious economic and social goals of the ‘developmental’ state were continually subverted by the kind of corruption and clientelism that provoked social mobilization. Social movements in both countries had to struggle for social services and public utilities. Furthermore, the repressive stance of these regimes meant that basic civil liberties and the rights of citizenship also became central concerns.

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In this way, the identity of social movements in Latin America was not so much formed through social relations as it was constituted at the political level and forged in close interaction or confrontation with the state (Moisés, 1982). The social basis of popular struggle in the continent therefore tended to be multi-class. This was as true of the neighbourhood associations in big cities as it was of the broad alliances that sustained popular resistance to authoritarian rule in Chile and Brazil.

Old and New Social Movements The shift to a predominantly urban society in Latin America changed the nature of grassroots mobilization. The growth of Brazilian cities was accompanied by the birth of eight thousand neighbourhood association (Boschi, 1987: 180). The expansion of squatter settlements and spontaneous colonization on the urban peripheries of Chile had created a new generation of ‘militant metropolitan dwellers’ since the 1960s (Castells, 1982: 250). The previous predominance of class-based movements was complicated by the rise of urban social movements, a catch-all category that included a wide range of popular political initiatives, usually inspired by demands for public utilities, social services, or access to land and water. At the same time, as argued above, the state became the object of, or was a direct party to a wide range of social struggles and political demands, and, in its military and authoritarian phase, acted to suppress such struggles and demands. In particular, the state had become ever more involved both in controlling the urban poor and in exploiting them through the pricing of housing (Silva and Ziccardi, 1983), utilities and services (Nunes and Jacobi, 1983; Kowarick, 1982). The rise of urban social movements was seen as both a response to the precarious conditions of urban life, and as a response to the repressive policies of the state and the suppression of more traditional forms of political organization like political parties and trade unions. None of this is meant to suggest that labour and agrarian movements suddenly disappeared. On the contrary, the labour movement sometimes took on a new salience in opposition to the military regimes. Despite close academic attention to the movements (Davis, 1992: 401; Boschi, 1987) they invited romantic interpretation as a political panacea, in much the same way as NGOs in recent years. Yet the combination

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of urban expansion and repressive government did prove a fecund context for the emergence of new social actors, especially women; for the discovery of new forms of organization and new strategic initiatives; and for the statement of demands in a language of rights that became widespread throughout Latin America from the 1970s onwards.

Demand-Making and the Language of Rights The concentration of social movements in the urban context generated many new demands. The process of demand-making itself implies that social movements have acquired a ‘sense of efficacy’ and a belief that they can ‘alter their lot’ (Piven and Cloward, 1977), especially when demands are stated in terms of rights. Eventually, most social movements, including labour, agrarian and ethnic movements, began to talk a language of rights. From that critical moment their demands lost the quality of petition and began to reverberate with calls for change. At the same time these new demands were directed straight to the state, since it alone was capable of delivering the rights in question (Caldeira, 1990: 48). Yet it must be recognized that there were two different sorts of demand. First there were the material demands for economic distribution, public utilities or social benefits that constituted the initial and sometimes primary motivation of many of the movements. These demands are rooted in sector, territory, community, union or firm, and represent claims for social inclusion and greater participation in the ‘republic’. Second—but not necessarily later in time—were demands for legal and political rights (habeas corpus, equality before the law, land rights, labour rights, voting rights) that together represented a claim to citizenship, and an implicit challenge to the authoritarian regimes of the time. In the Latin American context, these different sorts of demand were not specific to particular social sectors or groups, but were often integral to the same, more or less continuous process of demand-making. The majority of material demands could be easily absorbed or diverted within political systems organized along clientelistic and corporatist lines. Indeed, such systems are especially effective in separating and isolating this type of demand, and combining partial satisfaction with cooptation by granting (personal) favours and according (restricted)

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privileges. But since demands for citizenship rights always have a universal content—insofar as the rights must apply equally and across the board to be rights at all—they necessarily challenge the particularism of the clientelistic power relations that are so pervasive throughout the continent. Brazil was the perfect example of a highly clientelistic political culture, and remains so. The political traditions of Chile were somewhat more sensitive to the universal rights of citizenship, and even the military regime took care to enshrine its political controls in constitutional forms.

Institutional Interaction Social movements will seek to overcome the problems of collective action through increasing organization, and will try to increase their resources by adopting lower-risk and more ‘institutional’ forms of action (Oberschall, 1973). They will develop their own Social Movement Organizations (SMOs) to assume the executive functions previously exercised by informal groups, and to carry out ‘the crucial task of mediating between the larger macro environment and the set of micro dynamics on which the movement depends (McAdam et al., 1988). They turn towards the state, where their leaders strive to win more influence and so secure their own position and prestige. This is the ‘inevitable institutionalism’ of Latin American social movements that applies a fortiori to grassroots political activity in the 1990s (Foweraker, 1993: 145–156) and the widespread conversion of SMOs into NGOs.3 Political outcomes vary according to the nature of the state and its policy objectives.4 Furthermore, since ‘grassroots movements deal principally with the State at its most decentralized level—the specific

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SMOs express the increasing need for organization and hierarchy within social movements as they seek to negotiate with the state and other political actors of political society. NGOs begin with an institutional infrastructure for administration and communication, and do not primarily seek to achieve mobilization, even if they represent or claim to represent broader publics. 4 In particular, as this paragraph suggests, the nature of the state is very different in Chile and Brazil. The Chilean state is highly centralized. The Brazilian state is robustly federal. Brazilian federalism means that the state apparatus is more variegated across the national territory and so offers differential opportunities for dialogue and participation by grassroots movements. In democratic Brazil these opportunities are closely influenced by the political colour of regional state and municipal administrations, as illustrated in the subsequent section on ‘State reform and grassroots participation’.

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organs of a given municipality—the ‘State’ which one particular movement faces may differ substantially from the ‘State which another one faces’ (Mainwaring, 1989: 169). In Brazil a sprawling but centralized state administration offered ample opportunities for negotiation and dialogue with a range of more or less sophisticated state apparatuses and agencies (Cardoso, 1983). And the military governments sought to improve the reach and delivery of public services, partly because they continued to compete for the popular vote. In Chile, by contrast, the military regime tried to deny the state’s traditional responsibilities for health care, social security and housing by privatizing their provision (Garretón, 1989: 142). This recent history is relevant to the current circumstances of grassroots political activity, since it suggests what may be expected from such activity. On the evidence, it is unlikely to achieve general policy change or innovation. On the other hand, it may succeed in pressing the state to fulfil some specific obligations, such as guaranteeing individual security, protecting the property of the poor from fraud and violence, or enforcing its own regulations and price controls. Contrary to the heady utopianism of the early commentaries on social movements, scholars were eventually exhorted to ‘acknowledge just how limited their short-term impact really is (Boschi, 1987: 184).

Democratic Transitions and the Decline of Grassroots Movements Once the democratic transitions were underway, the grassroots movements faced the novel challenges of democratic politics. In democracy, political society is the arena of political competition for control over public power and the state apparatus. Under authoritarian regimes it is self-evident that political society must be re-constituted by constitutional norms and electoral rules. But it is not clear how grassroots movements can enter and adapt to this society. During democratic transition grassroots organizations multiply and change, but the rules of representation are often unknown, and vary according to locality and region. Post-transition political society becomes what Brazilians call a jôgo surdo or dance of the deaf.5 Most grassroots leaders therefore

5 Since the new ground rules of democratic politics are either fluid or unknown, or both, it becomes almost impossible to predict the political behaviour of others.

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needed no convincing that ‘the process of establishing a democracy is a process of institutionalizing uncertainty’ (Przeworski, 1986: 58).6 Grassroots movements cannot escape the pressures of partisan politics in a more open political society. The parties compete for movement support to increase their bargaining power. Grassroots activists seek party affiliation to advance their own careers. But there is no natural affinity between the specific demands of grassroots movements and the national agendas of political parties (Nunes and Jacobi, 1983). Parties seek to secure power through forms of territorial representation, while the movements continue to press for material benefits through direct participation. If parties try to attract local leaders, they may discover that it is not easy to take the local out of the leader. Local leaders, on the other hand, may seek to bypass the parties by a direct approach to municipal authorities and government agencies. The result is conflict between movements and parties, and ‘internal division’ at the grassroots (Mainwaring, 1984: 44). In Brazil participation in both the 1982 elections and in the ‘direct elections, now’ campaign of 1984 had tended to demobilize grassroots movements as vehicles for community demands; the transition to the New Republic reinforced their heterogeneity and left them increasingly isolated. Clientelistic ties to traditional party machines were part of the problem. On the other hand, grassroots insertion into the Workers’ Party (PT) retarded the development of its national agenda. In Chile, the party system had remained more or less intact, and was quick to claim loyalties and channel representation (Boschi, 1990). Grassroots mobilization only lasted as long as the plebiscitary and electoral campaigns, and dropped off dramatically after March 1990. The grassroots had to find an institutional purchase in the parties, the unions, and the NGOs, indicating that their activity was likely to be permanently diminished by the return to democratic politics. The NGOs, by contrast, had won recognition for their part in the campaigns of the transition, and appeared well placed to benefit from the new democracy.

Everyone seems to be dancing to a different tune. It takes time for new rules to be ‘institutionalized’—to become fixed, known and ‘natural’—so removing this sense of uncertainty. 6 Adam Przeworski was referring particularly to the uncertainty of political outcomes in democracy, not least electoral outcomes. In his view this uncertainty is institutionalized once political leaders, whether party leaders or military leaders, can accept the loss of an election because of the certainty that the next election will take place as scheduled.

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Since mobilization and purposive institutional interaction had not led to any formal representation within the state at the time of the democratic transitions, it was relatively easy to sideline grassroots movements from power and policy-making. By a process of ‘transition through transaction’ the traditional elites retained inside influence in the state, and the parties moved to occupy the centre stage of political society. The significant political and institutional continuities meant that the movements had no realistic hope of defining the political agenda. At the same time, the state restored the universal promise of individual rights, as the question of citizenship moved to the constitutional sphere, and so answered the rights demands of many of the grassroots movements. Without recourse to the language of rights, their objectives lost focus, and their political energy began to dissipate. ‘Successful social movements inevitably lose their reason for being’ (Jaquette, 1989: 194). The grassroots movements lost ground for reasons of economics too. In Brazil the transitions took place in conditions of economic crisis, and the adverse effect on the grassroots was reinforced by the austerity programmes promoted by the International Monetary Fund and the foreign banks. The neoliberal prescription for the economic ills corresponded to a conception of civil society as a market economy of atomized individuals, and not as a social arena of collective interests (Munck, s.a.). Additionally, the movements failed to secure the corporate protections in the new constitution achieved by the powerful interest groups, and the parties lacked both the discipline and the social roots to act as effective brokers in distributional conflicts. As the executive tried to buy support in congress and the politicians tried to buy a new electorate, populism was reborn and corruption spread unimpeded. In Chile, the political pacts that underwrote the transition, bolstered by constitutional constraints, left little room to amend the neoliberal model. This adherence to neoliberal economic policy is expressed politically as a clear predominance of ‘elite’ over ‘popular’ democracy. However, the subsequent crisis of Chilean grassroots movements does not necessarily reflect a process of top-down deactivation and neoliberal logics only. The majority of the people seem to be satisfied with the present system and the leaders in charge. The approval rate of the presidents of the ruling Concertación government has remained high since 1990. Pertinently, the economy shows clear indications of structural growth and has enabled almost everybody to improve

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their living standards. This trend has been bolstered by increased public investments in infrastructure, education, and health care, a guarantee of a durable investment in the welfare of the country. This has created a society in which people are basically not interested in politics and are more concerned about their own well-being and job security (Silva, 2004). Moreover, the increased wealth and welfare means that Chileans today have more than ever to lose from mass protests and strikes, which in the collective memory of many Chileans are associated with the highly politicized society of the early 1970s. From this point of view the neoliberal approach is feasible but the popular or social democratic alternative is ‘hopelessly over-optimistic given the weak productive base’ (Whitehead, 1992: 156). In this view the only practical choice is between ‘a stunted version of liberal democracy that works or a generous vision of social democracy that remains a mirage (the Chilean Constitution of 1980 versus the Brazilian Constitution of 1988) (ibid.: 154). The problem with the neoliberal approach is that it appears to preclude popular aspirations to the achievement of greater social justice through social development. If that was so, what role remained for grassroots political activity in the new democracies of the 1990s?

NGOs in Chile and Brazil The most significant development in grassroots political activity across the continent has been the rise of the NGOs. They were initially funded by international agencies or foreign governments, but soon began to seek funding for consultation and advisory work. Chilean NGOs enjoyed high levels of international aid during the dictatorship and the Chilean church also lent moral and practical support to grassroots organizations. But the support diminished with the advent of democracy on the grounds that government was now responsible for public welfare. The NGOs were, therefore, ready to respond to government projects for the delivery of social services, especially since the projects themselves were often designed by bureaucratic staff drawn precisely from the NGO sector. There is, however, little doubt that the specifically political activity undertaken by the NGOs declined as a consequence. Furthermore, it has created a danger of a ‘perverse confluence’

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between state strategies aiming to accomplish economic adjustment and to reduce its social responsibilities, while NGOs are expected to uphold increasing responsibilities in the execution of social services. In that sense, strengthening civil society could become a pretext of the state to delegate such public matters of poverty alleviation and social inclusion to NGOs. In Brazil, by contrast, the rapid growth of NGOs coincided with the beginning of the transition in 1985 with a plethora of programmes for developing local-level leadership in neighbourhood groups and community organizations. Consistent with the strong tradition of Catholic base communities, and a still progressive Church (at least in parts), some seventy per cent of all new NGOs were funded by religious bodies or church-related charities abroad (Fernandes and Carneiro, 1991). The popular Church provided a link between NGOs and grassroots movements of different kinds and in distinct locations. The strategic role of the Catholic base communities, and the emphasis the popular Church placed on human dignity and self-fulfilment, imparted a ‘developmental’ ethos to many of the grassroots organizations (Assies, 1994: 86). The relationship between NGOs and the state in Brazil is different to Chile, largely because the Brazilian government has continued to provide extensive pension, health and welfare services—however inefficiently—through a sprawling and complex bureaucracy. Since the NGOs cannot easily cooperate in delivering social services, they only derive about 15 per cent of their income from government (ALOP 1999, 48), and they continue to rely heavily on international funding. Even so, it remains difficult for the NGOs to escape the clientelism that permeates Brazilian politics, but this is mainly because they are not adverse to involvement in partisan politics—particularly with the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT)—unlike in Chile where NGOs now tend to avoid partisan activity. So far as government itself is concerned, many NGOs defend an independent stance and self-consciously attempt to resist cooptation, even if this leads to less practical and less effective activity. In comparison with Chile, the number of grassroots movements and NGOs in Brazil is massive, but most conform to an image of ‘segmented collective action’ that is localized in impact and distant from political society or the state. Most of the thousands of NGO projects are small consulting or subcontracting operations, where the method often appears to count for more than the outcome. Some are simply

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defensive forms of mutual aid or assistencialismo that seek survival in a chaotic social world (Roberts, 1997: 150). In Brazil, then, the NGOs are less likely than in Chile to be direct clients of the government, but the charge that there is more style than substance in the popular content of NGO projects is more difficult to deny. Indeed, the Brazilian NGOs can simply be seen as a ‘channel for the participation of the middle-classes in the public sphere’ (de Oliveira, 1988: 16). In other words, their managers and professionals appear to act as representatives and translators of social and popular demands, but often pursue their own interests and careers, including eventual careers within the state apparatus. Yet the NGOs and the Church do recurrently play an important support and leadership role in grassroots movements, whether legal, organizational or educational.

Differentiating Grassroots Mobilization in Chile and Brazil The main changes in the profile of grassroots mobilization in Chile and Brazil are not a matter of dispute. While NGOs have come politically to dominate grassroots activity, so social movements have lost impetus and changed trajectory. Furthermore, as NGOs have come to monopolize the funding agendas of international agencies, so social movements have had to develop their own NGOs, or adopt and adapt NGO styles and strategies in pursuing their goals. Just as grassroots organizations vary according to their capacity for social mobilization, so they differ in their relationship to the state. Chile is an example of a highly centralized and relatively cohesive state that has pursued the reform of its social sector through delegating policy implementation to autonomous agencies and NGOs. Despite the strategic agility of the General Secretariat of the Presidency (first established by Pinochet), the reforms ran into the intransigent resistance of the organized workforce in both health and education. Hence the executive sought to bypass the line ministries by recruiting NGOs to disburse social funds and provide safety nets and basic services to the poor. At the same time, new state agencies were set up to target social spending to priority projects, and extra taxes were raised to fund the anti-poverty programmes in health and education—in the pursuit of a political economy of ‘neoliberalism with a human face’ (Kay and Silva, 1992: 293).

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Although the anti-poverty drive did extend benefits to the disadvantaged and deprived (Angell and Graham, 1995: 194), the democratic government anticipated popular demands rather than responding to them, since it was government—not parties, movements or NGOs—that initiated the reforms (Oxhorn, 1994: 752). It is clear that the client status of many NGOs is both cause and consequence of this process, with most grassroots organizations too weak or passive to campaign for their concerns or shape the outcome of social policies. A perfect example is the government’s Fondo de Solidaridad e Inversion Social, FOSIS that was designed to bring ‘help for self-help’ to the poorest households through NGO participation. But FOSIS funds were manipulated by municipal governments for political purposes, as local power-holders sought to reward their clienteles and build political support, and the NGOS proved powerless to monitor the allocation and application of the funds. The NGOs and community groups became increasingly disorientated and demoralized, leading to popular disenchantment and declining participation (Kirby, 1996: 21). Needless to add that the NGOs with a more critical or radical stance were sidelined, condemning most of the poor to a kind of political silence (ibid.: 42; Smith and Acuña, 1994: 14). Additionally, in recent years the central authorities have increased the number of grants for which municipalities and NGOs can tender to obtain funding for community projects. This policy has created new partnerships between municipal authorities, NGOs, and civil associations and is today the hallmark of grassroots participation at the municipal level. In the eyes of critics, this is a typical example of the government’s strategy to fragment participation and the upshot is short-term projects controlled by the State (Delamaza, 2004; Greaves, 2004). Meanwhile, wealthier municipalities have started to contract private consultancy firms to write project proposals and lobby at the ministerial level. This situation has exacerbated the existing divide between rich and poor municipalities even more. Pertinently, the new system has also increased the financial dependence of all municipalities and community organizations on temporary funding, which jeopardizes their autonomy in relationship to the central State to an even greater extent. However, there are also advantages related to this new tendering system with its clear-cut bureaucratic rules and opportunity for competition. The open and equal bidding process has largely increased the transparency of government subsidies, rationalized community projects in general, and brought about

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financial responsibility. It has considerably reduced the possibility for ‘pork barrel’ politics, corruption, and clientelism, which were major ills of community projects in the past. The relationship of grassroots organizations to social policy reform in Brazil is only speciously similar to Chile, insofar as its democratic governments have tried to integrate formerly ad hoc arrangements, while seeking to decentralize delivery. Municipal governments were now charged with many health and education programmes (Valla, 1994: 115), and encouraged to involve ‘representative associations’ (Assies, 1994: 91). Yet, as in Chile, all attempts to achieve popular participation in the process were hampered by clientelist controls and the cooptation of popular leaders. But here the similarities end, for two main reasons. On the one hand, a powerful health reform movement emerged and took the strategic decision to move inside the state apparatus to carry forward its project of targeting the poor. On the other, unlike Chile’s centralized and coordinated state apparatus, the Brazilian state is deeply divided and characterized by bureaucratic in-fighting (Lemos, 1998: 77). In an attempt to move beyond the bureaucratic divisions the reform movement sought new allies in state and city governments. By emphasizing their decentralization plans its leaders hoped to broaden the movement’s social base, and so increase its chances of political success. In fact, the decentralization project threatened the clientelist politicians who depended on health care patronage to sustain the political networks that underpinned their electoral machines. They attacked the movement and pressed the federal government to remove its leaders. The tactic of moving outside the bureaucracy backfired. The serried defence of patronage networks torpedoed the reform, and finally the grassroots organizations were shut out of the social policy process (Weyland, 1996).

State Reform and Grassroots Participation The process of state reform in Latin America has so far been seen in terms of the privatization and outsourcing of services (Reilly, 1998: 425), with NGOs contracting with local government to provide services in education, health, infant nutrition, low-cost housing, and environmental protection (Navarro, 1998: 95). But the process also implies devolution of real resources to municipal governments, which

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saw their income increase. Consequently it is argued that the reform and especially the decentralization of the state can promote new mechanisms of grassroots participation, often linked to the implementation or monitoring of specific sectoral policies, or to the protection of specific groups such as children. This participation may promote ‘social control’ of the state administration and stimulate a non-state public sphere (Bresser-Pereira and Cunill Grau, 1998). In the case of Chile, the coming of age of Chilean municipalities as an institutional platform is a recent and slow process. It was in 1991 that municipalities gained an autonomous legal status, independent of the Interior Ministry, but they have not yet become mature institutions through which to manage local politics. Municipalities are hampered by a persistent high level of centralism which still bears the marks of the former Pinochet era; the provision of public services was intended to operate according to market principles with a strong central control. This was accompanied by a process of privatization and decentralization. It was never the intention to carry out a genuine political decentralization in which responsibilities and resources would be devolved to elected local governments. Its aim was rather to produce a species of administrative decentralization (what is known as ‘deconcentration’), transferring power to lower administrative units (see Siavelis et al., 2004; Stewart and Ranis, 1994; Robinson, 2003). As a result, municipalities in Chile are still conceived of as institutions which can only manage public services if these are detached from politics. This situation is referred to as cosismo (doing things in an apolitical way) and marked by ad hoc solutions at the local level which implement decisions taken at central level. This centralized control over local spending forces municipalities into the role of administrators and executors without decision-making power (Posner, 2004). Basically, two fundamental instruments to guarantee a full-fledged municipal authority are lacking. Firstly, municipalities lack independent decision-making power and, secondly, they have too little financial autonomy at their disposal to ensure an acceptable service delivery. This form of organization has reduced the demand for participation from its original militant and left-wing significance into an instrument for effective governance and efficient bureaucratic policy making (Silva, 2000). This technocratic insulation mitigated by instrumental participation envisions a functioning of the local state combining internal coherence with external connectedness with the broader civil society.

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It is currently used as a tool to solve problems of complex planning in relation to infrastructure works (see also Domínguez, 1997). In other cases decentralization appears designed to foster participation. This was the purpose of Colombia’s transfer of resources to the municipalities after 1973, Bolivia’s Law of Popular Participation of 1994 (Valderrama, 1998:34). Brazil’s numerous municipal councils, and the new links between development NGOs and neighbourhood associations, on the one hand, and the metropolitan governments of Mexico City and Lima on the other (Joseph, 1999). In these cities it is the local authorities who routinely take the initiative in calling meetings and setting up working and steering committees for improvement and development projects (Patron, 1998: 177). The most salient example of the new style of grassroots participation is the experiment in participatory budgeting conducted by the PT administration in Porto Alegre from 1989 to 2004. The PT’s objective was to make its budgetary decisions more democratic by meeting with community organizations in public and accounting for its spending priorities. Neighbourhood representatives met in sixteen district assemblies, while five thematic assemblies debated municipal problems like transport and economic development. The result was an extraordinary reversal of expenditure patterns from high-profile projects to small-scale urbanization and infrastructure works of benefit to every neighbourhood. Neighbourhood meetings took on new life, and hundreds of new activists emerged as neighbourhood councils multiplied to monitor competition policy and the implementation of projects (Navarro, 1998: 320). But if the experiment was participatory, it was also centralized. A municipal budgetary council maintained direct links with the neighbourhood representatives, assisted by a planning office that was directly responsible to the prefect, and it was the municipal authorities that set the time and agenda of the assemblies. The experiment also advanced direct democracy at the cost of representative democracy, with opposition party delegates losing voice and influence. And even direct democracy can increase rather than diminish inequalities if the poorest inhabitants are too bound up in surviving to press their claims (Abers, 1998: 53); so it is quite possible that this participation has been ‘idealized’ and its benefits overestimated (Navarro, 1998: 329). Yet, tens of urban municipal governments in Brazil now claim to be pursuing analogous policies (Reilly, 1998: 422), even if the specificities of Porto Alegre make the

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experiment intractable to easy replication. The new participation must, then, be viewed with caution. Just as NGOs may seek to deliver state services for the sole purpose of financial survival, so increased participation may create new interest groups that seek to win resources or capture state rents rather than serve the broader public. Interest group activity entails the kind of lobbying of local government that can dilute demands and lead to eventual cooptation (Nassuno, 1998: 352). In this way clientelist practices can reassert themselves at the expense of community interests, especially at election times (Reilly, 1998: 422). It is always possible that the ‘new ideas’ of participation and local democracy may be used to reproduce traditional structures of poverty and exclusion. This possibility is reinforced by the legal trammels that constrain the ‘participatory’ provisions of the Colombian constitution, or the Bolivian Law of Popular Participation (Lander, 1998: 465–466). All these initiatives seek to create and represent ‘user groups’ rather than responding to genuine grassroots movements, with participation therefore subject to tight legal and political controls—in classic corporatist fashion.

Conclusion At first sight it appears that grassroots movements were more dynamic, and possibly more effective, under past authoritarian regimes than in the present democracies. During the authoritarian regimes the principles of mobilization and struggle were clear, and specific and disparate demands could coalesce in a single language of protest that was the language of rights. Protest gained impetus in response to the repressive rules or intransigence of the regime. But with the transition to democracy the unifying struggle is dispersed, single-issue movements lose direction, and broad fronts against authoritarian rule break apart. Politics become competitive, and parties and interest groups move to centre political stage. The targets of mobilization become blurred, and the rules of engagement in the emerging political society are no longer clear. Grassroots movements are disorientated by the jôgo surdo and begin to decline. Yet the movements do not simply decline, as the mainstream thesis suggests; they adapt and change. Over the period of the authoritarian regimes grassroots movements had become an overwhelmingly urban phenomenon that had always been motivated by material demands and the search for survival. In conditions of authoritarianism

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the material demands had often driven further demands for political rights. The transitions to democracy defuse the rights demands, while economic and fiscal crisis and the short-term social impact of neoliberal policies make material demands primary again. Simply surviving in the city becomes the main focus of grassroots demand-making. The labour movement also becomes preoccupied with material issues and a conservative defence of corporate prerogatives, and often acts as a brake on, rather than the engine of social policy reform, especially in the public sector. The grassroots movements have to be more organized in order to move into the newly democratic political society, and negotiate with the state. Their own organization increases, generating so-called SMOs (social movement organizations), and they build and connect with NGOs, at home and abroad. The NGOs themselves continue to proliferate. As suggested throughout this analysis, these changes do not represent a sudden switch from civil to political society. Grassroots organizations were generated in and shaped by their interaction with the state. But there is a significant change in emphasis in grassroots organization and strategy that can be characterized as the change from grassroots movement to nongovernmental organization. Increasing institutionalization and diminishing autonomy may be two sides of the same coin. Tensions between leaders and base, elite and mass, professionals and volunteers tend to be resolved through more organization and consequently less mobilization. The process is driven, on the one hand, by the need for politically agile actors to prosper in a more complex political environment, and, on the other, by the need for financial survival. But, as Michels says, ‘who says organization, says oligarchy’, and the grassroots movements become less rooted in the people they grew up to serve. The relationship between grassroots organizations and the state in the new democracies is characterized by both clientelism and ‘clientization’. This does not mean that they can have no influence on social policy, but it does mean that such influence will be fragmentary and piecemeal, and that their main role will be in social service delivery rather than in shaping social policy. But their role can still be important, and so should be supported by international funding agencies. The agencies, for their part, should strive to be less selective in their funding agendas and more selective about the specific organizations they fund. The relevant criteria here are ‘organizational authenticity, legitimacy and

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voice’ (Diamond, 1999: 254). Are they an authentic response to community needs rather than a spurious response to international funding fashions? Are they the legitimate representative of indigent people or threatened nature rather than the narrow representatives of their own professional and pecuniary interests? And do they give voice to those who would otherwise be condemned to the ‘political silence’ created by the combination of neoliberal policy and exclusionary democracy?

CHAPTER THREE

LOCAL DEMOCRACY AND POPULAR PARTICIPATION IN CHILE AND BRAZIL Paul W. Posner

Since the democratic transitions of the 1980s, research on Latin American politics has entered a new phase, from a focus on how democratic regimes can be established and maintained to how they can be improved. This shift in focus has resulted largely from a growing concern over—not the collapse of democratic regimes—but their lack of relevance to millions of citizens throughout the region. As Kenneth Roberts observes, ‘the dominant issue on the political agenda is no longer whether democracy can survive but whether it can become a meaningful way for diverse sectors of the populace to exercise collective control over the public decisions that affect their lives’ (Roberts, 1998: 2). If democracy is to be of greater relevance to the lives of ordinary citizens, one of the most fundamental challenges Latin America’s nascent democratic regimes confront is how to enable citizens to participate in politics in a manner which gives meaning and substance to their newfound political freedoms. Researchers and policy makers attempting to address this issue are faced with a significant conundrum. While democracy has opened new channels for political participation, structural reforms have in many instances weakened collective actors and undermined incentives for collective action. Moreover, with the departure of military regimes a common authoritarian threat no longer exists against which democratic forces in civil society feel compelled to unite. Where the social movements that emerged in response to authoritarian repression and economic deprivation still exist—and many have disappeared altogether—they are often more preoccupied with guarding their autonomy than building broader, more influential movements through the development of linkages with other groups and political parties (Canel, 1992; Cardoso, 1992; Slater, 1994). Finally, political parties share culpability for the weakness of civil society as well since many are either unwilling or incapable of providing the leadership, organizational know-how and other resources necessary to build

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effective political forces out of scattered pockets of discontent. Thus one of the essential concerns for researchers and policy makers interested in strengthening democracy in Latin America is how to facilitate organization and political participation for groups and segments of the population who have benefited little, if any, from economic and political reform. The local political arena is, for a variety of reasons, vitally important to the success of this project. The radical transformations in Latin America’s social structure brought about through authoritarian repression, structural reform and economic crisis have tended to shift the relative importance within the popular sectors ‘from the classes to the masses’,1 from the organized labour movement to the more heterogeneous, less well-organized agglomeration of the popular sectors in the shantytowns surrounding major urban centres. For many within the popular sectors, the institutions of local government provide their primary, if not only, point of contact with the political system and the state. Moreover, as Jonathan Fox (1994) suggests, the strengthening of democratic practices and institutions from the bottom up may help to remove authoritarianism enclaves, develop respect for pluralism, and enhance the efficiency of social policy. While a diverse set of political and economic actors may share Fox’s view of the importance of making local government more representative, responsive and efficient, no consensus exists regarding the most effective means by which to foster popular participation in local government. However, a number of studies indicate that one essential element in the strengthening or weakening of popular participation is the way in which the state is engaged in the organization of civil society (Evans, 1996; Migdal, 2001: 56). These studies suggest that state-society relations in general and popular sector collective action in particular are largely dependent on the nature of linkages between civil society and the state. Accordingly, rather than view the state as more or less autonomous or separate from civil society, this analysis views the state as both a reflection of power and resource disparities in civil society and a prime agent in the construction of such disparities. In other words, it views states as embedded in a set of social relations which shape state structure and policies. In turn, state institutional structures and policies have a formative impact on the structure and organization of

1

Phrase borrowed from Manuel Antonio Garretón (1989: 274).

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civil society, shaping the capacity and propensity for collective action among various segments of the population (Evans, 1995: 12–13; Evans, 1996).2 In short, embeddedness shapes state structure and policies, which in turn shape the structure of political opportunities for various actors in civil society. The question, then, is how distinct forms of state embeddedness, and related differences in state structures and policies, facilitate or impede popular participation in local government. This research addresses this question through comparative analysis of the Chilean and Brazilian cases. Chile and Brazil are interesting cases for comparison because of the countries’ unique set of similarities and differences. In terms of similarities, both countries experienced long periods of repressive military rule in which the respective military regimes attempted to rationalize the structure of the economy and society. Subsequent to military rule, both countries went through transacted transitions to democracy, in which their authoritarian regimes possessed substantial capacity to impose conditions and constraints, which in turn built in a conservative, antidemocratic bias into the process of political and institutional reform.3 Despite these general similarities, Brazil and Chile are very dissimilar in terms the ways in which the state has become embedded in society, the kinds of structural and institutional reforms they have adopted, and the nature of their political parties and party systems. Historically, Brazil has been a highly decentralized federal state; recent reforms have reinforced this historical pattern by devolving expanded authority and resources to local governments. Chile, by contrast, has historically been a highly centralized, unitary state; recent reforms have reinforced this trend by increasing the responsibilities of municipal governments without granting them a commensurate increase in resources or policy-making autonomy. Chile’s mode of local government reform is not surprising given its adoption of substantial neoliberal reforms. The transformation of local government in Chile was carried out in a fashion designed to facilitate the success of these reforms, in part by protecting the central government from fiscal pressures and political

2 Joel Migdal does not use the term ‘embeddedness’ as does Evans. Nonetheless, he asserts that ‘The autonomy of states, the slant of their policies, the preoccupying issues for their leaders, and their coherence are greatly influenced by the societies in which they operate’ (Migdal, 2001: 56). 3 The concept of a transacted democratic transition is borrowed from J. Samuel Valenzuela (1992: 62–63).

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demands that were previously generated from below. Chile’s pattern of market-oriented reform contrasts sharply with the persistence of developmentalism in Brazil despite attempts by recent governments to liberalize the economy and reduce the role of the state in economic and social development. Finally, the Brazil–Chile comparison is analytically useful given the very different nature of the two countries’ respective political parties and party systems. Brazil is notorious for its weak, often clientelistic parties and its highly fragmented party system. Chile, on the other hand, has been the envy of many Latin American countries given its generally stable party system and its strong, coherent parties. However, a relatively new party in Brazil, the Partido dos Trabalhadores (Workers’ Party or PT) has gained significant attention for its growing political influence and its commitment to building democracy from the ground up, in large part by stimulating political participation at the local level. In contrast, the parties of the centre-left Concertación in Chile, though they have been successful in holding on to national political power since the 1990 transition, have done so by relying on electoralism and elitism to protect the status quo. Thus, comparison of the distinct types of structural and institutional reforms adopted and the contrasting strategies assumed by key political parties in Chile and Brazil suggests the factors that may impede or facilitate local political participation within Latin America. This comparative analysis illustrates the importance of structural reforms, the institutional configuration of local government and the role of political parties vis-à-vis civil society in either enhancing or impeding popular participation in local democracy. In short, it concludes that where structural reforms expand local autonomy and fiscal resources, local institutions increase accountability of elected officials and opportunities for citizen input, and political parties attempt to facilitate self-sustaining grassroots organization and mobilization, popular participation will be strong and effective. To the extent that these conditions do not hold, the reverse will be true. In the period 1989–2004 the Brazilian city of Porto Alegre represented an example of how these factors can work together to strengthen popular participation while since 1990 Santiago de Chile represents an example of how these factors can operate to impede effective popular participation. In order to substantiate this argument, the following analysis first develops a conceptual understanding of local democracy. Subsequently, it employs this understanding in comparative analysis of Chile and Brazil, examining each case in terms of the

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impact of structural reforms, political parties, and local institutions on popular participation in local democracy.

Local Democracy and Popular Participation Strong local democracy requires accountability of public officials and institutional access that facilitates the political participation of local constituencies. These two requirements go hand in hand—without accountability, citizens will not be motivated to participate and without participation they will not be able to hold leaders accountable. Institutional arrangements that facilitate accountability and access include direct election of mayors and other public officials and the establishment of institutional channels that provide citizens opportunities for involvement in decision making in their jurisdictions. If citizens do not participate in local political institutions, the impact the aforementioned reforms have on accountability will be short-circuited. Participation in this sense goes beyond the mere act of voting since elections are infrequent and allow for only limited citizen input or feedback regarding specific local concerns or policy options. If citizens are to hold their local officials accountable and if their local officials are to be responsive, then these citizens must participate through established local institutional channels. Research suggests that such ‘direct citizen participation requires that citizens have clear information regarding the municipal budget and service costs and that they participate in actual budget choices’ (Peterson, 1997: 20). Moreover, there should be formal structures that clearly spell out the roles that citizens and community organizations should play in collaborating with municipal government. In this regard, ‘advisory committees’ are not highly valued by the population. Instead, ‘effective participation with local government has been organized mostly around public works projects that bring immediate benefits, and around a process that allows participation in budget allocation’ (ibid.: 16–17). Thus, research suggests that ‘citizens expect concrete results from participation, especially a greater say in neighbourhood capital projects’ (ibid.: 20). The present study reinforces this conclusion. Comparison of the Chilean and Brazilian cases also suggests that citizens’ ability to participate in local government and public officials’ ability and willingness to be responsive appear to be a function of the

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role played by political parties and structural arrangements determining the resource base and policy making autonomy of local politicians. Structural arrangements that severely limit local officials’ revenue base as well as their ability to shape policies in accordance with constituent demands will, all things being equal, act as disincentives to popular participation. Without the ability to address constituents’ demands, local officials will have little incentive to encourage and constituents little incentive to engage in, political participation and collective action. Political parties have the crucial capacity to facilitate popular sector constituencies’ access to and participation in the kinds of institutional arrangements described above. Whether parties facilitate popular sector access and participation depends upon the kinds of relationships they assume vis-à-vis civil society. In this regard, there are two distinct types of linkage that are relevant to this comparative analysis: participatory and electoral. Parties that adopt a participatory form of linkage have strong grass-roots organizations and are internally democratic; such parties attempt to serve as an agency through which citizens can themselves participate in government and tend to be closely linked with organizations in civil society. Electoralist parties, on the other hand, are more concerned with the mobilization of an electoral constituency than with organizing and mobilizing groups in civil society. Their primary objective is to develop the broadest possible base of electoral support, which requires attracting unorganized and often independent voters and developing a multi-class electoral constituency. To the extent that grass-roots party structures exist, party leaders typically control them and mobilize party activists only for electoral purposes (that is, registering new voters, canvassing, getting out the vote, etc.) (Lawson, 1988: 16–17). As the following analysis demonstrates, the participatory linkage pursued by the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) has been particularly successful in promoting popular participation and strengthening local democracy in Porto Alegre in the period 1989–2004, while the electoralist linkages pursued by the Chilean Socialist Party (PS) and other members of the governing centre-left coalition, the Concertación, has been much less successful in stimulating popular participation and strengthening local democracy in Santiago. Moreover, while structural and institutional reforms adopted as a result of the 1988 Brazilian constitution have facilitated the PT’s efforts to stimulate popular participation, structural and institutional reforms enacted in Chile both before and after the democratic transition have impeded popular participation.

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To substantiate this interpretation, we first examine the Chilean case and subsequently contrast it with the Brazilian.

Local Democracy in Chile Although Chile’s redemocratization has brought important reforms of municipal government, significant impediments to effective local political participation and accountability persist. To understand the persistence of these impediments to local democracy, we need to consider the nature of Chile’s democratic transition. The 1990 Chilean democratic transition was the product of a pact between leaders of the military regime and the democratic opposition. Two primary factors combined to determine the nature of this pact. First, the democratic opposition had failed in its attempts to oust Pinochet from power either by force or through mass mobilizations. Consequently, the Chilean military was in a position to determine the conditions under which it would hand over power to its civilian counterparts. Second, during the period between the Chilean military’s overthrow of the Popular Unity government and the time at which the democratic opposition entered into negotiations with the military in efforts to bring about a transition, the elites and parties leading the opposition movement had gone through a process of political renovation (Roberts, 1998; Walker, 1990). This renovation facilitated a convergence between the constraints that the military regime wished to impose upon Chile’s new democracy and the steps the democratic opposition was willing to take to ensure the stability of the new regime. The leaders of the parties comprising the democratic opposition reasoned that if ideological polarization and overpoliticization of the state and civil society precipitated the breakdown of Chilean democracy, then they could assure future democratic stability only by depoliticization. Practically speaking, this meant significantly increasing the role of the market and proportionally decreasing the state’s role in running the economy and organizing civil society. It also meant reducing the role of political parties in organizing and mobilizing groups in civil society. Consequently, the renovated democratic opposition was willing to demobilize its mass opposition movement and to accept the military regime’s neoliberal economic model and 1980 Constitution as preconditions to democratization. The opposition’s acceptance of these preconditions as well as its commitment to depoliticizing civil

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society determined that many of the essential elements that defined local government under the dictatorship would remain intact after the democratic transition. It also signalled that once in power, the now ruling Concertación would take steps to ensure elite control over local politics. Thus, the parties of the centre and left have distanced themselves from their followers at the base, being reluctant actively to promote their interests.4 Moreover, local institutional arrangements do not hold local leaders fully accountable to their constituents or give citizens a meaningful voice in municipal decision and budget making. Finally, the administrative and financing structures of local government remain essentially the same as they were under the dictatorship, giving local leaders little discretionary control over resources or policy design and implementation. Therefore, municipal residents have little incentive to participate in local government, levels of participation are quite low and local democracy remains weak. On the other hand, municipal governments in Chile continue to bear a fiscal burden which generally exceeds their capacity to generate revenue while the national government puts significant restrictions on transfer payments and is thereby able to keep in check local level fiscal demands and expenditures.5 Examination of the institutional, fiscal, and administrative structures of local government in Chile substantiates this argument. With respect to institutional structures, while Chilean municipal government has made important strides toward greater democratic accountability in recent years significant constraints remain. For example, existing municipal electoral arrangements do not allow the direct election of municipal council members (concejales). Instead, municipal election outcomes are largely determined by electoral pacts and subpacts among allied political parties, an arrangement that means, in many instances, that the candidates receiving the highest number of votes are not the same candidates who actually assume office.6 In fact, on average, 43 4 The Chilean Communist Party is an exception but its exclusion from the ruling Concertación and its low level of electoral support substantially weakens the significance of its more aggressive grassroots organizational efforts. 5 Because of significant differences in the class composition of Chilean municipalities, this lack of fiscal sufficiency and autonomy weighs most heavily on the Chilean underclass. The Pinochet regime’s policies of spatial segregation and forced relocations of poorer citizens living in wealthier neighbourhoods greatly exacerbated this tendency (see Morales and Rojas, 1987; Portes, 1989: 21–22). 6 The municipal electoral system implemented after the transition, as modified D’Hondt, is a proportional representation system. Citizens vote for individual candidates belonging to pacts rather than closed party or pact lists. To determine the number of

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per cent of council members elected in metropolitan Santiago in 1996 received a lower percentage of the vote than the highest vote getters among losing candidates (Posner, 1999: 76–77). The pact arrangements that characterize the municipal electoral system, moreover, diminish its proportionality. This is because only parties or candidates who have pacted with either the major right-wing pact (which includes the RN and the UDI) or the centre-left Concertación (which includes the PDC, PPD, PS, and PRSD) have a reasonable chance of winning a significant number of municipal council seats. Results from the 2004 municipal elections illustrate this point well. Out of a total of 2,144 seats, these two pacts won 2,012. Three other pacts along with a number of independent candidates gained the remaining 132 seats. The poor showing by the pact headed by the PC illustrates another significant consequence of this electoral system. Without the benefit of an alliance with the PS, which it enjoyed before the coup, the PC won only 4 mayoralty and 38 council seats in the entire country. The comparable numbers for the PS were 45 and 255.7 Thus Chile’s municipal electoral system, in theory proportionally representative, in practice functions like a majoritarian or plurality system in that it favours larger parties or pacts. As a result, the right and centre-left pacts have managed to thwart challenges to their dominance and to maintain their elitist manner of governing. Recent municipal electoral reforms, which mandate the direct election of mayors and allow their re-election, provide an important, though only partial, antidote to this problem. In its original form, the Ley Orgánica Constitucional de Municipalidades did not allow the direct election of mayors. Instead, it stipulated that the municipal council candidate that received the greatest number of votes and who also received at least thirty-five per cent of the vote would become mayor. However,

candidates elected by each list, the Tribunal Electoral Regional totals the number of votes cast in favor of each candidate of the same list and uses the sums to determine the electoral quotient according to the formula standard to D’Hondt electoral systems. The electoral quotient is then used to determine the number of seats to which each pact or party is entitled. In the event that a pact has more candidates than council seats, the candidates receiving the highest number of votes in the pact are entitled to the council seat(s) awarded to the pact. See Articles 109 through 114 of the Ley Orgánica Constitucional de Municipalidades 1992 (González Moya, 1996) for a detailed explanation of these procedures and stipulations. 7 See República de Chile, Servicio Electoral 1996, 2000 and Gobierno de Chile, Ministerio Interior, Sitio Histórico Electoral for these data.

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due to the large number of parties that typically field candidates8 and because even the party with the largest following, the PDC, can claim on average the allegiance of less than 20 per cent of the electorate, it was not uncommon for no candidate to reach the 35 per cent threshold to become mayor. Under the electoral arrangement in operation before the 2004 municipal elections, when no candidate received the necessary quota of votes to become mayor, the municipal council selected the mayor from among its members.9 Naturally, the council members who united in electoral pacts negotiated to elect one of their own. Under these circumstances, mayors—like the municipal council members who elected them—were beholden to party elites as much as or more than they were to the constituents of their communities. By establishing the direct election of mayors and by allowing for re-election, Ley 19.737 helps to diminish the elitist nature of municipal electoral arrangements and to increase the accountability of local elected officials to their constituents. However, party elites in all the major parties maintain a significant degree of control over candidate selection for municipal elections, thereby limiting the positive impact of this reform in terms of democratic accountability.10 The institutional channels established to allow grass-roots constituents input regarding local policy issues—the CESCO (Community Economic and Social Councils) and the Juntas de Vecinos (neighbourhood associations)—are equally unrepresentative. These institutions are strictly advisory in nature and thus largely ineffective in encouraging popular participation or transmitting community demands to local leaders. For example, as an advisory board to the mayor, the CESCO (like its precursor, the CODECO, under the military regime) has no power to ensure mayoral accountability. Its sole function is to offer advice on community concerns, which the mayor is free to heed or ignore. Moreover, as Carmen Gloria Allende, Socialist concejal in the Santiago municipality of Huechuraba, notes, extremely low community participation in the neighbourhood associations, from which a large

8 There are seven primary political parties—the PDC, PRSD, PPD, PS, PC, RN and UDI—which typically field candidates in municipal elections as well as a number of smaller parties. In addition, a significant number of independents run for office. 9 See Article 115 of the Ley Orgánica Constitucional de Muncipalidades 1992 for a detailed explanation of these stipulations. 10 See Kent Eaton (2004: 227) for a discussion of national party leaders’ control over candidate selection for subnational elections.

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percentage of CESCO representatives are elected, means that the CESCO themselves are unrepresentative of popular interests.11 For many grass-roots leaders, the foregoing problems with the neighbourhood associations—their low levels of membership and citizen participation—have common origins in the institutional legacy of the dictatorship. As grass-roots leaders involved with the neighbourhood associations were quick to point out, the laws governing neighbourhood associations since the transition differ substantially from the original law passed under President Frei. The original law governing the neighbourhood associations granted them extensive powers and responsibilities. These included: The preparation of both an annual plan for urban betterment and a budget for the execution of the plan . . . the organization, promotion, and participation in the formation of cooperatives, especially consumer goods, handicrafts, and housing . . . with the object of bettering the socioeconomic conditions of the inhabitants of the respective neighbourhood units . . . to collaborate in the control of prices, as well as the distribution and sale of necessities . . .; to contribute to the removal of trash, the management of collective transit, to render an opinion before granting licenses for the sale of alcoholic beverages . . .; to collaborate in the protection of persons and property in the neighbourhood . . .; to assets in finding work for the unemployed . . . (González Moya, 1993: 7–8).

In contrast, the military government’s 1989 law, Ley 18.899, instituted just months before President Aylwin took office, said virtually nothing in regard to the objectives and functions of the neighbourhood associations or community organizations and, in essence, granted them no substantive powers or responsibilities. In addition, the military regime’s neighbourhood association law encouraged the formation of several neighbourhood associations within the boundaries of one territorial unit, a provision which reinforced partisan divisions and limits popular unity. Though the Concertación has now replaced the military regime’s law governing neighbourhood associations, the new law does little to address the concerns and criticisms raised by popular sector leaders. The statute continues to allow multiple neighbourhood associations in

11 Interview with Carmen Gloria Allende, Socialist council person, Huechuraba municipality, Santiago, Chile, 12 June 2001.

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each territorial unit.12 Moreover, it does little to enhance the substantive powers of the juntas.13 Given these circumstances, it is not surprising that an overwhelming majority of grass-roots leaders interviewed for this study characterized the neighbourhood associations as lacking resources and decisionmaking authority and incapable of overcoming factional divisions or motivating pobladores (shantytown dwellers) to participate. Indeed, the grass-roots leaders interviewed for this study estimated that one per cent or less of their respective communities’ populations participate in the neighbourhood associations.14 When compared with the estimated 15 to 20 per cent of pobladores who actively participated in local organization and mobilization during the dictatorship, and an even higher percentage still who participated in the neighbourhood associations and other popular organizations prior to the coup, these figures appear abysmally low.15 Grass-roots leaders interviewed attributed such low levels of popular participation to the failure of the leaders of the Concertación to reform the existing law, and by extension, to give the juntas greater resources and greater capacity to encourage grass-roots unity.

12 As Title V, Paragraph 1, Article 37 of Ley 19806 indicates, ‘One or more neighbourhood associations can exist in each neighbourhood unit’ (author’s translation). Article 40 stipulates the only restriction on the number of juntas that can be formed in a community or población, which relates to the number of members required to form a junta relative to the community population as a whole. The range is from a minimum of fifty members in communities with populations ranging from ten to thirty thousand to two hundred members in communities with populations exceeding one hundred thousand. 13 In contrast to the law devised by the military regime, the new law makes reference to the role of the juntas in such things as promoting the defense of constitutional rights, the development of artistic and cultural expression, and the integration of community life. However, in light of the fact that the law does not grant the juntas any specific authority or powers to achieve these objectives such statutory exhortations appear rather hollow. 14 The majority of the over sixty Grassroots leaders were interviewed in La Pincoya, Lo Hermida, and Yungay, three shantytowns in Greater Santiago, which, according to Cathy Schneider demonstrated during the dictatorship respectively high, medium, and low levels of organization and mobilization. See Cathy Lisa Schneider (1995: 218, 222). These three types of communities provided a comparative basis on which to gauge the change in grassroots organization and mobilization since the democratic transition. Additional grassroots leaders were interviewed in Huechuraba and Santiago. The interviews revealed no significant distinction among the poblaciones in the levels of popular participation since that time. Despite their past differences, all these communities can now be characterized as having equally low levels of grassroots involvement in politics. 15 For these figures and an excellent historical analysis of popular organization and mobilization in Santiago, see Guillermo Campero (1987).

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The basis of grass-roots leaders’ disenchantment lies in the ‘renovation’ of parties historically most closely associated with the popular sectors in Chile, particularly the Partido Socialista (Socialist Party, PS) and the PDC, as well as the more recently established (1987) centre-left Partido Por Democracia (Party for Democracy, PPD). In theory, this renovated, laissez faire posture of political parties towards civil society would prevent the kind of ideologically charged, politically divisive manipulation of the popular sectors that party leaders understood as a primary cause of the 1973 democratic breakdown. It would, in the words of former Socialist Party Secretary-General and Minister of Labour Jorge Arrate, make ‘politics less elitist and gradually more popular’ (Arrate and Hidalgo, 1989: 107). In practice, however, this new posture only widened the breach between grass-roots activists and party elites that evolved over the course of Chile’s transition to democracy. Once popular opposition had opened sufficient space in civil society for political parties safely to resurface, the struggle for democracy began to transform itself from one based on grass-roots organization and mass mobilization into one of closed-door negotiations among elites with minimal, if any, input from the popular sectors.16 The party leaders dissolved the umbrella organizations that they had constructed to shape the disparate opposition groups in the shantytowns into a broad-based, unified opposition movement. Without their overarching political leadership, these groups atomized and lost their ability to influence the democratic transition (Oxhorn, 1995: 258). The return of democracy has only reinforced this trend. Consequently, the post-transition period has witnessed a significant decline in party identification among the Chilean electorate,17 and increased apathy among grass-roots leaders and their followers. One of the primary causes behind these negative trends appears to be the public’s perception that local leaders are not in touch with their communities. When asked to identify the primary problem affecting their communities, 48 per cent of low and middle income respondents to a 1996 Centros de Estudios

16 See Philip Oxhorn (1995), especially chapters 6 and 8, for substantiation of this point. 17 Between 1993 and 2004, those identifying with the right or center-right of the political spectrum declined from 28 to 21 percent, those identifying with the center declined from 18 to 12 percent, and those identifying with the left or center declined from 37 to 24 percent. During this same period, the number of voters identifying themselves as independents increased from 14 to 36 percent. See Centro de Estudios Públicos (available at http://www.cepchile.cl) for these data.

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Públicos survey responded, ‘lack of contact with the community’ on the part of local politicians.18 More recent survey data suggest that this feeling of disenchantment with political parties is widespread among the Chilean public. In a 2002 CERC survey, for example, 92 per cent of respondents agreed with the statement that ‘the majority of politicians remember the people only during elections after which they forget them’.19 The detachment of centre-left parties from their constituencies at the municipal level has created a space for political influence which the far-right UDI, the party most closely linked with the Pinochet legacy, has effectively exploited. The rise in the UDI’s influence in local government is evident in recent electoral trends. While the UDI was only able to elect 5 mayors and 35 council members in 1996, by 2004 it had elected 51 mayors and 404 council members.20 In sum, therefore, it is evident that parties that we would typically expect to act to organize and mobilize the popular sectors in Chilean local government have instead opted to distance themselves from these constituents. The parties of the Concertación are now experiencing the negative electoral repercussions of this elitist stance. Yet, even if party leaders were inclined to be more responsive to their local constituents, the perpetuation of the military regime’s decentralization programme after democratization has ensured that they have limited resources and decision-making authority to meet their constituents’ demands and concerns. The fiscal and policy constraints that Chile’s mode of decentralization imposes upon local government 18 Centro de Estudios Públicos, ‘Percepciones del Municipio de Hoy: Continuidad y Cambios’, Documento de Trabajo No. 251 (Santiago, Chile, 1996), p. 32. The figure for low-income respondents alone was 54.3 per cent. The second most frequent response among low and middle income respondents to the question, ‘What do you think is the primary problem affecting your community’, was ‘too much bureaucracy’. Less than 17 per cent of low- and middle-income respondents indicated that too much bureaucracy was the primary problem in their municipalities. 19 Centro de Estudios de la Realidad Contemporánea (CERC). Informe de Prensa Sobre Temas Económicos y Políticos. (Santiago, Chile, September 2002), p. 6; author’s translation. Available at http://www.cerc.cl. 20 See República de Chile, Servicio Electoral 1996, 2000 and Gobierno de Chile, Ministerio del Interior, Sitio Histórico Electoral (http://www.eleciones.gov.cl) for these data. There is not space here to elaborate on the reasons for the upsurge in support for the right, particularly the UDI, at the local level. However, the right’s increase in support appears to be, at least in part, the result of its neopopulist strategies. In other words, the UDI and to a lesser extent the RN have utilized their superior economic resources and the decline in state resources available to centre and left politicians and parties as a means of gaining the support of needy constituencies, particularly in the shantytowns.

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officials are evident in a number of ways. First, taxes are both set and collected by the central government (Yáñez and Letelier, 1995: 143). As a result, local governments have a severely limited capacity to structure taxes, including the creation of new taxes or the setting of tax rates, in line with local needs (ibid.: 154). Moreover, because the treasury department sends the property taxes it collects to the municipalities, it has no incentive to deal rapidly with delinquent taxpayers, and consequently local governments lose significant amounts of money (ibid.: 169). Second, the central government’s strategy for helping municipalities deal with their fiscal shortfalls—financial transfers—puts substantial constraints on how municipalities can spend their resources while simultaneously under-funding them (Nickson, 1995: 139–140). The central government’s method of funding and regulating education and health care services provided at the municipal level epitomizes each of these problems. Since the fixed rate at which the central government subsidizes local governments for each student enrolled or each clinic visit is insufficient to cover the real cost of providing these services, the financial situation of the municipalities has deteriorated. To cover the shortfall caused by inadequate funding from the central government, the municipalities have had to use their own income, thereby reducing the funds they have available for social investment and producing a transfer to the central government (ibid.; Yáñez and Letelier, 1995: 149, 154). Finally, while some municipalities might be tempted to borrow to compensate for the central government’s insufficient funding or as means of circumventing its tight regulatory control, statute restricts their ability to do so.21 As should be evident from the preceding discussion, decentralization in Chile has been designed and carried out in a manner that does little to support local, participatory democracy. By under-funding key local social services such as education and health care and by putting significant constraints on the capacity of local governments to generate and expend revenue, Chile’s central government has protected itself from having to assume debts or fiscal burdens generated at the local level. With such significant fiscal constraints imposed upon local government officials, they are not in a position to offer their constituents 21

Rather than strictly forbidding municipal borrowing, statute requires a special law to authorize each loan. In the face of such a stringent requirement, only two such borrowing operations were recorded between 1979 and 1994. See Mario Marcel (1994: 111).

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the material incentives that might motivate them to participate in local politics. Moreover, political parties that might be expected to provide the leadership skills and material resources necessary to organize and promote the interests of underrepresented groups at the grass-roots level have instead assumed a distant, elitist posture. Such a stance has been facilitated by local institutional arrangements, which do not provide satisfactory channels for the active participation of local populations in budget making and other key aspects of local government and which do not establish a high degree of accountability of local leaders to their constituents. Thus, many of the features of local government established during the dictatorship have persisted since the democratic transition, thereby protecting the fiscal stability of the central state at the expense of a more participatory and democratic form of local government. However, the problems do not only lie with the political and fiscal aspects of local government. Inequity and increased stratification are also characteristic of social programmes administered at the municipal level of government. We can see this in government’s housing programme. Though slightly modified, the current housing programme is essentially the same as that which was originally designed and implemented under military rule. In order to pre-empt the politicization of housing, which occurred under Frei and Allende, the dictatorship restructured the allocation of housing resources in a manner designed to promote competition among potential recipients. Thus within each población or shantytown, it established a lottery system in which groups of no more than 50 families would compete against one another for the same limited pool of housing subsidies. Each group was awarded points on the basis of a set of criteria established by the central government but assessed at the municipal level. In other words, assessors from the municipal government would evaluate the housing needs of each family in the municipality according to a standardized set of criteria. On the basis of this evaluation, the municipal government would assign each family a score meant to reflect its relative need. The municipality would then tally the scores of all families in each competing group to derive the group’s ranking in the housing lottery.22 By replicating this method of administration, the post-transition governments of the Concertación—like their authoritarian predeces-

22 The system was not a lottery per se since the Housing ministry had ultimate jurisdiction over which groups in which communities received the housing.

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sors—have effectively subverted the unifying potential of the historically volatile housing issue. Municipal administration of the housing programme inevitably deflects attention away from the central government’s role in establishing eligibility criteria and funding levels. It severely constrains the capacity of grassroots leaders to build popular organizations devoted to the housing issue which can surmount municipal boundaries. Government housing policy further subverts the potential for collective action by barring those who participate in land seizures, a common tactic which marginalized groups used under Frei Montalva and Allende to acquire land and government subsidized housing, from participating in the current housing programme. And perhaps most importantly, by imposing relative rankings upon families and the groups in which they participate, the government has successfully institutionalized stratification and competition at the local level. The element of competition is introduced into the housing distribution system in two ways: (1) by providing easier access to subsidies and a greater variety of subsidy options to pobladores (shantytown dwellers) with greater savings and savings capacity and (2) by the manner in which the relative need of individuals and groups is determined. In the first instance, shantytown dwellers who have greater savings and earning power are eligible for private sector mortgages which are subsidized by the state and are eligible for housing which is more than twice the size of the housing available to the neediest residents of the shantytowns (i.e. 100 vs. 42m2).23 In the second instance, state-imposed means testing stratifies low-income citizens according to relative need, determining in the process their eligibility for limited state benefits. The manner in which the state determines relative need and the targeted nature of access to housing subsidy benefits promotes competition and distrust among potential recipients. The state determines relative need on the basis of a survey instrument originally adopted under the military regime, the Ficha CAS-2. The instrument, which derives its name from the Comites de Asistencia Social Comunal (Communal Social Assistance Committees) originally established in the 1970s, was designed by the military regime to target resources at the most needy in accordance with the principle of 23

See Ministerio de Vivienda y Urbanismo del Gobierno de Chile (http://www .minvu.cl/opensite_20061113160331.aspx) for a description of the different subsidy options available and the different requirements pobladores must meet to be eligible for these various subsidies.

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subsidiarity. In other words, the state would promote efficiency by delivering resources at the lowest level of government possible and with the ultimate objective of facilitating marginalized citizens’ participation in the private market. The military regime introduced the original survey instrument in 1980 (Ficha CAS-1) and updated it in 1987 (Ficha CAS-2). The regime’s survey instrument and resource allocation strategy are still in force today. Accordingly, municipal officials administer the survey instrument, which assesses a variety of factors including the condition under which low-income residents live. On the basis of this assessment, these officials assign a score intended to reflect the residents’ relative need—the lower the score the higher the need. Individuals with lower scores have a greater likelihood of receiving state subsidies.24 In order to enhance their relative eligibility, residents of the shantytowns compete to portray their respective living conditions to municipal assessors in the neediest light possible, a practice which tends to cause resentment and distrust among neighbours. As one grassroots leader put it, ‘This policy divides the community. It encourages dishonesty and competition among families. If a family has a television or a wooden floor or anything that gives the appearance of being better off than its neighbours, in order to receive a higher ranking it will remove these things when the officials come from the municipality. Neighbours become suspicious of one another. Under these circumstances we can no longer build unity.’25 Other social leaders dealing with the housing issue voiced strikingly similar observations. For example, Sabina, leader of the Comité de Allegados in the shantytown La Pincoya in the municipality of Huechuraba, stated, ‘I do not agree with the way the needs of poor people are being assessed . . . people hide all their material possessions when they are visited by social workers. This assessment system is not good since it leads people to lie. Therefore, the scores are not fairly assigned to poor families.’26 Another social leader involved with the

24 The military regime introduced the original survey instrument in 1980 (Ficha CAS-1) and updated it in 1987 (Ficha CAS-2). The government is presently in the process of implementing a third generation of the survey, the Ficha CAS Familia. For a discussion of the historical background and present functioning of Ficha CAS-2 see Ministerio de Planificación (http://www.mideplan.cl) as well as Pilar Vergara (1990: 52–55). 25 Interview with Soledad Araos, Communist Party militant and president of the neighbourhood association in población La Victoria in the municipality of San Miguel, Santiago de Chile, 25 October 1993. 26 Interview with author, 23 June 2001 in the municipality of Huechuraba, Santiago de Chile. Comités de Allegados, roughly translated as Committees of Friends and Relatives,

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housing issue, in the shantytown of Yungay in the municipality of La Granja, expressed a similar criticism: ‘this is not a fair system since social workers are very subjective when assessing people’s housing needs. For example, if they see that the pobladores have certain material possessions that they acquired with great effort, they might think that they are not in need of a house.’27 Rather than to diminish social cleavages, the Chilean municipal housing system aggravates them through means testing and the competitive nature of resource distribution. This follows the logic of what Esping-Andersen has called ‘liberal welfare regimes’, which militate against broad-based, multi-class welfare support by reinforcing social stratification through segmented social support for the privileged working classes and the middle classes (Esping-Andersen, 1990: 27). Through the de-politization of social actors by the parties of the Concertación, the unrepresentative nature of political institutions, and the segmentation of social policies, the empowerment and participation of local social actors in Chile has been effectively muted.

Local Democracy in Brazil For ideological, political, and pragmatic reasons, the Brazilian military left behind a legacy of state embeddedness and reform which was a far cry from the highly market-oriented model that military rulers bequeathed to their democratic counterparts in Chile. Consequently, although in their general parameters the Brazilian and Chilean transitions to democracy were highly similar, given the radically different legacies of state reform in which they were embedded, these transitions had substantially different implications for state/society relations in each nation. Unlike what occurred in Chile, Brazil’s traditional political elite was able to use its strategic position within the state to ensure that it would be able to maintain its control over political patronage during and after the democratic transition. This elite manoeuvring was particularly evident in the support traditional political leaders gave to the

are groups established to compete for housing subsidies. Their name originates from the practice, common in Chile given the housing shortage, of multiple families living together in one small dwelling or those with dwellings taking in friends who would otherwise be homeless. 27 Author’s interview with Carlos Ramírez, 19 June 2001, in the municipality of La Granja, Santiago, Chile.

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maintenance of municipal government autonomy. In order to increase their autonomy from the military regime, local level leaders began to demand in the early 1980s a greater portion of and more control over the Imposto sobre Circulação de Mercadorias y Servicios (ICMS, Tax on the Circulation of Goods and Services) (Montero, 2000: 63). By soliciting subnational leaders’ support through the distribution of central state patronage, national politicians strengthened clientelist networks at the state and local level. After the 1985 democratic transition, President Sarney reinforced this dynamic by increasing non-tax federal transfers to the states and municipalities by 23 per cent from their 1980 level. It was under these circumstances that regional interests dominated the Constituent Assembly, the elected body charged with the responsibility of drafting the 1988 constitution (ibid.: 64). While state-led development reinforced traditional clientelistic networks and their support for local autonomy, it also provided the foundation for the development of the PT and other popular organizations committed to the development of genuine local democracy. The original core of the PT was the organized labour movement, which had grown substantially during the military regime’s rule (Keck, 1992: 77). And just as industrialization and unionization increased, so did urbanization from slightly over 40 per cent of the population in 1960 to nearly 70 per cent in 1980 (Power and Roberts, 2000: 240). Out of the vast number of migrants from the countryside evolved a multiplicity of urban popular organizations and social movements who, in one form or another, opposed the military regime. Along with the PT, these popular organizations supported strong, autonomous local government; they believed such government was the key to deepening democracy at the local level. The emergence of the PT, along with the broad base of the opposition Partido do Movimiento Democrático Brasileiro (PMDB), the persistence of traditional political elites and the rise of labour and popular movements, determined that Brazil’s 1988 constitutional reform would transform the embeddedness of the Brazilian state by reversing much of the centralization carried out by the military regime over the previous two decades. There were a number of reasons why decentralization received such broad support. First, as previously noted, traditional leaders wanted to maintain, if not increase, the autonomy of local government because local political positions offered increasingly attractive opportunities to advance their political careers (Samuels, 2000: 79). Second, many social sectors supported decentralization as a means

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of thwarting authoritarianism and restoring democracy. Third, issues related to decentralization such as fiscal and federal equilibrium and public deficit control were not part of the transition agenda. Instead, the focus of the Constituent National Assembly was to legitimize redemocratization. Decentralization was seen as a means of achieving this objective. Fourth, since no single force in Brazilian society could impose its vision of a new state and new economic model, the decisionmaking process became fragmented and regionalist in character. Fifth, in the midst of the euphoria associated with Brazil’s recent economic achievements as well as its transition to democracy, few politicians were willing to draw attention to the fiscal constraints of the federal government. And finally, there was a pervasive normative assumption that subnational units of government were more efficient and more accountable to their constituents than a centralized national government (Souza, 1997: 92).

Decentralization after Redemocratization Given these antecedents, the depth of Brazil’s decentralization is not surprising. The 1988 constitution sanctions institutional, fiscal and administrative structures which, in contrast to the Chilean case, devolve substantial power and authority to local government. In terms of the institutional structure of local government, for example, mayors continued to be directly elected even under the military regime and have much greater autonomy to hire and fire staff than do their Chilean counterparts. Executive authority is strengthened by the fact that the municipal council cannot reject the budget proposed by the mayor nor alter it in a manner which increases total expenditures (Nickson, 1995: 120). On the other hand, municipal council members (vereadores) can override mayoral vetos, have significant control over policy design and planning and approving the municipal budget, and can impeach and remove the mayor for misconduct (ibid.). Thus, the institutional structure of Brazilian local government establishes checks and balances and mechanisms for ensuring accountability which exceed those present in Chilean local politics. Arrangements for citizen participation established by the 1988 Constitution further support popular participation. These arrangements include plebiscites and referenda; the popular tribunal (tribuna popular), through which citizens participate in the discussion of bills

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during council meetings; and the popular initiative (iniciativa popular), whereby at least five per cent of the electorate may propose legislation. The Constitution also mandates participation by ‘representative bodies’ in the planning of municipal activities. This participation takes three major forms: (1) the municipal councils (conselhos municipais), committees of interested organizations that municipal law may designate to advise the municipality on specific functions; (2) the popular councils (conselhos populares), groupings of interested territorial organizations that may comment and advise on local priorities, issues and problems; and (3) the neighbourhood associations (associacãos de moradores), which frequently collaborate with municipal government in small-scale community investment projects (ibid.: 129). These institutional arrangements would be just as ineffectual in promoting local democracy in Brazil as similar arrangements are in Chile if it were not for two factors: (1) the role of the PT in organizing and mobilizing local political participation and (2) the fiscal autonomy of local government. With regards to fiscal autonomy, Brazil and Chile stand at opposite ends of the spectrum. In contrast to Chile, for example, local governments in Brazil can borrow to finance their own investment. In fact, in terms of the capacity to borrow, only local governments in Argentina surpass their Brazilian counterparts. Chilean local government, on the other hand, possesses the lowest borrowing autonomy among the 18 Latin American countries evaluated by the Inter-American Development Bank (1997: 176). Similarly, while local governments in Chile collect taxes and administer social programmes, they have almost no control over policy in either of these areas (ibid.: 166; Marcel, 1994). By comparison, the new Brazilian Constitution elevates municipal governments to full members of the federation along with state governments (Lewandowski, 1990: 33–34). This elevated constitutional status means that municipal governments may now establish their own organic laws and have expanded taxing authority. This new taxing authority grants them the power to impose duties on real estate, services and fuel consumption. In addition, states and municipalities have access to a significant share of the taxes levied by the federal government, including a 21 per cent share in the revenues from the income tax. Municipalities also receive 50 per cent of the tax on rural property collected in their respective territories and 25 per cent of the sales tax collected by the states (ibid.: 36–37). As a result of these arrangements, vertical fiscal imbalance, or the gap between the level of spending required to carry out the responsibilities

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assigned to subnational governments and the revenues the subnational levels generate themselves, is relatively low in Brazil (33 per cent) as compared with Chile (61 per cent) (Inter-American Development Bank, 1997: 167). Moreover, conditionality of transfer payments from the federal to local governments is similarly low in Brazil (less than 30 per cent of transfer payments are conditional) and high in Chile (nearly 90 per cent of all transfer payments come with strings attached) (ibid.: 171). These new features of Brazilian local government suggest that the potential exists for local leaders to respond to the needs and demands of local populations with appropriate policies and resources. The extent to which this occurs appears to be largely a function of the local presence and influence of organizations that are committed to the advancement of the popular sectors, most importantly the PT. Unlike the centre-left Concertación in Chile, the PT is committed to grass-roots democracy. The party has since its inception in the late 1970s demonstrated a consistent commitment to organizing and empowering the popular sectors (Keck, 1992).28 This commitment is evident in the Party’s fundamental principles, which include: (1) attacking poverty and extreme inequality; (2) transforming Brazil’s paternalistic political culture via non-elite political participation and empowerment; and (3) promoting and protecting grassroots organizations that are carrying out these tasks in the realm of civil society (Nylen, 2000: 141). To achieve these objectives, the party leaders have emphasized basismo, constructing the party ‘from the bottom up’ by building support and providing organization for the political participation of urban workers and other underrepresented segments of Brazilian society (ibid.: 129; Keck, 1992). In order to broaden its appeal and to facilitate the incorporation of social movements, the PT has moved away from a discourse focused on traditional notions of class and class conflict and has instead developed a discourse that emphasizes the rights of citizenship and the value of procedural democracy (Davis, 1997: 167). Despite efforts to broaden its appeal, however, the party has resisted the temptation to compromise its leftist programmatic stance in order to achieve short-term political gains (by eschewing opportunistic alliances with parties that do not share the same programmatic commitment, for example). Party

28 The party was officially founded on 10 February 1980. See William R. Nylen (2000: 129).

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representatives who fail to adhere to this programmatic commitment are punished, and if necessary, ousted from the party (Mainwaring, 1995: 380). By enforcing such high standards of discipline, the PT is able to avoid becoming merely a launching pad for self-interested politicians, as is often the case with Brazil’s catch-all parties. Recent developments in Porto Alegre, a city of 1.3 million in southern Brazil, offer a demonstrative example of the capacity the PT and present institutional arrangements provide local populations to collectively define and successfully fulfil political and social objectives. Since 1989, the local government of Porto Alegre has implemented what has come to be known as the Orçamento Participativo or ‘participatory budget’. The participatory budget was the creation of the PT, which was seeking a way to hand over decisions about the distribution of municipal funds for essential capital improvements—streets, sewers, schools, and so on—to the populations whose welfare these improvements were supposed to enhance. According to Rebecca Abers and Boaventura de Sousa Santos, this policy has dramatically increased neighbourhood activism throughout the city, raising the number of poor citizens participating in the budget assemblies to over 14,000 (Abers, 1998: 511) and the total number of citizens to nearly 100,000 (Santos, 1998: 486). The PT has had such success with the participatory budget as a consequence of both ideological and institutional factors. Ideologically, as previously noted, the PT has avoided the clientelistic practices of most other Brazilian parties and eschewed alliances with parties which do not share its programmatic goals. Instead, it has sought to cultivate a genuine grass-roots political movement in which local community groups are organized and disposed to engaging in democratic debate in order to promote their constituents’ interests. Institutionally, the laws regulating municipal government have facilitated the PT’s achievement of its goals by giving mayors wide discretion to generate revenue and to develop and implement policies that would be supported by this revenue. Thus, when the PT candidate for mayor was elected in Porto Alegre in 1989, he and his supporters began to construct a more participatory system of interaction between the municipal government and community organizations and constituents in civil society. In order to stimulate the development of this participatory system of interaction, they established a series of forums to which individuals, neighbourhood associations and other community groups were invited to express their budget priorities and concerns. Initially, these forums were poorly attended. But as neighbourhoods that did participate began to see their

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needs more effectively met, participation began to increase exponentially (ibid.). Apart from the participatory budget’s success in encouraging increasing numbers of citizens to participate in local politics, it has also produced significant tangible benefits for participants and their communities. For example, investment in the Porto Alegre’s poorer residential districts has exceeded that in wealthier neighbourhoods. The number of municipal schools has increased from 29 in 1988 to 86 in 1998; sewage coverage has increased from 46 to 98 per cent during the same period; and housing assistance increased from 1,714 families in 1986–1988 to 28,862 families between 1992 and 1995 (Baiocchi, 2001: 48). As important as the quantifiable accomplishments produced by the PT’s participatory budget have been, the qualitative achievements it has facilitated have been equally significant. Baiocchi’s research reveals, for example, that experience with the deliberative process involved with budget making tends to reduce the significance of class and gender distinctions. As he notes, ‘Once we consider only persons with a certain number of years of experience, we . . . find that there is no significant difference between men and women reporting participation, or between persons with or without formal schooling’ (ibid.: 52) In addition to helping to overcome traditional class and gender disparities in political participation and influence, the participatory budget has also brought significant numbers of non-elite activists into local politics and fostered new and increasingly interconnected organizations and institutions in civil society (ibid.: 55). The participation and increasing strength of civil society that the PT’s participatory budget has engendered has also served to increase accountability and to legitimize the institutions of local government. Apparently, the PT has been rewarded for its participatory approach to local governance with increasing electoral success. While in 1982 it had only two mayors and 78 council members nationwide, by 1996 it had 115 mayors, 142 vice mayors and 1,892 city councils members (Nylen, 2000: 130). Despite these notable advances, the PT has not had the same degree of success in promoting participation in communities with per capita revenues a fraction of Porto Alegre’s (Baiocchi, 2001: 62). This variance suggests that if government has little to offer its citizens, they will have little incentive to participate. Nonetheless, in places like Porto Alegre, the PT has taken advantage of an adequate resource base as well as institutional arrangements that facilitate participation and accountability to stimulate a high degree of collective action, public input, and political responsiveness in local government.

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The contrasts between local government in Porto Alegre under the PT and Santiago under the Concertación are striking. These pronounced contrasts can clearly be observed in the mode of linkage that political parties have assumed with respect to the popular sectors. The PT’s success in stimulating popular participation in municipal government derives in no small measure from the party’s commitment to basismo, the cultivation of participatory democracy at the grass-roots. Without this commitment and the development of such creative strategies as the participatory budget to see it through, citizens in Porto Alegre and other municipalities where the PT is influential would likely confront either indifference or clientelistic control on the part of political parties and elites. The PT’s presence provides citizens with organizational resources and incentives that are essential if the disadvantaged are to successfully overcome the sizeable hurdles to popular unity and collective action that they confront in local politics. On the other hand, the electoral mode of linkage the parties of the Concertación have adopted in Chile has done little to encourage or facilitate meaningful political participation at the local level. The parties’ commitment to maintaining macroeconomic and political stability has made them wary of taking a more active role in organizing and representing popular interests. Yet, as a result of increasing electoral competition from the UDI at the local level, both the Socialist Party and the Christian Democratic Party have begun to rethink their relationship with their constituents at the grass-roots.29 This shift in thinking is no doubt a positive sign for the strengthening of local democracy in Chile. However, structural reforms and local institutional arrangements still stand in the way of more meaningful and effective political participation in local government. Institutionally, indirect election of council members weakens the nexus between constituents and elected leaders, the Community Economic and Social Councils or CESCO remain unrepresentative and ineffec-

29 Julio Pérez, national secretary of the Community and Neighbourhood Action Front of the Chilean Christian Democratic Party, indicated that the party has begun a new, grass-roots effort to rebuild party support in the shantytowns and to encourage political participation. On the other hand, Luciano Valle, national secretary of Social Organization of the Chilean Socialist Party, confided that while there is recognition within the party that strategies need to be developed to encourage popular participation, presently the PS has no formal organization devoted to political education or popular organization. Interviews with the author on 15 and 19 June 2001, Santiago, Chile.

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tive, and finally, neighbourhood associations have little formal powers or influence and therefore very few citizens are motivated to become actively involved in them. Such institutional impediments to popular participation in Chile exist within a structural context equally stultifying to local accountability, control and participation. The Concertación has essentially maintained the structural reforms implemented by the military regime. Thus while local governments have the responsibility for administering primary education and healthcare services, they have virtually no policy-making autonomy in these areas and are greatly restricted in their ability to raise revenue and the manner in which they can utilize central government transfer payments. Such reforms enable the central government to maintain its control over local governments while providing local officials little capacity to construct policies or provide resources in response to their constituents’ demands or concerns. Moreover, social policies implemented at the municipal level, such as housing policy, tend to fragment and stratify civil society rather than to strengthen it. Thus the cumulative impact of structural and institutional arrangements on local government, and the related transformation of party/base linkage, reveals the manner in which the Chilean state’s mode of embeddedness in civil society affects social capital and popular sector incentives for political participation. The reform of the Chilean state in accordance with neoliberal principles under the dictatorship and the maintenance of those reforms through Chile’s transacted transition provide the context for understanding this embeddedness. Economic elites, neoliberal technocrats and party leaders preoccupied with maintaining macroeconomic and political stability have facilitated the increased control of the central state over the local sphere as a means of limiting local demand making. Under these circumstances, it is little wonder that disenchantment with local government in Chile is on the rise while local political participation is on the decline. The roots of Brazil’s state reform are distinct from Chile’s and thus have resulted in a different opportunity structure for popular participation in local government. Constitutional and state reform in Brazil was largely a reaction on the part of multiple social actors to the centralization carried out under authoritarian rule. It reflected an attempt to scale back centralization in order to limit the federal government’s control over local government and local constituencies. Thus, in contrast to Chile the expansion of federal transfer payments with little or no strings attached, coupled with direct election, has made the mayoralty

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a highly influential political office in Brazil. Constitutional reforms have added to the importance of local office by giving local governments the power to pass their own organic laws as well as significantly greater autonomy over policy-making and revenue generation than Chilean municipal governments possess. As advantageous as these structural and institutional reforms may be, however, they appear necessary but not sufficient for cultivating local accountability, participation and collective action. This comparison of the Brazilian and Chilean cases suggests that the mode of party/base linkage is essential in determining whether local democracy flourishes or falters. Parties such as the PT, which are committed to generating political participation and strengthening civil society in its own right, will likely have more success in encouraging citizens to participate in the local democratic process than those such as the Chilean Socialist and Christian Democratic parties, which have instead opted for elite control and electoralism. Only time will tell whether political parties and governments throughout the region become more attuned to the requisites of local democracy and more committed to their establishment or alternatively remain entrenched in familiar patterns of elitism and clientelism.

THE CASE OF BRAZIL: PARTICIPATION FROM BELOW

CHAPTER FOUR

PARTICIPATIVE INSTITUTIONS IN BRAZIL: MAYORS AND THE EXPANSION OF ACCOUNTABILITY IN COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE Brian Wampler

Citizens and Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) play a more prominent role in Latin America’s new democratic regimes than under previous democratic experiences. Efforts to promote transparency, accountability, and participation have led citizens, community organizations, social movements, and nongovernmental organizations to demand a more expansive role in decision-making venues. Brazil, Latin America’s most populous and most decentralized democracy, has witnessed the proliferation of participatory institutions at the municipal level, granting citizens access to decision-making venues as well as the right to engage in oversight activities. Participatory institutions, such as participatory budgeting (PB), represent an effort to devolve and broaden decisionmaking venues with the potential to place a check on the prerogatives of mayors. The functioning of and outcomes from participatory institutions appear to be intimately related to the breadth and intensity of support extended by mayoral administrations. Mayors must be willing to delegate authority to citizens. Likewise, citizens and CSOs interested in the expansion of participatory institutions must work closely with mayoral administrations to ensure that the rules are followed and public policy projects are implemented. The delegation of authority to citizens has the potential to expand accountability at the local level as citizens contribute to policymaking decisions and work on thirdparty oversight committees. Yet there is also the risk that the insertion of CSOs into participatory policymaking venues based on their close political connections to elected mayors may subvert the development of ‘checks and balances.’ This article analyses the opportunities created by participatory institutions to expand accountability and the concurrent

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intertwining sets of interests among the relevant actors that may actually limit that expansion. In Brazil, participatory institutions have been implemented at the behest of political strategies promoted by ‘participatory’ or leftist sectors of Brazil’s political and civil societies. These institutions were designed to overcome numerous social and political problems, such as low levels of accountability, inefficiencies in social service provisions, and corruption, all of which hamper efforts to improve the quality of democratic governance. Brazilian democracy is plagued by a ‘private’ state, where most mayors continue to treat their municipal administrations as personal fiefdoms (Canclini, 1995; Leal, 1997; Diniz, 1982). In many municipalities, the policymaking process is undertaken far from the prying eyes of politicians and civil society organizations. Participatory institutions, their advocates often argue, will make a dent in Brazil’s social and political inequalities by allowing citizens to deliberate in public, negotiate over the distribution of public resources, and hold government officials accountable (Wampler and Avritzer, 2007). This article considers Brazil’s best-known participatory experience, participatory budgeting (PB, Orçamento Participativo), in the municipalities of São Paulo, Recife, and Porto Alegre (up to 2004). This innovative institutional format incorporates citizens and municipal administrative officials into a policymaking process in which citizens directly negotiate over the distribution of public resources. In the most successful cases, PB has had the power to transform basic state-society relations, redistribute resources to underserviced neighbourhoods, and create transparency in the budgetary process (Baiocchi, 2001; Abers, 1998; 2001; Marquetti, 2003; Fung and Wright, 2001; Fedozzi, 1998). In less successful cases, PB has created opportunities for activists to raise awareness of public policies, which is still a desirable outcome but has a much more limited impact on policymaking (Nylen, 2002; Wampler, 1999). To address the interplay of institutions and interests, this article focuses on the ways in which PB realigns the relations between the political decision-makers and civil society, and more specifically between mayors and CSOs. In particular, the question of what influences the mayor’s capacity addresses the following questions: why would a mayor delegate authority to decision-making bodies dominated by citizens? And, once a mayor initiates a participatory decision-making process, what influences the mayor’s capacity to implement particular policy

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preferences? The first question taps into the mayor’s willingness and preference to redesign policymaking processes. The second question situates mayors in the municipality’s broader political environment to demonstrate how Brazilian mayors face a series of constraints that limit their ability to implement their desired policies. This study emphasizes the role of mayors because the office of mayor holds most legal, budgetary, and administrative authority at Brazil’s municipal level. While authority has devolved from the federal government to state and local institutions, no corresponding deconcentration of authority at the municipal level has occurred (Rodríguez, 1997). At Brazil’s municipal level, legislatures act as a negative check or veto on the mayor, doing little to contribute to policymaking, because of the concentration of authority in the mayor’s office (Wampler, 2007). Municipalities nevertheless increased their importance in Brazil’s federal structure with the 1988 Constitution and now account for 16 to 20 per cent of all government spending (Couto and Abrucio, 1995; Montero, 2000). Most research on Brazil’s participatory institutions has utilized a single-case study methodology, which limits the generalizability of the theoretical insights that can be gleaned from the cases (Abers, 2001; Fedozzi, 1998; Baiocchi, 2001). The bulk of studies have focused on citizen participation or on the organizing efforts of municipal administrations (Nylen, 2002; Abers, 1998). Thus we know a great deal about who, how, and why people participate, but much less about how that participation affects outcomes. Comparative studies have appeared in more limited numbers, but these often have been based on the most successful cases, Porto Alegre and Belo Horizonte (Jacobi and Teixeira, 1996; Avritzer, 2002b). The three cases analysed here produced markedly different policy outcomes, specifically regarding how PB affected the extension of accountability. The concept of accountability has been employed by political scientists to account for variations in the quality of Latin America’s new democratic regimes. Theorizing about diverse arenas, such as institutional authority, citizen participation, and political contestation, is a central concern as political scientists seek to move beyond the ‘consolidation’ debates to assess the processes that generate political renewal. This article draws on the three variants of the ‘accountability’ debates: societal, vertical, and horizontal.

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brian wampler Three Types of Accountability

Does the expansion of decision-making venues limit mayoral authority? Does it undermine the responsibilities and duties of legislative bodies? Is accountability enhanced if citizens must still depend on mayoral administrations? The focus of the accountability debates has been on how one agent (the voters, the courts) can control another agent (elected officials, the executive branch). One weakness of such a focus is that the conceptual variants—horizontal, vertical, and societal—tend to run on parallel tracks, unable to show how citizens, CSOs, politicians, and institutions may place interlocking checks on the ambitions of other actors. Participatory institutions, by contrast, tap into all three dimensions of the debates. Participatory institutions have the potential to act as a check on the prerogatives and actions of mayoral administrations (horizontal), to allow citizens to vote for representatives and specific policies (vertical), and to rely on the mobilization of citizens into political process as a means to legitimate the new policymaking process (societal). Vertical accountability, generally framed as the control of public officials by citizens primarily via elections, has received significant attention as scholars have analysed how citizens can use elections to exercise control over public officials (Przeworski et al., 1999). Horizontal accountability, the distribution of authority among different departments or branches of government, has also received attention as scholars have sought to evaluate the consequences of institutional arrangements that were designed to strengthen democratic practices and rights (O’Donnell, 1998). Societal accountability, the pressures placed on state agencies by CSOs to encourage elected officials and bureaucrats to abide by the rule of law, has emerged as a counterbalance to the other two approaches; it can directly link ongoing political activity in civil society to formal political institutions (Smulovitz and Peruzzotti, 2000). Przeworski, Stokes, and Manin’s book Democracy, Accountability, and Representation (1999) set the tone for the debate on vertical accountability. It engages a classic theme of democratic politics: how can citizens control their governments? Working in the rational choice tradition and employing a principal-agent model to explain outcomes, Przeworski et al. analyse how elections influence the choices of public officials in new democracies, concentrating on the inability of the electoral process to produce binding decisions or guarantee that public officials will remain

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virtuous. Unfortunately, Przeworski et al. reduce the range of political roles that citizens can play to one: the voter. ‘Governments make thousands of decisions that affect individual welfare; citizens have only one instrument to control these decisions: the vote’ (1999: 50). Although most citizens may not be actively engaged or interested in policymaking processes, that assertion is greatly overstated; it ignores the vast range of political strategies and actions that activists use to influence public officials and policy outcomes. Citizens now have access to a range of legal and political resources to pressure public officials, including lawsuits, public demonstrations, public hearings, and participatory institutions. Democratic regimes allow citizens to seek redress in a number of decision-making venues, including executive, legislative, and judicial branches. In Brazil, groups demanding political reform have utilized municipal and state levels of government to challenge traditional mechanisms of control, which suggests that electoral analysis (especially of national elections) is not a sufficient indicator for how CSOs affect policymaking (Dagnino, 1994; Jacobi, 2000; Hochstetler, 2000). Przeworski et al.’s approach assumes the absence of political and social organizing. Elections are only one avenue for citizens to encourage increased accountability and improvements in public policies. The citizen as activist, the citizen as community organizer, or the active citizen does not appear in their analysis. This analytical focus ignores the role that CSOs play in democratic politics. Smulovitz and Peruzzotti (2000) recognize the drawbacks of relying on elections to show how citizens might influence elected officials. They introduce the concept of societal accountability to complement vertical accountability, and they demonstrate how CSOs can act as watchdogs by monitoring the actions of elected officials and bureaucrats. Societal accountability is a non-electoral, yet vertical mechanism of control that rests on the actions of a multiple array of citizens’ associations and movements and on the media, actions that aim at exposing governmental wrongdoing, bringing new issues onto the public agenda, or activating the operation of horizontal agencies. (Smulovitz and Peruzzotti, 2000: 150) This concept moves beyond a narrow conceptualization of citizen participation to show how some citizens and CSOs are engaged in continual efforts to influence the actions and behaviours of state actors. Smulovitz and Peruzzotti demonstrate how CSOs have taken advantage of the partial extension of civil and political liberties to develop

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new strategies to pressure elected officials. Yet their approach is also limited, because it depends on CSOs’ putting sufficient pressure on elected officials rather than showing how new actors can contribute to policy outcomes. CSOs are transformed into interest groups rather than active agents that participate in policymaking venues where binding decisions are made. Their empirical examples show how CSOs do not have the authority or ability to make binding decisions, but merely to influence power-holders. The case study for this article, PB, by contrast, offers the opportunity to overcome this theoretical impasse by demonstrating the effects of delegating authority to citizens. Citizens are neither limited to roles as ‘voters’ or ‘watchdogs’ but become real, meaningful players in the policymaking process. O’Donnell’s work on horizontal accountability opened up this line of analysis as it focused on another classic dilemma of politics: how can state agencies act as effective checks on the actions and ambitions of other state agencies? Horizontal accountability ‘depends on the existence of state agencies that are legally empowered—and factually willing and able—to take actions ranging from routine oversight to criminal sanctions or impeachment in relation to possibly unlawful actions or omissions by other agents or agents of the state’ (O’Donnell, 1998: 117). State agents must be able to exert effective oversight to ensure that other state agents—elected and appointed officials or bureaucrats—can be held accountable for the violation of rules and laws. The system of checks and balances requires that third parties be able to make binding decisions, which means that third parties must be able to carry out and enforce these decisions. ‘Effective horizontal accountability is not the product of isolated agencies, but of networks of agencies (up to and including high courts) committed to upholding the rule of law’ (O’Donnell, 1998: 119). This is an important advance to the work of Przeworski et al. and Smulovitz and Peruzzotti because O’Donnell includes formal, binding decisions, which indicate the distribution of authority as well as the length to which the rule of law has been extended. While O’Donnell’s approach highlights the importance of the judicial branch and the legislature in acting as checks on the potential misuse of authority by executives, this approach, too, is limited because it fails to address how different interests are represented within state agencies. O’Donnell argues that contemporary polyarchies include ‘various oversight agencies, ombudsmen, accounting offices, fiscalías, and the

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like’ (1998: 119), but he does not demonstrate how these institutions incorporate new actors that seek to use their authority to promote alternative institutional formats or alternative policies. These new institutions have the potential to place the political ambitions of different actors into direct competition with one another, thereby promoting interlocking sets of authority. Horizontal accountability, as O’Donnell frames it, does not sufficiently treat how the ambitions of different actors may be pitted against one another to produce different outcomes; institutions seemingly float above political and civil society rather than being occupied by specific actors with particular interests. The case studies analysed in this article cut across the three types of accountability. Participatory budgeting, as it has been created in São Paulo, Recife, and Porto Alegre, was initially implemented to allow citizens to deliberate over issues of public policy. The purpose of each programme was to incorporate interested citizens and CSOs into decision-making bodies (that is, to expand checks and balances) so as to enhance the quality of policy outcomes while limiting corruption. PB can be viewed as offering the opportunity to allow citizens to promote societal and vertical accountability, but it can also be understood as a policymaking institution that competes with other state agencies over the distribution of authority, power, and resources. As an innovative policymaking institution, PB provides a unique opportunity for interested citizens and activists to select policy outcomes. PB is not a representative case of urban politics in Brazil or in Latin America, but its exceptional nature provides the opportunity to demonstrate how citizens exert influence over elected municipal administrations.

Participatory Budgeting in Three Cities PB depends on the mutual participation of civil society and state officials in the selection and implementation of policies and public works (Fedozzi, 1998; Abers, 2001). Civil society is represented by a myriad of private persons, social movement activists, and community leaders. The state is represented by the municipal administration, the mayor’s office in particular. PB is designed to bridge the gap between the municipal administration and the nascent civil society that has been developing in Brazil since the late 1970s. Implementing PB is a potential risk for mayors if the programme does not provide positive results, as interpreted

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by the administration’s political allies, interested CSOs, and voters (most of whom are non-participants). PB has the potential to redistribute authority and resources, which places institutional reformers on a collision course with entrenched interests. Understanding the political interests of different groups is vital to explaining the risk involved when delegating authority is used as a political strategy. Certain CSOs have an incentive to participate in PB and promote it as a vital new policymaking institution if the specific organization is likely to benefit from the particular set of rules that govern PB. If a specific organization favours public decision-making processes, which require extensive deliberation and negotiation as well as the mobilization of an organization’s followers at several key moments throughout the year, then it is likely that an organization will support PB. PB rewards ‘participatory’ CSOs that develop a specific set of political skills: public deliberation and negotiation, mobilization, and the capacity to analyse government data. CSOs that rely on more traditional forms of organizing, such as clientelism and patronage, will not seek to take advantage of this new form of policymaking because their political resources do not easily mesh with this new system. ‘Traditional’ CSOs, which rely on private exchanges and networks, will not actively support the implementation of PB, and they are not likely to participate in high numbers. Likewise, some, but not all, elected officials also have specific incentives for supporting this new type of policymaking. First, elected officials who rely on participatory CSOs to help campaign, mobilize voters, and provide their educational material are more likely to support the implementation of a participatory process. Second, elected officials who seek to change how political resources are distributed are more likely to support the implementation of this new policymaking institution. The potential for the transparent implementation of public resources will undermine the private exchanges between elected officials, bureaucrats, and leaders of ‘traditional’ CSOs, thereby enhancing the ability of political reformers to limit the influence of their political opponents. Third, reformist politicians may seek to use PB as a means to create new bases of political support. The risk, of course, is that the new participatory institutions will produce weak results, or that the mayoral administration will not be able to generate sufficient participation to create a dynamic process. Initiating a new participatory experience is a time-consuming process that does not necessarily offer short-term

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policy or electoral benefits. Administrations must be willing to commit time, energy, and resources to reforming the policymaking process. Citizens and political opponents can potentially use the new participatory institutions to promote policies, strategies, and outcomes that are not beneficial to the mayor’s interests. The importance of an administration’s interest in supporting PB processes is best illustrated by the case of Porto Alegre. In 2004, the Workers’ Party lost its re-election bid for the mayor’s office, ending 16 years of their managing Porto Alegre’s PB. The newly elected government, led by a mayor from the Democratic Workers’ Party (PDT), has dedicated fewer resources (financial and personnel), which has weakened the PB programme. The change in government in Porto Alegre clearly illustrates the important role that local administrators play in PB and other participatory processes; the withdrawal of active support by the PDT government has limited Porto Alegre’s PB. Budgetary processes are excellent proxies with which to understand efforts to limit and disperse authority because the process depends on the distribution of basic technical and financial information, debate, and negotiation among interested parties, and the eventual implementation of public works. Budget-making and service provision processes incorporate bureaucrats, appointed and elected public officials, and interested citizens. Because budgets and resource allocation are often the centre of political disputes, a focus on new budgetary processes should illuminate the extent to which political strategies and relationships have been modified.

Outcomes: The Right to Decide, Public Debate, and Legal Implementation To establish an empirical litmus test for accountability, this contribution analyses three factors: the right to make decisions based on access to transparent information (vertical), public debate and mobilization (societal), and legal implementation (horizontal). The right to make decisions creates a link between the participants and the government, which is a necessary first step; it establishes citizens’ ability to contribute directly to the governing process. Participants in the policymaking process may make decisions on specific policy issues, generalized policy trends (for example, basic infrastructure over health care), or representatives in

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the process. The ability to debate in public and to mobilize citizens to participate in debates and decision-making processes are features of societal accountability. Citizens have the opportunity to influence their fellow citizens and government officials by using the public venues to press their claims. The implementation of projects, as selected by citizens, touches on two aspects of horizontal accountability. If decisions made by PB delegates are included in a municipality’s budget, are the projects being implemented? If so, then horizontal accountability will be extended, because municipal administrations are implementing projects selected in one institution (PB), ratified by a second (municipal council), and implemented by a third (municipal administration). In addition, most PB programmes have oversight committees, so that projects cannot be considered completed (and, by extension, final payment to contractors cannot be made) until committees approve them. If municipal administrations follow the rules that govern the oversight committees, then it will be possible to confirm that horizontal accountability is being extended. Porto Alegre Porto Alegre’s PB was implemented between 1989 and 2004 and is often considered the most successful case in Brazil. The municipal administration, as a result of its close ties to activists in civil society, actively promoted governing practices that encouraged the delegation of authority. For nearly 15 years of PB, the municipal administration continues promoted the values embedded in PB and, equally important, followed the rules established by PB. Responsibility for the selection and implementation of public works was shared by the municipal administration and the citizens; citizens had a larger role in the selection of projects, while the administration played a much larger role in the implementation of the projects. When PB was initiated in Porto Alegre, the municipal government enjoyed a favourable political context that allowed it to experiment with a new institutional format. The government relied on ‘participatory’ CSOs, which demanded an active role in policymaking. The Workers’ Party led the electoral coalition, and most of its members supported direct citizen involvement in decision-making venues (Fedozzi, 1998). The Workers’ Party (PT) was able to cobble together support in the

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municipal council, based on the support of an opposition party (the Democratic Labour Party, PDT). The governing coalition led by the Workers’ Party controlled 10 of the 33 seats. Centrist parties with similar ideologies, most important the PDT, controlled 12 additional seats, while the political and ideological opposition controlled 10 seats. The PT government could negotiate with the centrist parties to secure a relatively positive atmosphere in which to initiate reform efforts. For example, during Mayor Dutra’s administration (1989–92), the PT passed a series of progressive taxation laws, which demonstrates the broad support the administration could achieve. This indicates that the Workers’ Party found highly favourable conditions to initiate and implement a participatory venue. How did Porto Alegre’s PB affect the extension of accountability? First, citizens gained the right to make decisions about general policy trends and specific public works. Citizens had access to vital technical and financial information that helps them during decision-making processes. Information about public policies and budgeting was available to citizens in a coherent and easily understood form. Through the auspices of PB, the government held meetings to provide basic information on issues such as tax revenues, budget allocation, and debt servicing. For example, each specific project selected by the PB participants received a tracking number that enabled municipal bureaucrats to inform any interested party about the project’s current status. This transparency served as the basis for informed deliberation and dialogue. After PB participants selected projects, the implementation process was more administrative than political. Second, the municipal administration honoured decisions made by the PB participants by implementing the public works they selected in a timely and transparent manner. Implementation is at the discretion of the mayor, because line items in the budget do not necessarily have to be implemented. In Porto Alegre, decisions made through PB have become binding decisions, as the municipal administrations have implemented projects selected by PB participants.1 By honouring the decisions made in PB, the government signalled to the population that 1 It is difficult to define ‘binding’ decisions narrowly in the case of Brazilian budgets. Because approved budget lines do not necessarily have to be spent, it is left to the executive’s discretion to allocate resources (beyond personnel and debt payments) where appropriate. For PB in Porto Alegre, however, all the PB decisions are entered

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important public policy decisions were now made in this institutional sphere. This shifted decision-making processes away from the private spheres of the government and into the PB meetings (Genro, 1995). The municipal administration took a third step that increased horizontal accountability and public trust by submitting its own policy initiatives for approval by PB participants. Without formal approval in the citizens’ forum, the government’s specific public works initiatives could not be included in the municipal budget and therefore could not be implemented. This step represented a fundamental change in Brazilian policymaking, because Porto Alegre’s government was forced to publicly defend its specific projects and submit these projects to a project-specific vote. Porto Alegre’s PB made extensive efforts to create a new public arena for deliberation and negotiation (Avritzer, 2002a). Citizens were mobilized for a series of local, regional, thematic, and municipal meetings that enable them to interact with each other as well as with public officials. This allowed interested and engaged citizens to maintain pressure on the mayoral administration. It also allowed mayoral administrations that support PB participants’ demands to argue for the ‘inversion of priorities’ based on the participation of increasing numbers of citizens. Porto Alegre’s municipal budget was much closer to a real budget than the ‘black box’ (caixa preta) that budgets tend to be at other levels of government. An accurate budget makes it easier for citizens to understand the budget process and to work to include their own items. Under these conditions, items included in the budget enjoy a much higher likelihood of being implemented than under the more familiar ‘black box’ method. This also gives all factions the opportunity to know what the government is actually doing. In many ways, the experience of Porto Alegre provided the most paradoxical results among the three cases studied. It simultaneously strengthened and weakened efforts to expand accountability. Citizens were directly incorporated into decision-making bodies that exercise authority, transparency was increased, participation was steadily increased, and the implementation of public works followed legal means. This was accomplished under the auspices of a unified government

into the budget. Evidence demonstrates that the executive spent all available discretionary funds on the projects selected by the participants.

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led by the PT that increased the authority of the mayor’s office while simultaneously marginalizing the municipal council. Porto Alegre’s PB took the municipal council out of the decisionmaking process by having citizens make all budgetary decisions that fall within the purview of ‘discretionary spending.’ This undermined horizontal accountability, because one branch of government (the municipal council) received a smaller, weaker role in the budgetary process. PB never was legally constituted, which meant that it was technically and legally part of the municipal administration (mayor’s office). While successive Workers’ Party mayors in Porto Alegre went to considerable lengths to ensure that citizens in public venues make most budgetary decisions, final legal authority remained with the mayor’s office. If PB is considered from the vantage point of horizontal accountability, it is apparent that the mayor’s office remains firmly in control of the policymaking process. The municipal administration provided information, allocated the political and bureaucratic staff to conduct meetings, and implemented projects. PB’s success in Porto Alegre was based on the firm support it received from the municipal administration. If we analyse Porto Alegre’s PB from the vantage point of vertical accountability, we must note that the PB contributed to limits on mayoral authority because citizens were making real, important decisions. PB, however, was intimately associated with the PT’s success in winning four successive mayoral elections. Citizens may have gained greater authority via PB, but the party that implemented it managed to benefit handsomely from this new institutional type. From the standpoint of societal accountability, it is clear that through PB, citizens engaged in meaningful deliberation and negotiation. This allowed citizens to pressure their government to implement changes in public policies. The groups most likely to benefit from PB were those skilled in mobilization and deliberation, which tend to be supporters of the PT. Again, societal pressures may help to strengthen the mayoral administration by creating short-term benefits for the PT and the party’s supporters. As the experiences of 2004 show, however, PB did not create a permanent set of checks and balances that could be utilized by citizens or opposition parties. It is not clear whether citizens could legally force the mayor’s hand to provide information or implement projects. This means that PB participants had to depend partly on the good will and benevolence of the municipal government, which indicates that PB only partly

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promoted restrictions on mayoral authority in Porto Alegre. PB in Porto Alegre was noteworthy for how it modified and expanded decision-making processes, but the outcomes remained limited because the PB’s positive results depended on intense support from the municipal government. This reliance on the government illustrates a point made earlier: When the PB programme was managed by Workers’ Party government, the lack of legal institutionalization provided for increased flexibility, which helps to strengthen PB because participants and government officials could devise new strategies to achieve outcomes. However, when control of the government switched hand—in 2005 to the centrist PDT—there were few legal protections to ensure that PB would continue to enjoy the financial, administrative, and institutional support that the Workers’ Party had enjoyed. The lack of legal institutionalization the management of PB by the Workers’ Party, but curtailed the efforts of PB participants to maintain the robustness of the programme after the Workers’ Party left office. Recife The capacity to place real limits on mayoral authority or to create public and citizen-controlled decision-making venues through PB has been much weaker in Recife than it was in Porto Alegre. Yet societal accountability may be somewhat stronger, because Recife’s PB was, during the mid- to late 1990s, an institutional venue occupied by groups that opposed successive mayors’ inattention to the programme. The conditions under which PB was initiated in Recife were much less favourable than in Porto Alegre. The popular mayor, Jarbas Vasconcelos, had a long history of working directly with community organizations, but the relationship with activists was rather personalistic. Vasconcelos channelled the demands for public works through his administrative structure, but he was less interested in delegating decision-making authority to citizens (Soler, 1991; Soares, 1998). Vasconcelos was a member of the PMDB, a catchall centrist political party whose elected representatives in Recife were suspicious of PB. City council members and state deputies feared that this new institutional sphere would decrease their influence over the distribution of scarce resources, and therefore sought to undermine Recife’s PB at every turn (Wampler, 2000). Theirs was a legitimate concern for municipal council

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members, because PB has the potential to transfer decision-making authority to citizens and to limit council members’ ability to influence policy outcomes. In Recife, the PMDB municipal council members did not support the delegation of authority to citizens and sought to be personally involved in the distribution of public works projects. Few members of Recife’s PMDB had strong commitments to participatory CSOs, and therefore wanted to maintain control of resources as part of the exchange between the mayoral and legislative branches. At the time that PB was initiated, Mayor Vasconcelos enjoyed a broad base of support in the municipal council. While his coalition held just 16 of 41 seats, 18 centrists were willing to work with the mayor. Only 7 municipal council members could plausibly be identified as opposition. This support gave Vasconcelos sufficient flexibility to experiment with a new institutional type. Municipal council members affiliated with centrist and centre-right parties in Recife had few connections to the participatory civil society, which gave prevalence to longstanding political preferences based on clientelistic exchanges, as opposed to support for the delegation of authority. How did this affect the outcome? First, the municipal administration only partially ceded decisionmaking powers. Thus, citizens lacked the right to make policy decisions, and vertical accountability was not extended through PB. Participants had the right to decide only a small fraction of the projects to be implemented by the municipal administration (10 per cent of all discretionary funding, as opposed to 100 per cent in Porto Alegre). Two administrations, led by Vasconcelos (1992–96) and Roberto Magalhães (1997–2000), did not dedicate their full attention or resources to PB. Vasconcelos’ links to the groups that most strongly advocated PB weakened over time, while Magalhães’ ties to these groups were based on his political alliance with Vasconcelos. Over time, the two administrations began to use the PB structure for other purposes, such as the distribution of money during Carnival, in a manner more reminiscent of clientelism than of an innovative policymaking institution. Decisionmaking authority was not delegated to citizens, and mayoral authority was not checked. Second, the administrations of Vasconcelos and Magalhães did not guarantee that the projects selected by PB participants would be prioritized for implementation. The municipality’s internal administrative structure was not substantially modified to ensure that the decisions

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made in PB would be implemented. The binding decisions that have begun to emerge in Porto Alegre were absent in Recife. Third, PB had a slightly positive effect in that it helped to foster increased transparency in Recife’s municipal administration. Administrations had to provide information to citizens and bureaucrats in order to set up and manage the programme. Information about public policies and budgeting was not readily available to PB participants, however; nor were the programmes promoted in such a way as to involve the general public. The budget remained a black box; no one was really sure what projects went in or what would come out. The information provided to citizens, moreover, contained multiple inaccuracies, making it virtually impossible for PB participants to make informed decisions related to how the municipal budget and policymaking processes actually worked. Yet there is one important caveat to this case: negotiations over the distribution of resources, as well as the oversight meetings, which analysed the administration’s performance, were held in public. This gave PB participants the opportunity to work directly with government officials. Denunciations of the administration’s actions (or inactions) allowed activists to hold administration officials accountable in a public format. Recife had few other venues that allowed a public discussion of the administration’s policy outputs. Confrontations and arguments between participants and the government officials in public meetings were a vital part of the learning process that leads to the increasing openness and transparency of the state. These meetings forced the mayor or his representatives to explain their policies, while also permitting traditionally excluded citizens to enter into discussions and debates that had long been held in the private realms of the state. This development suggests that societal accountability is being extended in Recife. It also suggests that Recife’s PB is a ‘demand-receiving’ institution that depends on societal pressure, rather than an institutional venue in which binding decisions are made. This ‘success’ reflects one of the basic conceptual problems of societal accountability: the concept itself rests on the pressure that can be applied to government officials by civil society actors, while the civil society actors themselves have no authority to make decisions. The structure of Recife’s PB, which coincided with many of the leaders’ political beliefs and ideologies, offered opportunities to CSOs to demand rights that could not be guaranteed by other institutional

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means. Yet participants were caught between demanding that the government fulfil its commitments and asking for compliance; between the demands of rights-bearing citizens and goods-receiving clients (Sales, 1994). While these are not ideal conditions in which to develop a new decision-making venue, PB did provide an institutional format for citizens to join a public debate. Recife’s PB placed few limits on the mayor’s authority and failed to develop into a real decision-making venue. Yet PB was an official part of the government’s agenda, which gave activists opportunities to raise contentious issues in official, municipally sponsored public meetings. This provided an opportunity to hold administrative officials publicly accountable for their failures. Innovative policymaking institutions are valuable to the process of building the foundations for accountability, as in the case of Porto Alegre; but the short-term impact may be weak if government officials do not support incorporating traditionally excluded actors into the policymaking process. São Paulo Limiting mayoral authority and creating new decision-making venues were weakly established through PB in São Paulo during Luiza Erundina’s administration (1989–92). Erundina, a member of the PT, was closely aligned to São Paulo’s participatory civil society, especially the social movements that had grown rapidly during the 1970s and 1980s. Erundina sought to initiate reform, but her government proved incapable of implementing a vibrant participatory policymaking venue. This suggests that the mere existence of the PT in power is not a sufficient condition to guarantee the success of the programme. Within the PT-led governing coalition, Erundina faced a difficult political struggle over the type of participatory institution that would be created. Discussion centred on ‘deliberative’ versus ‘consulting’ bodies, as well as territory-based versus sectoral bodies (Couto, 1995). The intense divisions in the governing coalition made it difficult for Erundina to dedicate her administration’s full attention to PB. The demand for PB came from the social movement sector of the PT, but was not necessarily shared by other factions in the party. As Erundina was forced to concentrate on a more limited range of reforms than the PT had originally proposed, she chose to forgo the delegation of authority to citizen bodies (Singer, 1996).

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Erundina also faced a hostile municipal council that was unwilling to rubber-stamp her proposals. Erundina was forced to dedicate considerable time and energy to building the necessary majority in the council to pass the budget and other legislation. During the 1988–92 legislative period, the PT’s governing coalition held 20 of 55 seats in the municipal council. They needed the support of 8 centrist legislators, many of whom were unwilling to negotiate or support the PT’s policy initiatives. Ten of the 16 centrists were from the PMDB and would become members of the conservative governing coalition for the 1992–96 period. The political capital Erundina expended to build a stable voting majority undermined her ability to delegate decision-making authority, as she was forced to support the political projects of potential supporters in the municipal council. This support, both administrative and resourceoriented, meant that fewer resources were available for PB. Another important factor is that many of the opposition council members did not support the delegation of authority to citizen decision-making bodies. The creation of a parallel decision-making process, if successful, could emasculate the authority of the municipal council. Many council members relied on clientelistic exchanges to deliver goods and resources to their constituents, acting as intermediaries between the municipal administration and community organizations. As one council member stated: You need to have clientelism, radio, and TV because the vote is not an informed vote. Right? . . . I am currently a municipal council member, do I want to continue? If I want to continue, and if I follow the rules of the game, then it is likely that I will not have success, that I will not be re-elected.2

Municipal council members not affiliated with the ‘participatory’ civil society eschewed calls for transparency, openness, deliberation, and public negotiation because it was not to their advantage. The internal strife in the PT-led governing coalition, as well as the hostile opposition, made conditions for launching a PB programme very unfavourable. How did this affect PB’s outcomes? Citizens were given the opportunity to present their demands in PB, but few institutional mechanisms guaranteed negotiation and delibera-

2

Author interview, São Paulo, February 18, 1997.

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tion over the selection of public works. While PB has the potential to expand the number of decision-making venues, the administration’s difficulties in implementing selected public works curtailed any positive impact. PB in São Paulo did not produce a transparent municipal administration, given that it yielded few concrete results. PB increased direct public contact between citizens and the municipal government, but meetings were sparsely attended (Jacobi and Teixeira, 1996b). While PB did increase the amount of information available to interested citizens, most participants sympathized with the municipal government. This did little to provide a check on the policy prerogatives of the municipal administration. PB as an institution and as a means of limiting mayoral authority was therefore unsuccessful in the municipality of São Paulo. The government that implemented PB had deep roots in civil society; CSOs and citizen activists demanded that government officials delegate decision-making authority; but the government could not do so because pressure from the municipal council proved to be far greater than pressure from CSOs. São Paulo’s PB experience suffered from the administration’s lack of support, suggesting that heightened civil society mobilization is not sufficient to extend accountability. CSOs proved too weak as partners for an embattled administration. São Paulo’s PB therefore had weak impact on the extension of vertical or societal accountability. Yet municipal council members, in the context of a divided government, acted as a check on the prerogatives of the municipal administration. While the reasons many municipal council members rejected the delegation of authority to citizens may have been politically undesirable (for example, the wish to maintain existing clientelistic networks), it is rather ironic that the municipal council might actually have helped to extend horizontal accountability by not allowing a mayor to do as she pleased. PB did not have a direct effect on the extension of horizontal accountability, but the mayor’s inability to promote this new institutional venue suggests that at least one branch of government may be able to check another branch. This is quite different from Porto Alegre, where the Workers’ Party—led governing coalition was rarely checked by the municipal council; or Recife, where mayors sought to appease demands from municipal council members and PB participants through the distribution of targeted resources.

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Political innovations in Brazilian municipalities demonstrate how CSOs, political activists, and reformist politicians have, at times, forged political coalitions to place limits on mayoral authority. By imposing such limitations, CSOs and their political allies have attempted to extend accountability. At Brazil’s municipal level, this process has been based on the delegation of authority to participatory, citizen-dominated decision-making bodies. Participatory institutions increase citizens’ access to government and encourage public debate, both of which intensify pressure on municipal administrations to implement policy projects selected by citizens. One important lesson from these case studies is that mayors cannot govern without the support of their main constituencies, whether these are in the same party or part of the broader governing coalition. This conclusion runs counter to much of the conventional wisdom in Brazil, where governors and mayors are often analysed as being able to govern with few constraints. A key factor that helps to explain the mayor’s capacity to delegate authority is the willingness of the municipal council members to support that action. If municipal council members are unwilling to support participatory institutions, it becomes extremely difficult for the mayor to dedicate the necessary resources to doing so. This was clearly the case in Recife and São Paulo. Participatory budgeting was weakly implemented in both municipalities. On the other hand, if the municipal council members are willing to support participatory institutions, then it increases the likelihood that the mayor will be able to implement preferred institutional reforms. This was the case in Porto Alegre. Mobilizing citizen support, therefore, is insufficient for mayors to successfully implement participatory programmes. Mayors must, in the best-case scenario, hope for a majority of council members who are willing to support the delegation of authority. If mayors do not have broad support in the council, they must devise other payoffs to induce recalcitrant council members to support innovative policymaking institutions. Participatory budgeting helped partly to extend accountability in Porto Alegre and Recife; São Paulo’s PB had a negligible impact on this outcome. The paradoxical results from Porto Alegre, which indicated that vertical and societal accountability was being extended through the new institutional type while horizontal accountability was being weak-

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ened, suggest that PB may only partially contribute to the redistribution of authority at Brazil’s subnational levels of government. PB is by no means a magic bullet to extend accountability and deepen democratic practices. While PB does offer new opportunities for participation and decision-making, it continues to bear the risk that authority will be concentrated in the mayor’s office, which has the potential to undercut efforts to establish a system of checks and balances at Brazil’s local level of government.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE REDISTRIBUTIVE EFFECTS OF THE PARTICIPATORY BUDGETING IN PORTO ALEGRE Adalmir Marquetti

Introduction In recent years many publications have stated that participatory budgeting at the local policy level is an innovative mechanism that stimulates the distribution of wealth and improves the living conditions of the poor. Such an institutional innovation extends the democratic process toward the poorer segments of society and incorporates them in the economic development. It is a fundamental process that can change a pattern of perverse distribution of income and wealth, which is widespread in Latin America. The issues of redistribution and poverty reduction are especially relevant in the Brazilian context due to the country’s high concentration of wealth and high levels of urban poverty. Brazil’s GINI coefficient for income is one of the highest in the world, reaching 0.6 in the 1990s. Most publications, however, do not substantiate empirical facts to underpin this claim of a redistributive effect of the participatory budgeting. The lack of concrete data may be explained by, firstly, the focus on developing a theoretical framework for the study of the functioning and the implications of this innovative participatory mechanism; and secondly, by the fact that the political administrators of the participatory budgeting were too involved in implementing which left no room for worrying about quantifying and measuring the effects of the mechanism on the population. Hence, researchers have been confronted with very little statistical material to make a proper analysis. This is, however, odd because it is highly relevant to know the impact of a new administrative model, especially after this participatory budgeting has aroused so much attention in the academic world and in political debates in Latin America. The model of participatory budgeting has now been adopted in one way or another in many municipalities in Latin America and other cities in the world. In Brazil in particular

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the number of cities adopting a type of participatory budgeting has gradually increased during the last four municipal terms, especially in large cities. Among the 223 Brazilian cities with population above 100,000 inhabitants in 2000, the number of experiences of participatory budgeting rose from 4 cities (1989–1992) to 7 cities (1993–1996), then to 34 cities (1997–2000) and it reached 69 cities in the period 2001 and 2004 (Marquetti, 2005). The increasing number of experiences is, partially, explained by the expansion of cities governed by leftist parties, in particular the Worker’s Party. Some large Brazilian cities have adopted the participatory budgeting such as São Paulo, Porto Alegre, Belém, Belo Horizonte, and Recife. This chapter analyses and measures the redistributive effects of the participatory budgeting in Porto Alegre using data of the annual investment plans of the city of Porto Alegre in the period 1996–2005 and the number of public works during 1990–2004 to investigate whether the poorer regions received a larger share of the investment per capita. Additionally, the investments are compared with the previous administration before 1989 and further examined in order to find out whether there have been certain priorities in the allocation of the investments after the budget became participatory. The first part of this chapter shows that the direct democracy in Porto Alegre has had positive effects on the efficiency and redistribution. The second part discusses relevant data on the national level. Subsequently I will discuss the Porto Alegre case focussing especially on the redistributive effect of the participatory budgeting. A central question to address is whether the redistributive effects are the consequence of the participation of civil society or just result from the fact that the PT party administered the city of Porto Alegre during 16 years. The income distribution was a policy priority of the PT when the party took office in 1989 and was carried out in a close partnership with civil society in an atmosphere of collaboration and understanding between the public and private sphere. There was a kind of symbiotic relation between the municipal government and some segments of civil society. Therefore, it does not make much sense to try to single out the influence from the municipal authorities or civil society. More relevant, in this respect, is to discern the capacity of this unique state-society relationship to generate positive results for the city as whole.

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Empirical Studies about the Fiscal Effects of Direct Democracy The first empirical studies about the efficiency and redistributive effects of direct democratic systems have been carried out in Switzerland and the United States. They are consistent in indicating that direct democratic systems in the form of referenda, town-meetings and/or plebiscites have in general a more efficient, better performing, and more redistributive effect than representative systems. Feld and Kirchgässner (2001) analysed the impact of direct democracy on the expenses, revenues and the public deficit in 26 cantons in Switzerland between 1986 and 1997. The results show that those municipalities with a direct democratic system had less revenue, less public expenditure than similar municipalities with a representative system. The public deficit of these direct democratic municipalities was also lower, because the reduction of their expenditure was greater than the fall in their revenues. Another research by the same authors about public finances in 131 Swiss municipalities in 1990 showed that those with a direct democracy had more revenues, less public expenditure, and less public debt than the other municipalities (Feld and Kirchgässer, 1999). Matsusaka (1995) researched the effects of direct democracy on American states that use the initiative process between 1960 and 1990 and came up with three main findings. In the first place Matsusaka concluded that these states had lower total spending per capita than non-initiative states. Secondly, initiative states distinguished themselves from non-initiative states by raising less revenue from taxes for all inhabitants but more from charges and fees for specific services carried. Finally he showed that while state spending was lower in initiative states, local spending is higher, which implied a transfer of expenditure to the local level. The redistributive effect was found in a study by Santerre (1989 and 1993) by analysing spending for education in 90 municipalities in the state of Connecticut (USA) in the early eighties. Those municipalities with ‘town meetings’, a form of direct democracy, had a higher education spending per capita than municipalities without these town meetings. Some authors studied the effect of direct democracy on the efficiency of the public sector. Pommerehne (1983) found that the costs per capita of garbage collection in 103 Swiss cities in 1970 were less in those with direct democracy. Frey (1997) and Pommerehne and Weck-Hannemann (1996) analysed fiscal evasion for 26 Swiss cantons between 1965 and

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1978 and found out that those with more participatory democracy had less tax evasion. They interpreted it as a consequence of citizens’ larger participation in the decision-making process which made them feel co-responsible for an effective tax application. Feld and Savioz (1997) analysed the relation between direct democracy and economic growth for 26 cantons in Switzerland between 1984 and 1993. Labour productivity was on average five per cent higher in those with direct democracy. Frey and Stutzer (2000) went even further and found out that the degree of individual satisfaction was higher under inhabitants of cantons with a higher degree of direct democracy, stating that involvement in the decision-making process increases the well-being of the citizens. The results of these empirical studies are consistent with the idea that different forms of democratic organization can influence public expenses and has an impact on the redistribution, fiscal policy, and economic performance. Additionally, one study even suggests that the higher degree of political participation positively affects the well-being of the citizens.

Comparative Evidence from Brazil In the Brazilian context, for a long time, there were no publications that analysed the effect of the participatory budgeting on the public finances or that compared the fiscal performance of municipalities with a participatory budgeting with those that have a mere representative democratic system. Consequently, there is no evidence for the claim of the redistributive effect of participatory systems in relation to municipalities with a representative system (Marquetti, 2000 and 2003). A possible explanation is the lack of statistical material for thorough academic research. It was only in 2003 that a first publication by Ribeiro and Grazia (2003) appeared with a systematic survey of the experiences of participatory budgeting in Brazil between 1997 and 2000. Subsequently, Marquetti and Berni (2005) analysed the 61 municipalities in the state of Rio Grande do Sul with more than 30,000 inhabitants—including Porto Alegre. Six of them incorporated the system of participatory budgeting in the 1997–2000 legislative term, which increased to ten municipalities in the 2001–2004 term. The largest urban centres had the highest probability to adopt the participatory budgeting

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and encompassed the majority of the total number of the inhabitants of the 61 municipalities—24 per cent of the state population lived in a participatory municipality in 1999 and 35 per cent in 2003. Data showed that in the category of poorer municipalities—with a lower income per capita—those which had adopted the participatory budgeting had relatively smaller public budgets than those with a traditional representative system. In the category of richer municipalities those with a participatory budget had relatively larger public budgets than those with a representative system. This indicates that participatory administrations showed more fiscal discipline and offered a more adequate level of public services and thus resulting in a more optimised level of public services in relation to the available budget. Administrations with a participatory budget spent more when the income per capita rose and did that especially on education, housing, culture, and sports—typical social expenses which are considered as inducing a redistributive effect under inhabitants. Contrastingly, administrations with a representative system did not spend more on these matters. Further research is required to investigate whether these redistributive effects persist in time and whether they can also be detected in other aspects of the fiscal policy and the municipal administration.

The Participatory Budgeting in Porto Alegre One of the major questions for the Workers’ Party in 1989 was how to reduce the massive inequalities of the Brazilian society. The participatory budgeting was invented to achieve this goal. It was an innovative project in Brazil because it opened channels of participation to sectors of society that traditionally never played an active role in the definition of public policies. Afterwards, the participatory budgeting has been hailed by many authors, many of them inspired by a leftist ideology, as an important policy mechanism for income redistribution embedded in a political context based on participatory democracy. The reasoning is that the opportunity to take part in the formulation of the municipal budget stimulates especially the poorer segments of society to participate which results in adopting policies that have a redistributive effect. According to Santos (1998) the participatory budgeting, involving democracy, empowerment and deliberation, can be characterized as part of a redistributive democracy. Navarro (1998b) denominated the policy

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in Porto Alegre as ‘affirmative democracy’, referring to programmes of affirmative action in the United States. Others emphasized the increase in the transparency due to improvements in the fiscal regulation which led to a larger accountability of the municipal executive branch and, thus, a better fiscal performance (Rhodes, 2000). In the 1988 election campaign one of the PT’s principal objectives was the democratization of the local administration through ‘popular councils’. There was no ready-made model to integrate segments of the popular civil society in the decision-making process of the municipality. There existed only a notion of a ‘substantial need to strengthening the autonomous organization of the civil society’ through new political mechanisms. It was, therefore, necessary to ‘invent’ a completely new format in which the popular administration would play a central role. The question of how the citizens would be involved in the decisionmaking process was subject to an intensive debate (Navarro, 1998). The absence of any conceived plan was an important characteristic that allowed to break away from orthodoxy which is so common in the leftist political tradition and to realize with great ingenuity and certain pragmatism the participatory budgeting. The first year of the new PT administration, starting in January 1989, was somewhat erratic and confusing. Popular suspicion caused by the failure of the former administration (under the Democrat Labour Party) to fulfil its promises hampered the take-off of the participatory project. Moreover, the municipality faced financial difficulties due to a last-minute wage raise for all civil servants which was approved by the outgoing mayor and doubled municipal wage expenses in 1989. The situation was exacerbated by arrear payments and a short-term loan representing 35 per cent of the budget which became due for repayment. It brought the municipality on the brink of a financial crisis when the PT took office (Cassel and Verle, 1994). Moreover, executive control and financial management were weakened due to several administrative loopholes and a tax system which was not adjusted for inflation. The situation deteriorated when Brazil entered a period of hyperinflation which reached 1,774 per cent in Porto Alegre in 1989 and which caused the municipal tax system to collapse. The new Brazilian Constitution of 1988 both legitimized civil rule and modified the balance of power inside the country, shifting power from the federal government to the state and local level. While the state and local levels gained substantial decision-making power, it was not proportionally matched with a transfer of financial resources from the

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federal level. In 1988, the municipalities received only 11.4 per cent of public revenues and the federal government 61.3 per cent. The disparity was mitigated to 17.2 per cent and 53.8 per cent respectively in 1992, but the federal government’s financial problems in the 1990s regularly blocked and delayed financial transfers to local government. The financial squeeze and the new constitutional arrangements, however, opened a window of opportunity for a substantial financial reform at the municipal level. The participatory budgeting combined participatory with representative democracy, defining a new set of institutions called public non-state spheres of power that increased substantially society’s control over the local government (Genro, 1997). It allowed the interested citizen to have mechanisms of decision and control over the municipal budget. The original system functioned from 1989 until 2004, when the PT lost power. The new administration maintained the principle of participatory budgeting, but the mechanism lost political influence in the City Hall. Although the experiences among cities differ on several points, there is a similar institutional structure based on the participatory budgeting. The basic element consists of a pyramid-shaped structure—assemblies at the base, a forum of delegates at the intermediate level, and a municipal council of participatory budgeting at the top—, an annual calendar of participatory activities, and a set of rules that determines citizens’ participation and criteria for the distribution of resources among the city regions. It is an institutional innovation in which citizens and civil social organizations have the right to participate actively in the fiscal policy of their municipality. It allows the local’s citizenry to engage in the process of decision-making, and the elaboration and monitoring of the budget. Therefore, it represents a breakthrough in good governance both from a democratic as a fiscal perspective. The policy priorities of the municipality are defined though direct democracy, whereas the debate between the participants resembles a deliberative process. All citizens have the right to discuss proposals and to vote. The aggregation of the policy priorities of the municipality and the distribution of the new investments and services are based on rules previously established. These rules benefit the poorer districts of the city. There are various monitoring mechanisms established between the final decision and the implementation of an investment.

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Fiscal Reforms and Investment Trends in Porto Alegre The new PT administration in Porto Alegre started an overhaul of the entire financial management of the municipality, which the former administration left in a state of ‘fiscal anaesthesia’. Expenditure was reduced by rationalizing payments, reducing loans, and introducing time frames for payments of suppliers and contractors. Yet the wage increase promised by the former administration was implemented. Revenues were increased by imposing a new tax system for the urban property tax, introducing a rigorous tax control system, collecting old debts, and indexing taxes to reduce inflationary losses. The administration’s fiscal reform was based on three new principles. In the first place, the principle of progressivity for tax payments was introduced. Secondly, the administration started to fight tax evasions and abolished the numerous exemptions. And finally, the administration sought popular support in realizing the fiscal reforms in order to get people involved. Consequently, the real average annual revenue in the period 1989–1992 was 97 per cent higher than in 1985–1988. The increase in the revenues until 1995 was directly a consequence of this new fiscal policy. In the period 1996 to 1998 the increase was a consequence of federal transfers due to the new municipal responsibilities for health care. From 2001 on, revenues started to drop when federal transfers were reduced. The relevance of these fiscal reforms in the solutions for the city’s financial problems can not be underestimated. They formed the pillars which guaranteed the successful functioning of the participatory budgeting scheme during many years. The financial health of the municipal administration was maintained during the first three mandates and investments were largely financed with own means. The period with the largest investment percentage was between 1991 and 1994 when the participatory budgeting was consolidated. From 1995 on the investment percentage dropped to 8 and 9 per cent of the municipal budget. The fall in the investment percentage was caused by three factors. Firstly, although inflation came down, municipal officials were offered a bimonthly inflation adjustment and started to earn more salary in real terms.1 Secondly, the increased level of services offered by the municipality resulted in an increase of the municipal 1 In May 2003 the mayor suspended the bimonthly adjustment for the salaries of the municipal officials due to the city’s financial deficit.

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staff which made expenses to mount. An concrete illustration of the increased expenditure was the expansion of school enrolments and health centres which resulted in a more than doubling of the number of officials on the payroll (from 4083 in 1988 to 9041 in 2004) of the departments of education and health care during the time the PT was in power. Thirdly, the federal transfers to the municipal level started to the decline. The ensuing financial crisis of the city of Porto Alegre was one the fundamental reasons for the loss of the electoral support of the popular neighbourhoods and resulted in the electoral defeat of the PT in the 2004 municipal elections. Political Reforms: A New Public Sphere for Participation The political innovations complemented the financial reform and both were responsible for the successful realization of the participatory budgeting. The city was divided in sixteen regions, each of which elected members to superior councils in the regional assemblies. There were two types of regional assemblies. The formal rodadas organized by the municipality, and the informal intermediárias, a community initiative taking place at the neighbourhood level. The main themes discussed in the rodadas were settled by the regional community leaders and the government coordinators of participatory budgeting in the region who were linked to the mayor’s office. Besides the regional meetings, beginning in 1994, thematic assemblies were created to discuss certain themes of general interest to the city. These assemblies were organized in the same way as the regional meetings with formal rodadas and more informal intermediáras. One of the tasks of the assemblies was to discus local questions and to define the priorities of the regions for the coming year. In this process each region chooses three out of fourteen standard priorities (like among other things: basic sanitation, education, land and human settlement regulation, and leisure and sports). Subsequently, the region’s choices were used to select the three main priorities of the city as a whole. The next task was to distribute the available resources among the sixteen regions according to criteria that took in consideration the differences among regions. In general these criteria, which consider among other things the lack of public services and infrastructure and the number of people living in the region, benefited the poor areas. The budget details and all the approved public works for each city region were included in the Plan of Investment and Services. This was printed and distributed

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and the document was a powerful monitoring mechanism that citizens used to monitor the implementation of the promised investments. Participatory Budgeting and Redistribution One of the main goals of the PT administration was the ‘principle of inversion of priorities’ of the municipal expenses. In contrast to the traditional principle of channelling resources to the most powerful and wealthy groups in society, the PT pledged to turn this logic upside down and made the improvement of the public infrastructure in poor, deprived areas a priority. The participatory budgeting was conceived as an instrument to redistribute the municipal tax revenues between rich and poor parts of the city and to define the policy priorities by popular participation. Porto Alegre has always been characterized by large geographical differences in population, available public services, political organization, income per capita, education level, and housing conditions. One of the first negotiations between the administration and local communities was about the division of the city in sixteen regions. The aim was to define 300000 Centro

Population of the region, 2000

250000

200000

150000 Partenon Norte Eixo Baltazar

100000

Leste

Centro Sul

Cruzeiro Lomba do Pinheiro

50000 Nordeste

0

Noroeste

Sul

Humaitá/Navegantes/Ilhas Restinga Glória Cristal Extremo Sul

0 2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18 Average nominal income of the household in monthly minimum wage in 2000

Source: ObservaPoA (2006)

Figure 5.1: Average nominal income of the household head in monthly minimum wages and population per PB region in Porto Alegre—2000

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the regions with certain similarities in terms of social indicators and community organization. This would make the regions distinguishable between themselves and facilitate priority setting. As it turned out, the demarcated regions showed a strong relation between the number of inhabitants and their level of income (see figure 5.1). The two extremes in terms of poverty were the Centro region with the most populous region and the highest income, and the Nordeste region with the lowest population and the lowest average income. The overall redistributive effect of the participatory budget for the different regions of the city is shown in Figure 5.2. It indicates a negative correlation between the average nominal income of the household in monthly minimum wages in 2000 and the amount of per capita public investment in the city regions listed in the Plan of Investment and Services between 1996 and 2006. Poorer regions received a larger amount of investment per capita. The data on public investment for each region was computed adding its listed value in the annual investment plans from 1996 to 2005 at constant prices of 2005. Then, it was divided by the population of each region in 2000.

Per capita investments, R$ 2005

1600

Extremo Sul

1200

Nordeste

Cristal Glória

800 Lomba do Pinheiro Restinga

Partenon

Humaitá-Navegantes-Ilhas

Eixo da Baltalzar

400

Norte

Sul Cruzeiro

Leste

Centro Sul Noroeste

0

0

Centro

2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18 Average nominal income of the household in monthly minimum wage in 2000

Source: ObservaPoA (2006) and COP (1995–2004)

Figure 5.2: Average nominal income of the household head in monthly minimum wages and the per capita investments per PB region in Porto Alegre—1996–2005

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The redistributive character of Porto Alegre’s participatory budgeting is also evident looking at the distribution of the public works throughout the city which is especially advantageous for the poorer city regions. Figure 5.3 shows the relation between public works—a total of 3,310 infrastructure works were included in this analysis—between 1990 and 2004 per thousand inhabitants and the education level of the household head in 2000 per region. There is a clear inverse relation between the number of public works in a region and the region’s education level of the head of the household. A higher amount of public works per capita were carried out in the poorer regions. The finished public works improved not only the living quality in these regions but had also a secondary effect in the sense that they revalued the assets of poor people living in the revamped regions. These poor people certainly remained with less assets than those living in richer regions, which the municipality tried to tackle by stimulating the micro-economy in the neighbourhoods. The city established recycling facilities, knowledge centres, and a micro-credit organization called PORTOSOL to offer small loans. Nonetheless, these efforts were

Demands per 1.000 inhabitants

8

6

Nordeste Extremo Sul Glória Cristal

4

Humaitá/Navegantes/Ilhas

Lomba do Pinheiro Norte

Sul

Cruzeiro

Eixo Baltazar Restinga Centro Sul

Leste Partenon

2

Noroeste

0

2

4

6 8 10 Education level of the household head in 2000

Centro

12

14

Source: ObservaPoA (2006) and COP (1995–2004)

Figure 5.3: Education level of the household head and the number of public works per thousand inhabitants in the PB regions in Porto Alegre—1990–2004

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not sufficient to tackle all the socio-economic problems of the poorer segments of society and really pull them out of poverty. Secondly, the redistributive effect of the participatory budgeting can also be observed by analysing the increase in the different public services in the City. Table 5.1 indicates the increase in garbage collection, street lighting, and street pavement in the period 1982–2004. In the 1980’s the provision of these public services was relatively stable. The evolution in the provision of garbage collection, street lightening, and road pavement showed a big rise between 1990 and 1994 after the City Hall managed to solve the city’s fiscal crisis. In the period 1994–2000 there was a moderate, but steady growth in public services during the PT’s second and third mandate. It was only during the PT’s last mandate from 2000–2004 that service levels dropped as a consequence of the city’s financial deficit. Table 5.1: Evolution of provision of garbage collection, street lighting and pavement and the number of people who benefit from the popular housing programmes in Porto Alegre—1982–2004 Years

Garbage collection (ton)

Public lighting (new points)

New asphalt (m2)

1982 1985 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004

157,213 145,094 147,258 179,448 186,118 220,247 171,13 185,904 189,516 218,994 245,208 265,618 282,321 280,163 285,479 276,08 255,051 254,429

845 714 736 435 1,371 2,537 5,843 2,278 2,848 2,247 2,13 1,725 2,758 2,87 2,713 1,996 1,243 791

121,979 327,197 290,454 81,399 235,122 396,686 519,151 411,177 444,758 502,565 947,816 871,809 667,557 819,555 613,431 440,25 275,335 318,955

Source: PMPA (1992, 1999 and 2005).

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In 1989, 95 per cent of the population of Porto Alegre had access to drinking water and 70 per cent of the households were connected to a sewerage system. In 2001 almost the entire city had access to drinking water (99 per cent), while there was a big expansion of the sewerage system which reached 83 per cent of the households (see table 5.2). The department for water and sewage DMAE managed to connect 163.000 household units to its drain pipes during that period. The period with the fastest increase was between 1994 and 1998. The increase was mostly in the poor city regions where the population also grew at the fastest rate. Notwithstanding, the municipality did not manage to connect more than 30,000 houses, mostly situated in irregular slum areas (PMPA, 2000). Table 5.2: Evolution of the number and percentage of household units with water and sewage services in Porto Alegre—1989–2004 Year

1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004

Total of Number of Households Households Water Water and Services Sewage Services 403,603 413,058 420,957 433,658 447,885 459,706 467,936 477,455 487,249 499,417 509,289 529,559 539,908 551,531 560,319 568,424

118,682 106,440 111,806 116,107 122,294 117,528 112,211 97,893 91,115 85,247 82,813 86,297 86,297 87,664 85,852 84,521

284,921 306,618 309,151 317,551 325,591 342,178 355,725 379,562 396,134 414,170 426,476 443,262 453,511 463,767 474,367 483,803

Percentage of Households Water Sewage Services Services 94.7 95 95 95 98 98 98 99 99 99 99 99 99.5 99.5 99.5 99.5

70.0 73.5 72.7 73.0 73.0 73.7 75.3 78.7 80.5 82.1 82.9 82.9 83.2 83.2 83.8 84.3

Source: PMPA (1992, 1999 and 2005).

A further element of the redistributive effects of the PT administration was in the number of school enrolments in pre-school, primary and secondary schools which increased almost fourfold in the period

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1988–2004 (see table 5.3). It was indeed a direct consequence of Brazil’s constitutional change that brought primary education under the control of the municipal level. It was, however, the merit of the PT administration that the majority of the new primary schools were opened in the sprawling poorer districts, where the demand was the strongest due to the influx of young families with small children. The increase in the available public service benefited principally the regions with the fastest population growth and this increase was larger in the sprawling popular neighbourhoods of the poorer regions, situated in the south and east of Porto Alegre. Table 5.3: Enrolment in the municipal public educational system in Porto Alegre—1985–2004 Year

Preschool

1985 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004

1248 1321 1677 2659 2448 2415 3977 6834 8164 10166 11080 11717 12079 12143 12684 13319 13654 13814 14559

Young Primary Secondary Adult Total and Adult Education Education Alphabetization Primary Education

700 940 1080 2340 2409 2430 2959 3577 4414 4105 6844 7708 8301 9727 9563

10492 13331 14838 20214 22140 23276 23775 28110 28278 29312 31947 35411 38160 40800 42470 41620 41276 41510 41886

Source: PMPA (1992, 2000 and 2005).

1617 1485 1347 1359 1344 1330 1375 1412 1361 1366 1448 1505 1541 1584 1583 1693 1652 1976 2159

2340 2780 2120 2000 1725 1800 1725 880

13357 16137 17862 24232 26632 27961 30207 38696 40212 43274 47434 54550 58974 60752 65581 66065 66683 68752 69047

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adalmir marquetti Conclusion

Evidence from Porto Alegre has indicated that the participatory budgeting is an institutional innovation that is capable of empowering segments of the population, in particular, poor sectors of society, that traditionally lack an active role in the definition of state policies. Consequently, citizens can participate in the decision-making process and have a certain degree of control of the implementation stage. It generates a process in which a reciprocal relationship is established between popular movements and the government. Next to the changes in the political practices on the local level there is an important economic outcome of participatory budgeting. Since the beginning of the process, redistribution was one of the mayor objectives of the Workers’ Party’s policy in Porto Alegre. The data in this chapter have indicated that a redistribution of public investments and services took place, leading to a welfare improvement in the poorest areas. These poorest parts of the city received the largest chunk of public investments. The data also showed that the PB had some elements that represented a new form of local state in which citizens and the local government defined together expenditures and public investments. Firstly, the expenditure structure of the municipality changed after the introduction of the participatory budgeting. Secondly, the poor sectors of Porto Alegre had an active voice in the definition of investments and thus actively participated in improving their own living conditions. This chapter has mapped public investments in the different districts of Porto Alegre and has related them to average income of its inhabitants in the period from 1989 to 2004, roughly the time that the participatory budgeting was at its high. The most important conclusion is that the North-East region of the city, which is the poorest area, obtained the highest number of implemented investment projects per thousand inhabitants; while the City Centre, traditionally one of the wealthiest parts of the city, had the lowest ratio between investment projects and number of inhabitants. Other indicators related to poor households confirmed the redistributive effect of the public investments, which reached especially the poor who traditionally are excluded from public services in Latin America.

CHAPTER SIX

POLITICIZING THE CIVIC: PARTICIPATORY BUDGETING IN PORTO ALEGRE Gianpaolo Baiocchi

Since the early 1990s, participatory innovations such as the Orçamento Participativo (OP) in Porto Alegre have received ample attention. The image of poor slum residents participating week in and week out to actually decide on urban improvements contrasts starkly with the dystopian images of an urban Brazil characterized by increasing violence, urban blight, and social segregation in the past few decades. Media images may have sensationalized the extent of the problems, but Brazil’s big cities remain among the most violent, unequal, and problem-ridden in the world. They are home to both the country’s richest and poorest people. While roughly one-fourth of urban residents live in makeshift slum housing, often without access to any urban services, Brazil’s elite lives in closed high-security buildings, working and socializing in equally private environments. Against this backdrop, and at a time when scholars and activists throughout the world decry the state of representative democracy, the OP stands out as a system that has not only provided services and improvements for the urban poor but also involved large numbers of them in active civic life. Established by Porto Alegre’s Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) municipal administration in the early 1990s, the OP has drawn tens of thousands of participants each year to its meetings around the city to deliberate and decide on a variety of municipal matters. The majority of the participants have been from among Porto Alegre’s poorer citizens who live in its working-class neighbourhoods and poor slum areas. They, having originally come to the OP to discuss a specific problem, have stayed on to take part in local councils or neighbourhood associations, which have come to thrive. One of those associations is the Conselho Popular do Partenon (CPP), or Popular Council of the Partenon district of Porto Alegre. This informal council functions parallel to the OP and is dedicated to weekly discussions on community affairs, from local health care to broken pipes. It forms a good example of the way in

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which the OP has become a central feature of community life in the city’s sixteen districts, and of how voluntary organizations receive a powerful impetus from it. The activities of this kind of community activists and participants in the OP challenge a number of powerful assumptions about civic engagement in the academic literature. First, and most obviously, they challenge the assumption, on the part of social capital scholars and public sphere enthusiasts, that civic engagement takes place fully outside of the state realm, in an autonomous ‘lifeworld’. Although CPP meetings are voluntary and autonomous, they receive a powerful impetus from government sponsorship, and their activities are closely integrated with the city administration. The recent history of the CPP, and of the rest of civil society in Porto Alegre, reflects the impact of the establishment of municipal participatory programmes. At a time when scholars are pointing to the crisis of the welfare state as a threat to industrial democracies, here we see an instance of an innovation by a municipal government that has empowered local citizenry, fostered new activism in civil society, and created a novel form of coordination across the state-civil society divide.1 Second, the CPP day-to-day practice offers a subtle commentary on the assumptions about the proper prerequisites to democracy, at a time when very many indicators of Brazilian democracy have pointed to a stagnant, or declining, civic engagement after the country’s transition from authoritarian rule to democracy (1984–88) (Ferreira, 2000). Increasing distrust of and declining support for democracy have been noted.2 Brazil’s democracy has often been described as fragile and unconsolidated. But Porto Alegre’s civil society presents a different image. Not only are there active civic organizations of various kinds throughout the city, but many of the participants in these organizations are poor, not formally educated, and have lived through two decades of authoritarian rule, which makes them incomparably different from the participants of the salons and other settings of the bourgeois public sphere, not to mention at odds with time-hallowed models of civic engagement that point to the importance of education and income in

1 On the ‘crisis’ of democracy, see Markoff 1999; see also Jessop (1993); on innovations across the state-society divide see Evans (1996). 2 See, e.g. Lagos (2001).

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predicting civic participation (Habermas, 1989).3 While the imagery of the ‘marginal urban poor’ no longer holds sway, as it once did, the portrayal of the Latin American urban poor as entangled in social pathology and clientelism, and as unlikely candidates for democratic orientation, still has some influence.4 More subtly, the activities of the CPP call into question the oftenunstated analytic separation between social movement activity and civil engagement, which Archon Fung (2003) has called the ‘mischievous’ and ‘cooperative’ faces of civil society.5 Social movements are disruptive, rowdy, and contestatory; civic engagement is virtuous, civil, and cooperative. CPP activists, many of whom participated in the pro-democracy movement, and most of whom would consider themselves ‘militants’ on behalf of their communities, often describe their activities as part of ‘the movement’ struggling for social justice in Brazil. But much of what they do also clearly falls under the rubric of civic engagement and virtue; they express concern about broad problems of the community and the city, encourage fellow residents to get involved in the activities of the OP; and invoke the importance of ‘average citizen’ involvement in their community and local government. They use the language of citizenship to express rights and responsibilities, and they describe themselves as citizens. Community activists in Porto Alegre, such as those in the CPP, are both militants and citizens. They consider themselves part of a broad movement for social justice, engaged in what they believe is a process of social transformation. However, in order to achieve substantive change, they act in civic and cooperative ways. They are engaged in their communities and believe they must both monitor local government and bring more citizens to participate. While assuming both identities is not without contradiction, and there are settings where assuming one or the other role is considered more proper, practices within organizations like the CPP highlight the fact that the analytic distinction is artificial and born of an academic vision that evokes romantic images of virtuous

3 For the ‘SES Model’ of civic engagement, see Marshall (2001); Verba and Nie (1972). For applications to Brazil, see Ferreira (1999; 2000); McDonough, Shin and Moisés (1998). 4 See Auyero (1999b) for a discussion of this ‘metonymic prison’. For a different, and convincing, rational-choice analysis of democratic action among the urban poor as a bounded-rationality problem, see Dietz (1998). 5 See also Jean Cohen (1999) for a discussion of these ‘two faces’.

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citizens engaged in selfless discussion, which may not reflect the conflict inherent in such situations (Mansbridge, 1980: 275). Understanding these three puzzles about civic engagement in Porto Alegre—how and why municipal programmes have fostered civic engagement, how this has been particularly successful at empowering the city’s poorest participants, and how this has evolved into a political culture that straddles notions of citizenship and militancy—requires understanding the content of these civic practices in their ‘proper relational context’, that is, exposing the web of enabling and constraining relationships that bear on civic life.6 In the light of these three puzzles, the question arises: what is the impact of participatory governance on civic life? The question is relevant not only to Porto Alegre or Brazil but also to debates about social movements, democratic theory, and public policy at large, not to mention to activists and reformers in other countries. In terms of social movements, it helps to explain what happens when the innovative practices of social movements are extended to broader publics. Much as social movements are contexts in which activists engage in the practices and relationships they would like to see extended to society at large, ‘prefiguring’ them, in the democratic world such movements rarely extend beyond a small fraction of a population.7 In Brazil, reinventing and reclaiming citizenship was a dominant theme in social movements in the 1980s and 1990s (Doimo, 1995; Dagnino, 1994). In Porto Alegre, a prefigurative social movement innovation—norms of claims and collective access to the public good—became institutionalized and extended to the whole city. Understanding the travails of such an innovation and its impact on civic practices is an important issue for new and old democracies alike, which addresses the neglected issue of coordination across ‘voluntary and empowered publics’ (Fraser, 1992). As local-level participatory reforms become more common throughout the developing world as a result of the decentralization of national states, this question assumes significant practical importance as well. Many scholars have discussed the benefits of participatory reforms, but fewer have addressed the impact of such reforms on civic life.8

6

The phrase is from Auyero (2001). On the concept of ‘prefiguring’, see Polleta (1999). 8 The Empowered Participatory Governance, or EPG, approach of Fung and Wright (2003), which I take as an important starting point for the investigation here, does not centrally address the issue. 7

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This contribution explores, using a relational perspective, the ways in which the OP has blurred the lines between the state and civil society, and in particular between the roles of militants and citizens in their interaction with the local state. It will also examine the ways in which the PT has redefined the role of political parties in the context of empowered participative regimes. Finally, it will briefly address the question of Porto Alegre’s ‘uniqueness’.

Empowered Participatory Regimes and the Relational Context The state of democracy seems to be problematic. As John Markoff has noted, although democratic transitions were greeted with post-Cold War triumphalism only a few years ago, the current mood is one of alarm about the state of democracy, especially in the face of globalization (Markoff, 1999). Jürgen Habermas and Max Pensky (2001), for example, describe the dangers of the consequences of the national state’s inability to provide the basis for national solidarity as global pressures that erode the power and capacity of states weaken their ability to assure even basic rights that are prerequisites to democracy. Yet, if instead of reading the literature on national trends, a reader focused on local-level experiments in direct democracy, the impression would be very different: for every country facing democratic woes, from Brazil to South Africa, Mexico, and the United States, there are dozens of experiments in local democracy, from shared management of environmental resources to novel forms of community policing and all manner of participatory governance, including a very widespread diffusion of participatory budgeting experiments. These two images appear at odds: on the one hand, mistrustful, apathetic, and isolated ‘lone bowlers’, and on the other, trusting and engaged citizens involved in local problem-solving, much as the descriptions in this chapter contradict the images of Brazilian citizens evoked by surveys. Both images have some merit, and the disjuncture between them is more than a matter of methodology or choice of sites. It is not, in other words, simply that although the Brazilian democracy is a shambles, Porto Alegre is an island of civic consciousness in a sea of apathy (or that Eugene, Oregon, is such an island for that matter). One of the lessons of the Porto Alegre case is that the potential for democracy or civic engagement can be much better understood from a relational approach than from an exclusive analysis of society-side factors such

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as citizens’ levels of trust. Relational political sociology disaggregates traditional categories and emphasizes relations between cultural, economic, political and social practices (Somers, 1993: 595). It does not see civil society as a unitary entity separate from the state or the economy; rather, it reframes civil society as crisscrossing groups of people engaged in voluntary activities.9 I propose to distinguish three levels in the relations between the state and civil society: ‘state-civil society regimes’, ‘civic configurations’, and ‘civic practices’. The first refers to stable patterns of state-civil society interactions, whose defining feature is the way that societal demands are recognized. This includes the ways in which citizens interact with the state, as well as the ways in which the state might limit or enable the activities of civil society. State-civil society regimes can be tutelary, meaning that they place significant constraints on civil society in terms of demanding political allegiance in exchange for the recognition of societal demands.10 They may also be representative, relying rather on institutions such as parliaments as the mechanism for input and processing of demands.11 Finally, there exist empowered participatory regimes such as the OP, which are marked by a high degree of openness to societal demands, few constraints on civil society, and bottom-up empowered participation as a way to process societal demands. Second, civic configurations refer to the ways in which within particular regimes actors, organizations, and networks within civil society are configured and position themselves vis-à-vis the regime. They are the local variations in the ‘interconnected, independent, and complementary set of actors’ in civil society (Evans, 2002: 22). Different configurations ‘set the stage’, so to say, differently for civic practices within the overall regime. Civil practices, finally, can be defined as the patterned set of

9 In thinking about the state, for example, Bourdieu and Wacquant (1992: 111) insist that political and bureaucratic change remain a mystery if we assume that the state is a ‘well-defined, clearly bounded and unitary reality that stands in a relation of externality with outside forces’. Similarly, a relational approach would challenge the ‘externality’ of civil society. 10 The concept of a tutelage regime I develop is similar to clientelism, developed by political scientists, but while clientelism refers specifically to a patron-client dyad, tutelage regimes refer to the overall pattern of state openness to societal demands. See Migdal (2001). 11 Dahl’s 1961’s description of New Haven in the 1950s, in which associations of interest representation dialogue with representative institutions would be an example, as would many examples of liberal democracies, in which much of the input occurs through representative institutions.

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day-to-day behaviours oriented towards associational life. When people engage in associational activity, they improvise, but do so based on available scripts and in specific contexts that subtly restrain and enable action; moreover, they are bound by unspoken rules and assumptions (Mische, 2003; Bourdieu, 1977; 1990; 1998).

The Importance of Configurations Within the context of empowered participatory regime of the OP in Porto Alegre, different civic configurations have produced different outcomes. The comparison between the districts Partenon, Nordeste and Norte shows that the routinization and experience of the OP in each of the districts was different. Comparative historical, aggregate, and ethnographic evidence shows that civic configurations set the context for the establishment of the OP and conditioned the types of engagements within it. Table 6.1 summarizes the argument about the three districts. Table 6.1: Civic Configurations and the Orçamento Participativo Nordeste

Partenon

Norte

CIVIC CONFIGURATIONS Level of Organization Organized Opposition to OP Cohesive civic networks

Low No Yes

High No Yes

High Yes No

OUTCOMES Routinized OP Trust in OP Deliberative breakdowns Public sphere Public sphere breakdowns

Yes (High) High Sometimes Yes Yes

Yes High Sometimes Yes Seldom

Yes Lower More often Less often Seldom

While each of the districts hosted the establishment of the OP, and deliberation and open-ended discussions within it, the civic configurations in each were strikingly different. Nordeste had the lowest level of autonomous organization, but civic networks were cohesively organized around the OP and there was no organized resistance. Numerically, participation was highest there, and the levels of trust in the process were also high. Nordeste’s OP deliberations occasionally broke down (although City Hall facilitators were sometimes able to forestall this),

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but the local Budget Forum was also a place for public sphere discussions for the district. The ethnographic evidence presented here also highlights some of the contradictions of ‘government-induced’ participation in Nordeste, where there were so few pre-existing civic networks. It was here that local power brokers interrupted the meetings in order to manifest themselves, because it was the only place in the community where this could be done. The absence ‘recognized activists’ to maintain order, create collective platforms, and assure the quality of discussion meant that the quality of discussion was not the same as in Partenon. Partenon was where the Budget Forum functioned most smoothly, owing to the experience of activists, but also to the fact that there was an active popular council parallel to the OP that effectively mediated demands, protecting smaller neighbourhoods and creating compromises. Participation in Partenon was also not as high in terms of numbers as in Nordeste, and popular council activists often expressed unease at the closeness to the administration their role created. Finally, Norte was where the establishment of the OP was most difficult. The district’s developed civic networks were not integrated with the OP, because its popular council activists boycotted the OP. The conspicuous absence of popular council activists led to more frequent deliberative breakdowns at the Budget Forum, and also did not lend it the quality of public-sphere-type discussions, because it was not a place for the ‘whole community to meet’, as was the case in the other two districts. The comparison shows, first of all, that civic configurations matter, although not simply in terms of sheer ‘stocks of social capital’. The presence and alignment of civic networks are both crucial. An organized civil society and integrated with participatory governance made for the most successful outcomes, whereas a split and oppositional civil society made for the worst. Having virtually no civil society at all did not prevent the routinization of the OP, although, in comparison, the lack of an organized associational counterweight to the OP was detrimental to the meetings in Nordeste. There is no reason to assume that Nordeste will not, in time, develop such networks, but they will be composed of community activists practically all exclusively schooled in the OP rather than in autonomous civil society. Whether that will be detrimental is an open question. But it should be noted that bodies like the CPP that provide a counterweight to the OP were originally conceived of as militant organizations, and to many community activists, their purpose today is unclear. In Nordeste, many activists thus probably do not see the point of creating a popular council. The paradox

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is the existence of organizations like the CPP that enliven the quality of participatory governance.

Militants in Power Political culture within a relational framework has been defined as ‘the accepted and legitimate way of doing politics’, and scholars within this tradition have been attentive to ‘the principles of vision and division that actors apply’ to the social world (Ray, 1999: 8; Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992: 12). That is, attention to the way that actors view and divide the social world tells us something about the way that political culture operates to orient action. In Porto Alegre, a political culture has emerged in civil society that reflects two shifts in terms of principles from previous times. The empowered participatory regime has blurred the boundaries between the ‘world of government’ and ‘the world of the community’, and ‘militancy’ has merged with the concept of ‘citizenship’. In the talk of community activists, it is possible to distinguish three separate sets of values, operating in the three worlds: government, community, and politics. Rules of expertise and specific knowledge bind the world of government, rules of solidarity and honour bind the world of community, and strategic rules and calculations bind the world of parties and party activists. With the OP, the blurry boundaries between government and community have meant new forms of mediation and access open to the ‘average people’. In contrast, activists still see and actively protect a meaningful divide between party politics and community associationalism. In the past, associations in Porto Alegre could be divided by whether they were ‘more combative’ or ‘more social’.12 Some associations were known as more ‘social’, and certain kinds of organizations, like the popular councils, were understood to be ‘militant’. Today this distinction is no longer meaningful. The role of community leaders has similarly changed. In the past, some were defined as ‘militants’ allying themselves with political parties to fight against or to gain favour with government in order to benefit the community. Neighbourhood

12 The distinction is present in both the reflections of social movement activists ‘Avaliação Do Movimento Na Zona Norte’ [1987], and in academic writing on Porto Alegre (Abers, 2000) and on Brazil’s civil society at large (Alvarez, 1993).

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association presidents who were not ‘militant’ were long-term community leaders who fostered close ties with specific politicians. The effectiveness of their leadership depended on the projects they brought to the neighbourhood and the power of their ‘patrons’ in municipal government. It was not uncommon for these ‘brokers’ to campaign for candidates directly, to work as consultants for campaigns, or even to work directly for the municipal government. In the past, it was often necessary to turn to political party activity of some kind to benefit the community. Today, one can easily access government via the OP, and community leaders establish and maintain their respect in the community through this form of participation. The role and place of political parties in this landscape is also transformed, as the locus of politics has shifted outside of the associations themselves. Many community activists have a ‘practical relationship’ to political parties, but even those who have ideological commitments to the PT ‘leave political party activity’ at the door of both the association and the OP. ‘Militancy’ has evolved and merged with a conception of ‘citizenship’ born of the ‘new citizenship’ social movements of the 1980s and 1990s. When asked to describe their participation in community groups, many activists use words and expressions related to both contention (such as ‘fighting for’, ‘militancy’, and ‘the struggle’) and cooperation (‘the community’, ‘citizenship’, and ‘trust’). These two faces of the world of community described by activists, those of cooperation and citizenship, on the one hand, and contention and militancy, on the other, are described as civil society’s ‘two faces’ (Cohen, 1999). The features of civil society in Porto Alegre thus differ from those in other cities in Brazil. The ‘division of worlds’ is central to how activists understand community life, as are popular conceptions of both ‘government’ and ‘politics’.

Community Associations, Militants, and the OP Neighbourhood associations are at the centre of the world of the community, because they are pivotal to collective claim-making, interfacing with authorities, and offering crucial social support to residents. The practice of associations is essentially homogeneous today, with little meaningful difference between ‘militant’ associations and others.

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One of those associations is the Chácara da Fumaça Neighbourhood Association. Founded in 1986, the association has recently distinguished itself by regularly bringing participants to OP meetings, and serving as an important ‘node’ in OP negotiations, such as when delegates voted for a school in the neighbourhood at the expense of other projects. Not far down the road from Chácara da Fumaça is Parque das Orquídeas, a slum settlement on land illegally occupied by squatters. The squatters formed a formal committee in order to participate in the OP and subsequently an association with statutes, a charter, and very active involvement in the OP. The occupation managed to ‘regularize’ its situation, earning the right to name its streets and to demand water and pavement, and residents are now owners of the small plots of land where their homes are. The association has a literacy programme in partnership with the City Hall, and there is talk of starting a day care centre. Neighbourhood associations like Chácara da Fumaça and Parque das Orquídeas are the real centres of the world of the community, where participants find important sources of friendship, cooperation, and collective problem solving. For someone visiting one of these neighbourhoods for the first time, perhaps looking for a relative who lives in the area but who does not have a telephone or even a formal address, the first stop is ‘the association’. These associations provide a wide array of services, from help with domestic disputes to basic information about public health services. Despite the importance of the OP and institutional councils, everyday community life still revolves around these associations, with their presidents often serving as important links to the outside world. Neighbourhood activists today regard solidarity and militancy as the organizing values of the world of the community, and their central institutional base remains the association. Porto Alegre has over 600 neighbourhood associations spread out throughout the city, with heavy representation in its working-class and poor neighbourhoods. Over half of the associations that existed in 2002 had been founded or restarted after the establishment of the OP.13 Most neighbourhood associations solve collective problems or ‘defend the interests of the community’. Whether founded before or after the OP, most neighbourhood associations had been established to resolve demands involving urban services. Over half of the city’s associations

13 This figure is higher than Avritzer’s (2002) finding that 35 percent of associations had been founded since the establishment of the OP.

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have in recent times circulated petitions, directly contacted the media, or made demands of politicians. The vast majority of associations participated in the OP and actively sought funding for projects. While almost all associations carried out other tasks, OP projects were a priority activity for most associations’ aggregate demands. This meant encouraging members to attend meetings, ‘fighting for’ improvements in the OP, and actively fostering spaces for collective deliberation and discussion to address OP priorities and elect delegates. In Norte, for example, every March, each neighbourhood association set up meetings with both OP budget councillors and City Hall employees. Associations also have talks on particular topics and occasionally bring in politicians to debate their campaign proposals at election time. Inasmuch as most associations are involved in specific demands, most of which are met through the OP, the old distinctions between ‘combative’ and ‘social’ associations have become redundant. Associations continue to provide social services, whether formally or through informal networks of mutual assistance. In the past they were directly involved in providing social services, but the current scarcity of such programmes at the federal and state level means that they now provide services such as day care centres, adult literacy programmes, and community health screenings in partnership with the City Hall. In practice, association leaders are informally expected to ‘solve problems’ in the community: [T]he president of a vila is like a parent, you know? I see this now; after I got elected, when there is a problem with the neighbour, they come here. Look, last weekend this happened. ‘Vera, the neighbour in front had a lot of garbage in front of the house and scratched my car, can you talk to him?’ So I have to leave home, go there speak with the neighbour, to solve the problem. Or the neighbour is drunk, screams all night long, nobody could sleep, so they come here. I thought we should call the police, but then I thought I would make an enemy, so I had to go talk to him. . . . If a light is broken in the street, they come here. When a pipe explodes, they come here. This is the president’s job.14

Associations also frequently have social functions. Both Chácara and Parque elected delegates to the OP and hosted social events, including parties and dances. In terms of substantive concerns, both associations

14

Vera, interview 1999.

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worked as partners in the organization of a day care centre in Parque and a literacy programme in Chácara. For Parque, the slum settlement, one of the main issues of concern was security and policing of the neighbourhood. Responding to growing violence and inadequate police involvement in community affairs, the association organized a protest, and went to the media with its complaints. With substantial support from other neighbourhood associations across the city, the Parque association held a meeting with the sergeant responsible for policing the area, as well as with the municipal Housing Department. Leadership is an important element of the neighbourhood associations. One year after the founding of the Chácara da Fumaça association, a faction opposing the founding directors ‘staged a coup’ and voted the board of directors out. The issue was fiscal impropriety, even though the association had little money at the time. The deposed board of directors sought legal action against the ‘usurpers’, accusing their critics of ‘political motives’. The woman who had led the charges of corruption and then became president of the association had been a ‘community advisor’ to a prominent populist Partido Democrático Trabalhista (PDT) politician. The previous board of directors had included one community activist who belonged to the PT. In this context, the OP provides proof of community leadership, rationalizing support for one candidate in neighbourhood association elections rather than another. In 1998, a typical neighbourhood association election flyer read: ‘VOTE SLATE 1 FOR THE DIRECTORATE OF THE ASSOCIATION: LEADERSHIP, PARTICIPATION, AND RESULTS. . . . The candidates of SLATE 1 have participated regularly in the OP since 1993 and have brought results’.15 The OP is known as a place where neighbourhood activists can make a name for themselves by bringing impressive numbers of participants, as well as by ensuring that their delegates are constructively informed about both the issues and the rules. The uncompromising posture of neighbourhood leaders who are not intimidated by the college-educated talk of City Hall representatives is often seen as evidence of integrity. One member of the board of directors of Parque, said she gained respect in the community because she does not ‘make a distinction between the government of different political parties; I am not like some of my

15

Associação Parque dos Maias, ‘Eleições’ (1998). Porto Alegre.

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companheiros who are afraid to criticize the PT. I am also not intimidated because some engineer has a university education’. In other words, activists understood that names and reputations were established, maintained, and challenged in the OP. Those who established themselves as community leaders were able to demonstrate not only competency but the skills that made them stand out at OP meetings. Some, who wished to be known for their tenacity and fighting spirit went out of their way to maintain an uncompromising posture in the meetings. The paradox, of course, is that by participating in the meetings, however militantly, they tacitly agreed to the rules of the process itself. However unruly participants became at meetings, they were still present and not outside publicly opposing City Hall. This paradox left many organizations and activists with doubts about the purpose and meaning of militant politics in civil society.

Militant No More? The Role of Popular Councils ‘I am afraid we have become tools of the administration’, a long-time PT activist on the Partenon Popular Council told me. The school where the Norte Popular Council meets every other week is a few kilometres from the Chácara da Fumaça Neighbourhood Association. Meetings usually begin with announcements, followed by business items; these habitually include the admonition of particular municipal departments and complaints about ongoing intrigue within neighbourhood associations, such as claims of corruption or voting impropriety. About once a month, municipal departments are invited to attend the Popular Council meetings to address activists, who hold them accountable for previous commitments. Thirty to forty participants attend any given meeting and the proceedings often turn chaotic. Owing to a long history of grassroots mobilization, coupled with tensions between the populist PDT control of the Popular Council and OP activists, these meetings in Norte are more combative than ‘social’. Norte’s Popular Council was created after intense confrontations over urban services, between neighbourhood activists and municipal authorities in the mid 1980s. With the PT victory, some key Popular Council leaders left in order to join the new administration, thereby weakening the overall effectiveness of the organization and handing over political control to the populist PDT supporters. As a previously militant and politically heterogeneous organization whose primary

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objective had been democratic access to urban services, the Popular Council in Norte faced a dilemma over its organizational role within the new PT regime. Popular councils in Brazil are autonomous institutions that hold regular district-level meetings on a weekly or bimonthly basis for representatives of neighbourhood associations and citizens who wish to discuss the district’s problems.16 While popular councils do not have any formal power over neighbourhood associations or over the OP, they serve as intermediaries between local associations and the municipal government, coordinating activities between neighbourhood associations, for instance, to make sure a fund-raiser does not overlap with a cultural event in a nearby neighbourhood, settling disputes among and within associations, and deploying collective resources to solve district-level problems. The Norte Popular Council was not involved in the OP, and its directors made it a point not to participate. In the past, the Popular Council had, in fact, organized opposition to the establishment of the OP, which for some years had caused participation to ‘dry up’ according to one participant. At the time of my fieldwork, the Popular Council oriented its activities toward the municipal government, serving as an ‘autonomous’ intermediary body, often taking up the causes of associations that felt wronged in the OP and sometimes acting as an ‘independent overseer’ to the process. Norte’s Popular Council had historically counted on participation from the twenty neighbourhood associations in the district, but by 2000, only eight associations were participating in its meetings. The leaders of the Popular Council would at times solicit participation from favela residents precisely because their demands within the OP were among the most difficult to solve. PT activists saw this as strategic, since the PDT loyalists were the same neighbourhood leaders who had earlier shunned favela residents, labelling them as outside of the ‘good community’. The Popular Council now actively took up their cause and used its stature in the community to demand to speak first at OP meetings in order to criticize the administration for, among other things, failing to meet

16 Popular councils in Brazil date from the pro-democracy movement, and in Porto Alegre, they date from the late 1980s, just prior to the PT victory. Popular councils are autonomous of political parties and of the government and have no institutional power. See Azevedo (1988). They are analogous to North American ‘citizens’ leagues’ in that they are civic organizations with a social movement orientation. See Boyte (1992).

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the needs of favela residents. One long-time resident of the district and once the head of the Popular Council, explained that ‘community activism has died. No one around here questions the administration any more, so that’s what we do’. The difficulty for the Popular Council, however, was that as its leaders pursued a strategy of opposition, they began to be seen as disruptive by other participants. As a new delegate in the district’s OP forum told me, ‘I don’t know about those who just come to make noise to oppose the process. I don’t think it’s honest’. The Norte Popular Council faced the dilemma of being a ‘militant’ organization in an environment where many of its demands were met through other means. Its unremitting opposition to the OP had costs in terms of long-term legitimacy and new participants. In fact, the council had steadily lost participants over the 1990s, and one of the directors confided that he was unsure ‘whether the Popular Council would survive much longer’. The Partenon Popular Council (CPP) took a different route, since many of its activities revolved around proposing policies to the municipal government. Originally an autonomous umbrella organization dedicated to fostering discussion on common problems in the district, it drew participants from various neighbourhoods. Community activists involved in the CPP noted that ‘before the Budget Forum meetings, it was almost impossible to count on people showing up to a meeting’. By 2000, the CPP had become an important district-level forum for conversations about community affairs, although it was also closely linked to OP meetings, to which its yearly schedule was always tied. The principal community activists in the CPP were the same as those in the OP meetings, and they coordinated activities between the two. Moreover, a significant portion of CPP meetings was dedicated to the issues raised in OP meetings, and the same City Hall facilitator attended both sets of meetings. On a few occasions entire meetings were dedicated to solving community disputes, which had initially erupted in an OP meeting. In other words, the CPP complemented the OP. Nonetheless, even in Partenon, recurring tensions arose about the appropriate role of the Popular Council in relation to the OP, and a handful of activists clearly want greater autonomy. At every other CPP meeting, activists spent some time arguing about whether one another’s ‘interventions’ in the OP had been too uncritical of the PT. They also argued about whether delegates were ‘personalist’ or self-serving in their deliberation—as when one of the community activists in a

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plenary OP meeting announced publicly that a particular ‘road would not have happened without me’. In this way, activists in Partenon used CPP meetings as an additional site to think through their practice in the OP collectively. Community activists also point out another side of the world of the community, one that some feel has declined. The earlier generation of activists from various political orientations on occasion lament the decline of the ‘movement’ side of the community movement in Porto Alegre. Even those who said they were convinced of the OP’s merits spoke of the diminished ‘militancy’ of the social movement and associations. They blamed the OP and the administration for making ‘the movement’ less militant and combative and abolishing some of its principal functions. One community leader who had ties with numerous different political parties other than the PT, admits: ‘Some things have really changed. Today it doesn’t matter whether you collect signatures and take them to the City Hall, or whether you get along with the city councillor. Everything is more correct now. Really, everything is through the OP. But the OP has almost ended with the community movement. ‘Everything is through the OP’. As the OP has become routinized and has brought in more participants, its impact has grown and transformed the rules of civic life. Although political party activity was considered a separate realm from community activism, the OP democratized access to governmental decision making. This has affected the functioning of associations in civil society, as the OP itself has become a central locus where activists both resolve issues and display political competence. Budget councillors have become important figures in the community, and the OP itself has now become a setting where activists debate politics in a coded way. It is broadly understood that while explicit party activism is off-limits, critiques of the OP are directed at the PT. Only a minority of any given district’s residents engage explicitly in political party activism. Many older activists with backgrounds in social movements argued that it had been difficult to establish an autonomous forum like a popular council in districts such as Nordeste, where despite a renewal of civil society, community activism had become so centred around the OP: autonomous popular councils are important as a counterweight to the OP. But even when such institutions existed in particular districts, the dilemma of retaining the popular council’s original function as a ‘militant organization’ was complicated for numerous activists. Relating

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to the state after it has been ‘taken over’ by sympathetic forces obliges activists in formerly oppositional organizations constantly to re-imagine and reinvent the roles of their organizations. The PT and Civil Society One important lesson that can be drawn from Porto Alegre’s OP is the urgent need to re-imagine the role of political parties and their relationship to civil society. The traditional political process model has treated political parties as institutional players in the polity that can occasionally be an ally to social movements. However, owing to institutional imperatives, political parties can often cause social movements to demobilize. Social movement researchers and civil society theorists have often been sceptical of political parties, pointing to the inherently conservative logic of institutional structures, as opposed to the democratic logic of social movements.17 A sophisticated rendering of the potential relationships between parties and movements is offered by Roberts, who argues that leftist Latin American political parties have faced considerable challenges in creating popular constituencies that span different social movements (Roberts, 1998). The PT has often been treated as an exception to this rule, as a political party that organically reflects social movements and has maintained a kind of internal democracy that preserves the autonomy of social movements within it.18 In fact, the PT’s dilemma early on was to decide whether it was a social movement or a party (Keck, 1992). The Porto Alegre story in the late 1990s suggests a rather different analysis. It is clear that the PT in the administration of Porto Alegre is not a social movement, and administrators no longer harbour such illusions. Its relationship to civil society is largely mediated through participatory forums like the OP. The party’s relationship to civil society is not an instrumental one, however, as its reproduction in power does not depend on its direct influence on civil society. Its ability to remain in power depends on supporting forums where civil society is autonomous and empowered to make claims. This is a novel way for a political party to operate. 17

There is a long tradition of this line of thinking buttressed by real experiences in Europe and elsewhere. In addition to Michels (1949), see Piven and Cloward (1979); Lipset (1997); Cohen and Arato (1992). 18 See, e.g. Lowy (1987).

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This kind of party practice—relating to organized and unorganized sectors via the sponsorship of autonomous participatory spaces—reflects a decade of experience with participatory democracy that has radicalized the party’s attitude to civil society. This represents a shift away from traditional leftist visions of party hegemony over civil society, in which a leftist political party dominates associational life, as described by David Kertzer in the case of ‘Red Bologna’.19 The stance of the PT within the OP, honed through its turns in government, was one that neither sought to bring social movements under the tutelage of the party (as its appendages) nor was predicated on imposing the party’s ideology on government. Rather, this participatory stance was one that turned the instruments of government into tools to facilitate and foster discussion among organized and unorganized sectors in local settings so as to negotiate their relationship to government (and thus to the party) and to one another. This form of radical democracy turned social movements and unorganized citizens alike into participants, and its quality depended precisely on the autonomy of these participatory spaces from party control. At OP meetings, for instance, PT members did not participate as ‘party members’ but rather as independent citizens or members of autonomous civil society organizations. In fact, from the purely instrumental point of view of the party’s electoral reproduction there could be a danger that these spaces could be used against the party itself. There was little attempt to control the content of discussions in participatory budgeting in Porto Alegre, and OP meetings there were far from being party-controlled spaces. It is possible to imagine, of course, that with less disciplined local parties and less vigilant community activists, such meetings might have deteriorated into settings serving only to bolster the party administering them, thus subtly reintroducing tutelage. This has not, however, been the case in Porto Alegre, where the participants were vigilant about what they saw as political party activity and the instrumentalization of the OP. A 2001 survey of participants in the OP showed that while expressed ‘political sympathy’ for the PT ran high among them (54 per cent), this

19 ‘Red Bologna’ was split in the 1970s between the ‘world of the party’ and the ‘world of the church.’ The Communist Party of Italy maintained control over organizations in civil society that were ultimately understood to be appendages of the party and bound by its political directives and hierarchy, and where ‘the authority and prestige of the party are reinforced’ and ‘Party positions are extolled and the various party officers high status is validated.’ (Kertzer, 1980: 48) and See also Jäggi et al. (1977).

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was no higher than the citywide preference for the PT (64 per cent). Participation in a PT local was low among participants (less than 5 per cent), and did not translate into any greater likelihood of being elected a delegate or councillor.20 There is also little evidence of the instrumentalization of civil society. Although the PT has continued to be elected to municipal office, voters continue to vote for other parties in the municipal legislature, which still control two-thirds of it. In fact, the distance that most civic leaders took from party affairs and their professed autonomy from party politics might mean that Porto Alegre’s civic organizations would not shy away from mobilizing against the PT. When Tarso Gemo quit his position as mayor in 2002 to run for governor, he won in Porto Alegre by only a few hundred votes, suggesting that this is an active civil society whose support cannot be taken for granted. Some anecdotal interviews suggest this was a targeted vote to register dissatisfaction with the ex-mayor.21 Nonetheless, insightful case studies raise questions about whether there has been a reintroduction of tutelage in the guise of participatory budgeting in some other PT-controlled cities (Nylen, 2003). And the quality of democracy has been questioned in the very large assemblies of the state-level OP in Rio Grande do Sul (Goldfrank and Schneider, 2003). Certainly, an important issue for future comparative work on participatory democracy will be understanding whether there are specificities that account for instances when empowered participatory reforms deteriorate into tutelage. A challenge for party and community activists who introduce empowered participation will be to protect the autonomy of participatory spaces. The Porto Alegre case is one in which a political party has remained in power for over fifteen years by requiring the allegiance of civil society, not to a political ideology, but to a set of rules of engagement that left civil society both its autonomy and the power to make meaningful decisions about governance. This kind of relationship is much beyond the purview of current political process theories, as well as still beyond the political imagination of activists who draw sharp distinctions between the logic and goals of political parties and civil society and who wish to preserve the purity and autonomy of civil society.

20 Based on statistical analyses, not reported here, of 2001 data. See the website: www.participatorybudgeting.org. 21 Genro had left the post of mayor midterm to run for governor.

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Politicizing the Civic and Not Civilizing the Political: Implications and Lessons The greatest innovation of the empowered participatory regime in Porto Alegre has been to create institutional channels to connect civic participation to what the political philosopher Chantal Mouffe, pace Carl Schmitt, calls the ‘the political’, the inescapable realm of human conflict, which in urban peripheries in Brazil is so often about material resources and access to urban services. This empowered participatory regime has translated the innovation of social movements of the 1980s in Brazil—movements that sought to ‘politicize’ and expand citizenship—into citywide practices of demand making that radically democratized access to resources and services. Civic participation under Porto Alegre’s OP was not neutral, in the sense that it was not disinterested. On the contrary, civic life for most community activists in Porto Alegre was very much about achieving collective goals, contesting resources, and engaging other collective actors who seek the same. But civic participation had clear explicit and implicit rules—participants may not have seen eye to eye, but there was always mutual respect among fellow participants: they were antagonists, not what Mouffe (1992) would call enemies. Coordinating different interests in the OP is about finding compromises that are conditional on all parties accepting the rules of the game. Literally thousands of Porto Alegre’s poorer citizens participated and made claims as empowered citizens in this way. Moreover, the OP has captured the imagination of local administrators and electors throughout Brazil. In the 1997–2000 period, at least 100 administrations experimented with it, and in the 2001–4 period at least twice that many have been attempting it, with very many cases of municipalities run by other political parties doing so. Many have drawn inspiration from Porto Alegre, which raises several issues for further comparative work. Can Porto Alegre’s lessons be extended throughout Brazil, or is it an exception? Would OP reforms have the same outcomes in places with much less developed civil societies, for example? Civil society was demobilized in 1988 in Porto Alegre as a result of the tutelage regime, but it was already quite developed there as compared to other cities in Brazil, particularly those in areas of the country where associationalism has traditionally been weaker, such as the north (Avritzer, 2003). Porto Alegre’s large number of European immigrants, gaucho culture, and past as an ‘oppositional’ city have also been cited

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as making it an exception.22 Perhaps more important, the city’s union of neighbourhood associations, UAMPA, originally called for the OP as early as 1986, and the presence of organized neighbourhood activism were crucial in fine-tuning and improving the participatory process. In sum, it can be argued that the rapid and significant changes, in civil society in Porto Alegre would not have been possible in some settings without these factors, if, indeed, participation could have been instituted at all. However, there are also reasons to qualify the case for the ‘Porto Alegre exception’. Some districts of the city without significant associational life in fact experienced the most significant changes over time. The Nordeste district, for example, is an example of how the process can take hold in an inauspicious setting. It is one of the poorest and most remote districts of the city; and most of the ‘popular settlements’ there are resettlements from other parts of the city. Despite only four functioning neighbourhood associations in 1989, the district has had some of the highest numbers of participants in the OP in the whole city. Working around the OP has also been an important impetus for fostering other associations. In the second year of the OP here, the participants rented a bus that drove around from settlement to settlement to decide on priorities and needs, because ‘it would be impossible to know what was going on in another settlement without seeing it’. By 2001, twenty-eight different associations had elected delegates in the proceedings. Studies from other settings in Brazil, both in the north and northeast, thought to be less civic than the south, or from smaller municipalities, call into question the conclusion that there is some rigid necessary precondition for the establishment of OP. Successful examples have existed in discouraging settings, such as in the municipality of Icapuí in Ceara and in Belem, the capital city of the state of Para, where lack of autonomous organizing and the strength of clientelistic traditions might have been thought to make participatory democracy ‘impossible’. A number of contextual factors and local interactions in fact account for whether democratic experiments like Porto Alegre’s are possible.23

22 Porto Alegre was the capital of the opposition to the attempted military coup in August 1961, when Governor Leonel Brizola barricaded himself in the governor’s palace and pledged that Porto Alegre would defend democracy until the end (Cortes, 1974: 355). 23 See the reviews in Avritzer (2003) and Baiocchi (2003).

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The most important precondition is the lack of organized opposition in civil society. Insofar as the municipalities have few or no association networks, there will also most likely not be much organized opposition. Those who have relied on regional stereotypes about the south of Brazil as an explanation for Porto Alegre’s success forget that one key problem with many of the early PT administrations was the inability to find a way to give voice to organized social movements within the administration without succumbing to the charge of privileging ‘special interests’ and without becoming embroiled in factional disputes between social movements within the party. Highly organized civil societies have thus just as often had trouble with participation. The presence of participants who do not belong to organized sectors has helped the PT administration in Porto Alegre shield itself from such charges, as well as prevented the demands of organized sectors from overwhelming the administration. On the other hand, the same reviews have pointed to the importance of an adequate municipal resource base. In some municipalities in the metropolitan region of Porto Alegre, for example, OP-type reforms have not been very successful in activating civic engagement, partially because of the lack of resources for the OP (Silva, 2001). But what the Porto Alegre case shows very clearly is that one lesson is that those outside of social movements and neighbourhood associations have provided as much of the dynamism and legitimacy of participatory governance as those inside them, and that the central issue in capturing the dynamics of participation in the OP lies in the relationships between local configurations of civil society and a state-civil society regime.

CHAPTER SEVEN

STATE-SOCIETY SYNERGY AND THE PROBLEMS OF PARTICIPATION IN PORTO ALEGRE Rebecca N. Abers

Why would political actors who win highly competitive and costly elections, choose once in office to give power to other people—ordinary citizens or civic associations—by creating participatory decision-making forums? The answer for Phillip Selznick, in his classic study of participatory arenas created in the 1940s in the Tennessee Valley of the United States is that such forums give legitimacy to governments while allowing them to retain real decision making power. Much of the literature on state-initiated participatory experiments has retained such scepticism. When governments create arenas for popular participation, their ability to control agendas and information makes it very easy to manipulate decision-making, while creating an impression that power has been devolved to citizens (Coit, 1978; Cooke and Kothari, 2001; Gilbert and Ward, 1984; Gittell, 1983). Something different occurred in Porto Alegre, Brazil, in the 1990s, as has been demonstrated by countless studies of the Participatory Budgeting experiment in that city.1 The government devolved power to citizen groups and in doing so mobilized thousands of residents and profoundly transformed political traditions in the city. Yet to what extent did residents really determine the budget? This contribution explores the deliberative power acquired by participants of the Porto Alegre budget programme. It will first develop a basic framework for identifying participatory policies that empower the poor and politically excluded and the problems that have to be overcome for this to occur. Then, to explain how the Porto Alegre administration indeed overcame those obstacles, I explore how, under certain conditions, state and civil

1 For Example, Abers (2000); Avritzer and Navarro (2003); Santos (2002); Souza (2001); Baiocchi (2005).

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society can interact in a mutually reinforcing ‘synergy,’ that ultimately allows for participatory fora to devolve real power to citizens.

Defining an ‘Empowering Participatory Policy’ Proposals for direct citizen participation in government decision-making have a long history in both political theory and policy practice. One frequently used argument for participation is what Goulet (1989) calls the ‘instrumental’ approach: involving citizens in policy-making and implementation will make for the more effective achievement of policy goals. Civic associations are good at monitoring the everyday activities of government and business, promoting cooperation among disparate groups, and accessing and articulating certain types of ‘local’ information and knowledge. The participation of beneficiaries will also increase their sense of ownership of projects, thus ensuring that they continue to invest in them over time, for example by maintaining infrastructure improvements long after government investments have been made (Cohen and Rogers, 1992; Oakley, 1991; White, 1982). Yet the argument for participation goes beyond its potential for promoting good, efficient public decision-making. Political theory has long examined citizen participation in governing from the perspective of empowerment. That is, participation is not only an matter of transferring public responsibilities to civic groups but also about increasing citizen control over the state and of improving the capacity of ordinary people to understand and decide about issues affecting their lives more generally. On the one hand, direct democratic forums are spaces where traditionally excluded groups can gain access to the state, making decisions affecting their lives that would normally be made by their representatives or by bureaucrats. It thereby increases the control citizens have over government. At the same time, participation contributes to the political development of individuals. Participatory forums provide an environment in which people can gain skills, knowledge, and organizing capabilities that help them both to control the state more effectively and to respond to problems themselves without the state’s interference.2 Many authors further argue that participation not only

2 For more on the developmental role of participation in this sense, see Pateman (1970: 45–66); Macpherson (1977); Gould (1988); and Held (1987).

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 141 promotes individual development but also fosters social consciousness and political community. As people discuss their position on particular issues with others, they step out of their narrow understanding of their own self-interests into a perspective that takes collective needs and interests into account as well.3 It is not surprising that in government and policy circles, radically different types of programmes are called ‘participatory.’ Most of them however, probably could not be described as contributing to the empowerment of poor people. Participatory policies differ according who is invited to participate, the tasks participants are engaged in, and the decision-making power that participants have. Who Should Participate Many ‘citizen advisory boards’ are made up of community leaders, ‘eminent residents,’ or skilled professionals that government officials—the mayor, the city council, the president—nominate. In other cases, participation is open to representatives from a government-defined list of community associations, civil groups, labour unions, or professional organizations. Only in some cases does participation involve open assemblies in which all area residents are welcome to attend and where smaller commissions are, made up of people elected by those residents. Those who defend participation from an ‘instrumental’ perspective probably are not concerned with making participatory spaces as open as possible. Those spaces are designed to provide information to the government and to reduce the costs of implementation. But from an empowerment perspective, participation should increase the control that most citizens especially members of disadvantaged groups, can have over government decisions. From this perspective, the more open a process is to the participation of what Stiefel and Wolfe (1994: 6) call ‘those hitherto excluded from such control,’ the better.4

3 For arguments on how participation raises ‘collective sensibilities,’ see Bachrach (1975); Barber (1984); Graham (1986); and Warren (1992). 4 I accept Stiefel and Wolfe’s (1994) reference to the ‘hitherto excluded’ as a useful term for ‘who should be empowered.’ This conception came out of a wide debate within the UN Program on Participation that concluded that narrower definitions such as ‘the working class’ do not include many disadvantaged groups, or those whom Young (1990) refers to as ‘oppressed social groups.’ Such definitions are particularly important in Third World contexts, where large portions of the population are not incorporated into the traditional working class, but gain their livelihood through what Coraggio

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The full participation by all residents of a given territorial unit should not, however, be a requirement for empowerment. The idea of total participation, as originally proposed by Rousseau (1950), is both impractical and potentially coercive. It is impractical because faceto-face assemblies do not work where issues affect large numbers of people; moreover, people cannot be expected to have the time to acquire specialized knowledge about all the complex issues that affect their lives. Some form of representation or delegation is therefore necessary (Barber, 1984: 272; Mansbridge, 1980: 278–289). Total participation can be coercive because, even if opportunities for participation exist, many people may not want to get involved. Numerous scholars argue that rather than insisting that all people discuss all issues, all policy arenas should simply be open to the control of those who want to participate. This will ensure both that government decision-making is accessible to ordinary people (control) and that all people have the opportunity to gain experience in public decision-making (development). The Tasks of Participants At one extreme, people may be invited to participate only in the execution of a government policy that they have had little influence in formulating. Residents of low-income neighbourhoods may be asked, for example, to spend their weekends building storm drains or other basic urban infrastructure, according to the specifications defined by a city agency. At the other extreme, participation may involve the definition of policy goals and objectives. Participants may discuss how environmental regulations should be defined, what type of economic development projects should be implemented, or (as in the case of the participatory budget) how public spending should be distributed among projects and sites. Often, participatory policies lie somewhere between these two, with participants having some input into both policy design and implementation. Instrumental visions of participation typically involve little more than local resident involvement in policy implementation.

(1994) calls the ‘Popular Economy,’ a wide spectrum of microbusinesses, autonomous commercial endeavours, flexible day employment, domestic work, and so on. In rural areas, many people also defy traditional class descriptions, combining subsistence work with part-time seasonal employment. Finally, the idea of the ‘hitherto excluded’ also reminds us to seek the inclusion of women, racial minorities, and other groups that may be excluded from public decision-making for a variety of reasons.

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 143 But an empowerment perspective of participation would favour those programmes in which participants focused on defining policy goals as well, because doing so would give citizens greater control over the state. The Power of Participants Participatory decision-making forums also vary dramatically with respect to the amount of real control that participants actually have over government decision-making. This point is made effectively by Sherry Arnstein in her classic (1969) article, ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participation.’ Arnstein defined eight levels of participation. The first two levels, Manipulation and Therapy, she calls ‘Non participation.’ The next levels, Informing, Consultation, and Placation, are ‘Degrees of Tokenism.’ Only Partnership, Delegated Power, and Citizen Control can be called ‘Degrees of Citizen Power.’ Arnstein argues that public policies rarely provide for ‘Citizen Control,’ where ‘have-not citizens obtain the majority of decision-making seats, or full managerial power.’ As rare as it may be, this last conception of participation is what most democratic theorists have in mind when they propose that participation in public policy will empower those who are traditionally excluded from political decision-making. With these three points in mind, an ‘empowering participatory policy’ would be one that (1) is broadly open to those who were ‘hitherto excluded’ from public decision-making; (2) involves the discussion of government policy goals and agendas, rather than merely the implementation of predesigned programmes; and (3) involves effective citizen control, through which those who participate have real deliberative power. Even these points fit on a sliding scale. An open policy can always be more open, if efforts are made to ensure the dissemination of information and to facilitate the participation of those who may not have the time or knowledge to participate. The policy goals discussed can be narrow or broad, ranging from specific issues or small localized projects to the discussion of larger policy goals and guidelines. The extent of citizen control can also vary: participants may gain final decision-making power over some aspects of a policy arena but not others, or they may have official power over issues that they do not have the knowledge or the time to deliberate about effectively. Understanding that these characteristics are relative, I will hereafter refer to an ‘empowering participatory policy’ as one that fulfils to some

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degree each of these three requisites. There is always room for more empowerment.

Dilemmas of Participation Although political theorists have spent much energy imagining participatory systems of decision-making that empower the ‘hitherto excluded,’ the literature on participatory experiments has suggested that even when policymakers intend to create public forums giving real decision-making power to those who are traditionally excluded from government decision-making, participatory policies are not always successful at actually empowering the poor. These studies identify three general groups of problems of participation that can impede the creation of participatory policies that, according to the above definition, empower the hitherto excluded. The first group can be generally labelled implementation problems. Often, reformist groups within governments, in many cases with empowerment objectives in mind, call for participatory programmes. But frequently these groups are not capable of implementing their ideals either because they cannot mobilize the administration toward participatory policy or because they fear the political backlash that may result.5 The second major group of problems identified in studies of participatory experiments can be called inequality problems. Even when governments do give citizen forums real decision-making power, disadvantaged social groups are less likely to participate. People with low incomes generally have less free time to attend assemblies and less spare change to ease the burden of travel to assembly places and the cost of taking time off from work. Those who lack formal education may have limited capacity for understanding complex policy issues. They have a disadvantage in arguments or debates with technically qualified participants. Women are doubly constrained by domestic

5 For a survey of Third World experiences where state-sponsored attempts at participation were undermined by implementation problems, see Stiefel and Wolfe (1994). The literature on ‘failed’ attempts at implementing participation is quite large. For a sample of accounts in a variety of contexts, see also Boggs (1986: 139–169); Cabral and de Moura (1996); Couto (1995); Gilbert and Ward (1984); Cunill (1991, 1996); Goulet (1989); Hall (1988); Kahn (1986: 145–193); Wolfe (1982) Marris and Rein (1982).

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 145 responsibilities that reduce their free time, the lack of child care, which limits their ability to leave their homes, and social norms prohibiting political activism. To make things worse, members of all disadvantaged groups—women, the poor, racial and ethnic minorities—often do not have the self-confidence to voice their opinions in public spaces, even if they do find the time and money to attend. In this context, many authors thus suggest that participatory systems can simply reproduce the elitism and inequalities of representative systems. Worse, they can create new elites made up of ‘professional participants’ while most people continue to be excluded from decision-making.6 The third group of obstacles to empowering participation—upon which this chapter focuses—relates to the level of citizen control. As already noted, most participatory programmes do not provide for citizen control of government in practice. Many have argued that their purpose is instead to create a veneer of public legitimacy and popular support around policymaking and to demobilize potentially destabilizing civic leaders. Even where representatives of the poor and of other groups traditionally excluded from government decision-making are included in participatory forums, the inclusion can be a means of controlling those groups, rather than giving them power. Citizen forums can draw potentially combative civic leaders into a government-controlled sphere. The result can be the demobilization of independent community organizations, as potential ‘troublemakers’ are kept busy working on the projects that government determines are ‘safe.’7 How can these dilemmas be overcome? As civic groups mobilize and gain strength in response to state actions, they can increase their potential to influence the state as well. Most of the work on the state’s influence on civic groups in Latin America has focused on clientelism and corporatism and has emphasized the capacity of the state to control and co-opt those groups. But I suggest that a different path is possible: the state can promote the formation of civic groups over which it then

6 Empirical research on the inequality problem can be found in Mansbridge (1980); Marris and Rein (1982); Oliver (1984); Verba and Nie (1972); Agger (1979); Thomas (1985); Berry et al. (1993); Coit (1978); Jackson and Shade (1973); Hutcheson (1984). Some authors that discuss inequality problem from a political theory perspective are Mansbridge (1980); Gutmann (1980); Phillips (1991); Young (1990); Sartori (1987); Cohen and Rogers (1992). 7 Some of the authors that criticize participatory programmes for co-opting citizen groups are Goodman (1971); Coit (1978); Gittell (1983); Piven (1970); and Selznick (1949).

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does not necessarily have full control. One of the results is that those groups can come to demand changes in the policy agenda of the state itself. A number of authors have argued for an understanding of state-society relations as an interactive process. The state may have substantial influence over social formations, but those formations may also have a life of their own, which state actors cannot control. In this sense, both the state and society are partially autonomous from each other and neither evolves as a pure function of the other. This is what Kohli and Shue (1994: 294) refer to as the ‘recursive’ or ‘mutually transforming nature of state-society interactions.’ Several contributions in a volume edited by Migdal, Kohli, and Shue (1994) show how such interactions can lead to both positive and negative policy outcomes. A collection of contributions edited by Evans (1996) similarly focuses on ‘state-society synergy.’ Under certain conditions, a virtuous circle can occur where state programmes promote strong civic associations, which in turn promote strong state programmes. If state-sponsored programmes can promote autonomous civic organizations that have a ‘life of their own,’ it is likely that those organizations will have a recursive effect on state policy rather than simply being controlled by it. My case study of the Porto Alegre case shows that where the mobilization, organization, and learning processes that grew out of the ‘enabling environment’ for collective action were most successful, the capacity of the new organizations to hold their own and even to pressure for changes in the PT administration’s policy increased. In this way, the civic mobilization sparked by the budget policy began to grow into a social force of its own, a force that the government could not totally control. Once people began participating, the experience of collective decision-making increased their political efficacy, promoting both the strengthening of cooperative ties of civic organizing and the development of a new political consciousness among participants. At the same time, there was little need for the Porto Alegre government to use participatory forums to ‘divert agendas,’ because participants’ concerns coincided with the government’s interest in promoting a democratic, socially just image and in providing visible benefits to the poor. However, although participants and government agreed on the general focus of the budget policy, they did not always agree on the specifics: what kinds of improvements were most appropriate or technically feasible, what kinds of investments was the government capable of

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 147 carrying out, and just how far participatory decision-making should go in controlling the details of government activity. Government agencies always have much greater technical resources than participants, which allow them to develop convincing explanations for their policy positions. In the Porto Alegre case this imbalance was particularly great, since participants were largely poor people with little formal education. Nevertheless, they proved able to resist, up to a certain level, the government’s greater power of argumentation, and demand control over new arenas of decision-making. In the following section I will examine how this occurred and under what circumstances.

Four Degrees of Citizen Control Porto Alegre’s model of citizen participation in budgeting included a complex array of different types of forums. Neighbourhood meetings set basic priorities for community level infrastructure. Broader districtwide assemblies elect delegates from each neighbourhood. The delegates meet regularly in ‘regional budget forums’ to combine neighbourhood priorities in a single district-wide proposal. At the same time, a similar process occurs around policy issues: open assemblies meet to discuss city-wide capital spending priorities for education, transportation, urban planning, health, and other areas. These assemblies elect ‘thematic delegate forums’ that produce thematic proposals. The district and thematic assemblies also elect councils to the Municipal Budget Council, whose job is to oversee the whole process, devise the rules, divide capital expenditures among the various districts and issues, and approve the overall budget. In the end, it is not a simple task to define exactly when and where participants were able to make the decisions and when the government was able to control the outcomes of the decision making process. It is certainly true that the budget forums had a significant amount of real deliberative power. However, the government’s claim that participants had final say over all aspects of city spending was somewhat misleading. In fact, neither were the participants capable of processing and monitoring all aspects of city spending nor was the government particularly insistent that they control decisions in all areas. In practice, at different stages of the budget process, starting with the discussion of neighbourhood-level capital expenditures and ending with discussion

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of the entire budget document, participants had different amounts of deliberative power over decision-making. I identify four ‘degrees’ of citizen control: Where Bottom-Up Decisions Were Final In some parts of the budget-formulating process, participants made final decisions with little or no intervention on the part of the government. The rules of the budget policy clearly obligated the government to respect these decisions. Where Bottom-Up Decisions Were ‘Negotiated’ with Government In other parts of the process, participants formulated proposals but no clear rules existed concerning the government’s obligation to accept the decisions. Participants engaged in extensive discussion with government. When negotiations went well, participant proposals were likely to be implemented. The opposite was true when they failed. Where Participants Approved Complex Government Proposals Often, government officials asked participants for their approval of proposals the officials had designed. When these proposals were highly complex, the government had nearly total control over how participants perceived them, and participants usually lacked the technical capacity to suggest modifications. Nevertheless, participants ultimately had the power to veto or modify such proposals. Where Government Claimed Veto Power In certain areas of decision-making, the government reserved the right to veto the proposals that participants made. Explanation, negotiation, and discussion usually occurred, but the government had the final say. It should be noted that these ‘degrees’ refer to the actual reach of participant decision-making rather than legal requirements or official claims about the policy. No law existed at the time of my research determining the extent to which the government was required to fulfil participant demands. The government publicly declared that all budget decisions were ‘approved by the Municipal Budget Council.’ But in practice, it had significant influence over the result of many of the

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 149 council’s decisions. Not only did the administration have the monopoly on information about government activities, but also government staff included highly skilled professionals who were nearly always capable of formulating convincing arguments. The only important part of the budget-formulating process that clearly fit into the first category, where bottom-up decisions were final, was the process of defining investment priorities at the regional level. Each year, neighbourhood groups held meetings and came up with ordered lists of priorities in each investment category with little interference from the municipality. Delegates elected to the Regional Budget Forums created final lists, determining an ordering of priorities for the region within each category. My comparison of these regional lists and the final investment plans showed that although it was up to the council to determine the amount of funding each region would receive, neither the government nor the Municipal Budget Council ever decided to override the order of priorities defined at the regional level. Exceptions had to do with government claims of ‘technical feasibility,’ as will be discussed below. At least up to the time of my research, the priorities defined by the thematic forums fit into the second category, where bottom-up decisions were negotiated with the government. Through a series of assemblies each year, participants in these forums would come up with long lists of priorities in different categories: priorities for the capital budget, priorities for the maintenance budget, and priorities for general policy directions. Then, the government would produce an initial proposal that would include some and exclude other priorities defined by the thematic forum participants. Unlike the regional process, the extent to which the government included the forums’ priorities had to do with how successful the negotiating process between administration officials and participants was. Where participants negotiated closely with agency officials, exchanging information about the details of agency activities, they could often come to agreement about which projects that had been implemented should have continued funding, and about changes and new projects. For example, in 1995, the Economic Development Forum met repeatedly with officials from the Secretariat of Industry and Commerce, who convinced the forum to support many ongoing projects. In the Transportation Forum, however, conflicts between participants and officials led to a breakdown of negotiations. The result was that the secretariat’s initial proposal included none of the forums’ prioritized demands but did include continued funding for

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an automated bus-monitoring system that had been soundly rejected by the forum. Most of the work done in the Municipal Budget Council involved the third category of citizen control, where participants approved complex government proposals. Over the year-and-a-half period of my attendance at council meetings, the government presented dozens of proposals for approval. Most of the time, council members had neither the technical capacity nor the time to seriously evaluate them. Most members had little more than primary education and many had full-time jobs that severely limited the time they could devote to council activities. The result was that, with few exceptions, the council simply rubber-stamped government proposals. For example, each year, council members were asked to approve the general budget proposal that divided up the revenues of each agency according to capital expenditures, maintenance, and personnel. Since the proposal was ready only after lengthy negotiations between the budgetary planning agency (GAPLAN) and each city agency, GAPLAN usually presented it just a few weeks before the legal deadline to submit the figures to the City Assembly. In both years that I followed the process, members complained about the rushed circumstances under which the government requested their approval, but they did not challenge the proposal, which always passed within the deadline. Occasionally, council members did resist government proposals. When that occurred, the members were often able to make significant gains. If, for example, the council members representing the thematic forums were unsatisfied with an agency’s incorporation of their priorities, they could mobilize the other councillors to demand modifications in the agency’s capital expenditure proposal. In the first year that the thematic forums existed, no such efforts occurred. In the second year, however, several thematic councillors mobilized to pressure the government to attend to priorities that the agencies had left out of their proposals. After a period of intense negotiation between the Secretariat of Industry and Commerce, the planning office GAPLAN and the councillors, the Economic Development Forum saw two more projects on its priority list included. The Transportation Forum, which had been totally ignored in the initial proposal, also succeeded in getting its top investment priority included in the Investment Plan. Despite the fact that the Municipal Budget Council was apparently capable of changing government priorities, it rarely wielded that power. Sometimes government proposals were accepted only after intense questioning. But in case after case, government officials were able to

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 151 convince the council that their proposals were appropriate. In some decisions, the council had little technical capacity to contest highly complex planning issues, such as how personnel and maintenance revenues should be distributed among agencies or how many kilometres of street pavement the municipality was capable of implementing in a year. But the council also usually approved GAPLAN’s proposals on less technically complicated issues, such as the criteria for distribution of capital expenditures among regions. This compliance suggests that GAPLAN’s ability to convince the council members to favour its proposals was not just a matter of superior technical knowledge and explanatory capacities. The council members were simply overburdened with responsibilities. These unpaid volunteers were expected to meet two or three times a week in the evenings to evaluate the entire city budget. Therefore, there was not sufficient time for them to examine and discuss most issues at length. Furthermore, a (government-proposed, council-approved) ruling limited councillors to two consecutive terms. The idea was to ensure ‘rotation of power,’ but the result was to keep council members inexperienced. The councillors had no independent source of technical advice: they relied on the government for all information regarding revenues and expenditures. Most were simply unaware that many of the issues being discussed were potentially controversial. In some ways, the Municipal Budget Council thus seems to fit the description of a ‘manipulated’ participatory organization. The rules for participation were largely determined by the government. Participants were so burdened with responsibilities that they had little time to do anything beyond rubber-stamping government proposals. They certainly had little time to organize among themselves to come up with their own counterproposals. They also had little technical ability to do so. The Municipal Budget Council did have final approval over most aspects of the budget. But it was generally incapable of taking advantage of this power. As the next section will show, although the Regional Budget Councils had much less official power, they were much more likely to challenge government positions and to mobilize against them.

Regional Forums and Struggles over Technical Criteria The fourth category of citizen control, where the government claimed veto power, applied only to one major part of budget decision-making: issues of technical feasibility. Participants could not approve projects that

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the government determined were impossible, economically prohibitive, or unsafe. Officially, even this area of decision-making was supposed to be subject to the ultimate approval of the Municipal Budget Council. But in practice most issues of technical viability were negotiated between regional delegates and agency officials and never reached the council. Each year, after the Regional Budget Forums presented GAPLAN with their ordered lists of priorities, GAPLAN would submit each demand to the relevant agency. Agency officials would then meet directly with the Regional Budget Forums to discuss projects that they determined were technically unfeasible. The agencies vetoed some projects outright. More often, they negotiated changes in the projects with budget delegates to make them technically acceptable. At times, under pressure from delegates, agencies eventually agreed to implement projects that they had initially rejected. The outcomes had much to do with the capacity of delegates to mobilize pressure on the administration. City agencies raised four types of ‘technical’ problems about the projects that the regional forums proposed. First, agencies sometimes argued that projects were impossible in practice if implemented the way that participants demanded. For example, it would be impossible to connect a neighbourhood to the water system if an adjacent neighbourhood was not already connected; paving the lower portion of a street while leaving unpaved an upper portion would lead to erosion that would destroy the pavement. Such investments would be effective only if they were made along with other investments that, perhaps, participants had not themselves prioritized. Second, the agencies sometimes argued that demands were ‘economically prohibitive,’ costing more than that region’s annual allocation for a certain type of investment. For example, bringing sewer lines to a lowlands neighbourhood would require extremely deep pipelines or the purchase of expensive pumps. Third, the agencies often argued that the projects would break the rules of ‘good urban form.’ For example, on streets narrower than nine meters cars could not pass and sufficiently broad pedestrian walkways could not be built. Fourth, legal barriers were often raised. Privately owned roads could not be paved without permission of the owner. Water and sewer lines also could not pass through private property without permission. During the first PT administration (1989–1992), city agencies rarely vetoed participant demands. The spirit was that ‘the people decide,’ even if the decisions were not technically advisable or economically efficient. One of the hallmarks of the first PT administration was to

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 153 reject technocratic planning traditions, including the idea of applying ‘proper urban form’ to hillside shantytowns. The result was the paving of many narrow, steep hillside avenues and streets and the investment in expensive drainage and sewer projects in isolated and hard-toreach areas. But as the years went by and the second administration took office, some of these ‘alternative’ projects came back to haunt the administration. Some projects that the government had agreed to implement turned out to be extraordinarily expensive. One case was a storm-drain project that would require a multimillion dollar flood control and landfill project, possible only through a large development loan from the federal government or from a multilateral organization. Some of the traditional ‘urban form’ rules turned out to have value. In many cases, for example, narrow favela streets, once paved, often became major thoroughfares where traffic piled up. In response to these problems, the second administration began to call for more rigorous attention to technical rules. The secretary of public works noted: As a group of problems started to come, we realized the need to have minimum criteria, if only to ensure the projects’ success, so that the commitments the government makes . . . can be fulfilled. Because throwing up a project into the air and saying that you are going to do it, without knowing technically if it is adequate, if its cost is going to be supported by the budget, or if, upon being implemented, it is going effectively to improve the quality of life, is like jumping into the dark. That is why technical issues started to become more important to us (Estilac Xavier, secretary of public works, 1993–1996).

In this context, the regional forums increasingly found that their demands had been ‘rejected’ for technical reasons. In most cases, the delegates requested more information about why the rejection had occurred. The agencies would then send officials to meet with the forums and explain the problem. Often, the delegates would be convinced, especially if the agency could argue that the project was technically impossible, rather than simply ‘not recommendable.’ But equally often, the explanations were met with suspicion. Delegates wondered if the problems were really insurmountable or if technical issues were raised to justify rejecting projects that the government did not believe are important. The following comments from delegates express a variety of such distrustful opinions:8 8

All names given for delegates and other participants are pseudonyms.

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rebecca n. abers The government tries to create limits. It tries to create obstacles so that it does not have to attend to everybody (Ivan). The engineers think that a project isn’t so necessary, that it isn’t priority, so they postpone it until next year. We can’t do anything about it. We just prepare for next year (Humberto). It’s so easy to say that something is not viable! In our case, they didn’t want to put 900 meters of pavement in one single place. If you divide up pavement into small projects of 100 or 150 meters, then you attend to a greater number of communities. It’s not in their interest to accept our demand (Rubens). These technical criteria are going to make it so that the municipality no longer does any public works in the favelas, in the illegal city. The majority of streets in Gloria could not be paved according to these rules (Abel). Now SMOV [the Secretariat of Public Works] comes up with the idea that the streets have to be nine meters wide in order to be paved [. . .] It makes sense according to their logic, but if you make all the streets in a favela nine meters wide, you would have to remove one-third of the houses! (Valquiria). I know that if they put the machines to work, if they wanted to, they could do it. Everything is possible if there is good will. But then the tecnicos [experts] say that it can’t be done. We have no idea if what they are saying makes sense (Helena). It’s the bad will of the tecnicos. Because the incline index that they say we must have is much more than what they ask for in other places. The Vila do Sargento is 30 per cent steeper than we are, but they put a sewer in there (Janio).

Despite their general lack of technical information, these statements show that participants were capable of arguing quite effectively with government personnel. Some questioned the validity of imposing technical restrictions altogether, expressing the belief that the government was able to carry out any project if it had the political will to do so. Other participants noted that such technical criteria were morally unacceptable: if ‘good urban form’ were always given priority, most poor neighbourhoods in the city would be excluded from investment. Since the PT administration was supposed to be governing for the poor, and since in other ‘alternative projects’ the government had advertised its commitment to the ‘informal city,’ such appeals had force in the negotiating process. Experienced delegates also often used comparisons to other projects that the government had implemented as evidence against claims of

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 155 technical lack of feasibility. Since the government had indeed modified its practices, seeking in the second administration to follow technical rules more rigorously, plenty of such evidence was available. And when agency personnel explained that the rules had changed because earlier projects caused problems, they still often failed to convince participants. For example, in one case a Secretariat of Public Works representative appealed to safety in order to defend the need for broad streets. ‘If you don’t have enough room for side-walks,’ he said, ‘then pedestrians would be at risk from the cars speeding down newly paved roads.’ In response to this appeal, a participant remarked: ‘If the government is so concerned with safety, why do the municipal buses still use fibreglass seats, which have long been shown to be dangerous?’ This type of comparative argument demonstrates the participants’ tendency to use the practical knowledge they have—such as of what the government has done elsewhere in the city—to contest the technical claims of the municipality. All this suggests that the regional delegates were far from co-opted in the sense that they did not necessarily buy into the government’s well-argued technical explanations. But were they actually able to force the government to implement projects that it considered feasible? At times they were not. In the case of one sewer project in the Extremo Sul region, the Department of Water and Sewers (DMAE) insisted that the flow requirements could not be met and that the existing septic tanks were the best option for treating sewage. Refusing to believe the government’s arguments, the neighbourhood decided to withdraw itself in protest from the participatory budget process altogether.9 But in many other cases, after lengthy meetings with participants, compromises were reached. Delegates would agree to try to convince one home owner to move her house out of the street, so that at least a seven-meter width could be maintained for paving. Or where a road was too steep to pave safely, delegates accepted the construction of a stairway, which would improve access to hill-top houses, although cars would not get through. Certain city agencies were much easier to negotiate with than others. DMAE, with its long tradition of autonomous decision-making 9

This strategy backfired, according to one resident, because by leaving the table, they missed the opportunity to convince the government to reconsider or to implement an alternative project.

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and technocratic planning, wielded much more complex technical arguments than any other agency. The permeability of aquifers could cause contaminants to percolate into the water supply, or the landscape could prohibit appropriate flows of sewage material. Since such complex arguments referred to unseen, subterranean conditions, they were very difficult for participants to contest. Claims about how many cars could fit on a street or how steep a street cars could safely climb, however, could be contested by pointing to visible examples in neighbouring areas where such problems did not arise. Nevertheless, even in cases where the government totally rejected a project, mobilization by participants could be effective. An example was the story of Lageado, a settlement in a distant rural section of the Extremo Sul region that did not have running water. Since shallow wells had dried up or become contaminated, residents depended on the weekly visits by the municipality’s water truck. In 1993, the newly organized neighbourhood convinced the Extremo Sul budget delegates to place ‘water for Lageado’ in first place for the region as a whole, but DMAE initially rejected the demand, arguing that bringing pipelines five kilometres from the nearest settlement would violate cost-benefit requirements. Over the course of 1994, activists from throughout the Extremo Sul region campaigned intensely, getting petitions signed, mobilizing large groups to meet with DMAE officials, filing endless complaints at the mayor’s office, and threatening to go to the local news media with the story of how the government had ignored their priorities. When a newspaper published one resident’s claims that the shallowwell water was spreading hepatitis, the mayor promised to resolve the problem, instructing DMAE to consider alternative investment possibilities. DMAE proposed to build artesian wells in the neighbourhood, but could not find a subcontractor technically qualified for the job. Two years later, the neighbourhood still had no running water. In response, a group of women from the Extremo Sul region held a demonstration in front of city hall, where they banged pots and pans and made speeches about having no water to wash their dishes. If they did not get water soon, they threatened, they would camp out in front of city hall and wash their babies’ diapers in the municipal fountain. The mayor ordered DMAE to take emergency action, and within weeks, DMAE had agreed to build the five kilometres of pipelines that earlier had been considered economically prohibitive. The decision was partly justified by the fact that, in the meantime, the government had decided to pave the road running through Lageado to connect the centre city

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 157 to a new sanitary landfill. But most DMAE technicians with whom I spoke agreed that although the cost of the project was reduced by implementing it together with the pavement project, it still did not make ‘good technical sense.’ Clearly, the mobilization of the entire Extremo Sul region around the issue had the made the difference. Although the Lageado story was particularly dramatic, the ability of participants to get the government to loosen technical restrictions was significant whenever they organized and used their power to put pressure on the administration. The more often the government reversed its initial technical claims under pressure from participants, the more difficult it became for the government to make those claims in the first place. In response to accusations of favouritism, in 1995 GAPLAN began to ask city agencies to define ‘technical criteria,’ which could be presented to participants before they formulated their priorities. If criteria were clear and rigorously adhered to, it would be more difficult for participants to argue that other neighbourhoods were being favoured unfairly through the manipulation of technical arguments. City agencies began to print documents advising participants of the technical limitations to capital expenditures. DMAE technicians began to meet with delegates in every region of the city to explain a complex index rating a variety of technical conditions. The result was a system that made technical evaluations seem completely immune to accusations of manipulation. Other agencies followed suit, seeking to present lists of technical criteria to participants before the prioritization process took place. GAPLAN then decided that these criteria would have greater legitimacy if they were approved by the Municipal Budget Council. A series of meetings was held in which agency officials explained the criteria to the council. After some changes were made to soften overly rigid requirements, the document passed. Was this a victory for an administration seeking to limit the reach of participants’ decisions? Certainly the government agencies preferred to have a set of official rules to fall back on. After the ‘technical criteria’ document passed through the council, I repeatedly heard agency officials telling delegates that they could not complain about technical restraints because they had been approved by their own representatives in the Municipal Budget Council. Some participants believed that the purpose of the rules was to limit their negotiating power. But others noted that the government would also have greater difficulty granting exceptions to neighbourhoods when it might have been politically valuable to do so. Indeed, from the perspective of many participants, the

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establishment of clear criteria was a major improvement in the budget process. To spend several months defending a demand only to have it rejected on technical grounds put a political strain on neighbourhood leaders. Even if the criteria were not justified, it was better to know in advance that a project would be rejected than to have to explain to the neighbourhood that the project for which it had mobilized intensely would not be implemented. Supporters further noted that only when the criteria were clearly defined could participants effectively resist them. One member of the Municipal Budget Council put it this way: Are we going to stop making the demands just because of the criteria? No! [. . .] For me, the idea of the technical criteria is not to prune away demands, as some people are thinking. The government doesn’t want to forfeit these criteria. But we in the movement aren’t going to forfeit our wish that these projects be implemented. So what’s the problem? Let’s make the government’s criteria clear at the beginning of the process, and then let’s go to work to change them (Andre).

This statement, along with the evidence presented in this and the previous section, suggests that the best way to ensure that the government did not exert undue control over participant decision-making was to mobilize. Occasionally, mobilized groups of dissatisfied participants appealed to the media, which willingly published commentary on how the ‘grassroots administration’ had failed to listen to the people. But most of the time, such steps were not necessary: keeping up the pressure on the administration, insisting on good explanations and the equal application of rules, and demanding that the government help participants solve their problems usually led to concessions from the administration. In this light, the establishment of clear technical rules themselves could be seen as a bottom-up transformation of the budget policy that had come in response to participant pressure. Changes in those rules would occur only if participants mobilized further.

Testing the Limits of the Budget Policy On balance, the regional forums were able to resist the positions of the government more effectively than was the Municipal Budget Council. Whereas the council almost always passed government proposals, the forums often resisted government claims and fought for their priorities. The principal explanation for this difference lies in the organizational structures of the two forums. The council members were overburdened

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 159 with responsibilities and were largely occupied with approving government proposals. The regional delegates, however, spent most of their time organizing around the demands that they themselves brought to the table. Neighbourhood groups mobilized around specific issues and engaged in cooperative action with groups from other neighbourhoods. Under these conditions, delegates had very strong organizational commitments to the proposals with which they dealt. The result was that participants were not easily co-opted: they rarely accepted weak, jargonistic arguments and often rallied against even the best explanations for why a project should not go forward. When the participants were well organized, they were usually successful at contesting government claims. Or, as one neighbourhood activist put it: If the participatory budget representatives have a strong organization behind them as a support base, and if they represent this organization and not themselves alone, then they go to the government with a defined position. They put their foot down and fight for that position. [. . .] If the government doesn’t respect this position, that well-organized community may continue the struggle, demonstrating the power of organization, which sometimes is even greater than the power of explanation. [. . .] It’s the power of intellect against the power of necessity. They have technical knowledge and the community has knowledge of necessity (Julia).

Most of the neighbourhood activists who participated in the budget assemblies felt that the government genuinely respected their priorities. When participants were asked in our survey, ‘Do the population who participate in the participatory budget really decide about public works and services?’ 70 per cent answered ‘always’ or ‘almost always.’10 Seventy-five per cent of those who had been elected to a seat in the budget forums thought that the participants always or almost always decided how public works and services were allocated.11 This satisfaction on the process created a virtuous circle of civic organizing. As the administration convinced people that participation would bring rewards, mobilization in the pursuit of those rewards became the first step in a sequence of experiences through which participants developed political capabilities. Participatory, inclusive associations gained space in the

10 All percentages in this paragraph exclude those who did not respond to the question or who ‘didn’t know.’ 11 Those who participated in the thematic assemblies were (with reason) more skeptical, but still largely believed that they had real decision-making power: 60 percent of respondents answered ‘always’ or ‘almost always.’

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neighbourhoods, and bonds of cooperation developed among neighbourhood groups. Participants gained sophisticated skills in democratic practice and a growing collective sensibility. These political capacities, I would argue, gave the regional forums the organizational power to contest the positions of the very state that had originally promoted their creation. That is, government credibility, the mobilization it generated, and the cooperation and solidarity that evolved out of that mobilization were all critical for combating co-optation. Thus the regional forums became new organizing spaces in which civic groups could strengthen and grow, but other participatory forums were less capable of resisting government control of decision-making. The members of the Municipal Budget Council did not seem to have as much capacity to organize around their own proposals and to challenge government projects as did the regional delegates. The very fact that council members largely engaged in approving projects formulated from the ‘top down’ meant that they had little opportunity to develop the cooperative ties that might have brought them (or groups of them) together against government proposals. Just as Gittell (1983) suggests often occurs in state-initiated forums, council members focused on establishing ‘vertical’ relationships with government officials rather than organizing ‘horizontally’ among themselves. This result suggests that the hypothesis that participatory policy can be used to give legitimacy to government actions while demobilizing potentially radical activists applies much better to state-initiated forums where participants are primarily involved in analysing top-down proposals than where participation involves a bottom-up priority formulation process. In Porto Alegre, participants were much more likely to mobilize passionately against a government veto of their own proposals than to reject government-defined proposals. How might citizen forums such as the Municipal Budget Council, which are principally engaged in approving top-down government proposals, become more effective at critically analysing and contesting them when necessary? A key player here could be nongovernmental organizations. For example, starting in 1994, one Porto Alegre NGO, CIDADE, received international funding to monitor the budget process and to provide external advice and support to participants. CIDADE staff attended the council meetings and on occasion produced documents to help council members consider alternatives to government proposals. One of the NGOs staff members was actually elected to the council through a thematic forum and from within it was able

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 161 to promote a number of changes in the ‘technical criteria.’ Since the vast majority of participants had little formal education and little time outside budget meetings to analyse proposals, the intervention of such ‘qualified’ personnel made a difference. Another general conclusion is that when participants were able to mobilize in a challenge to the government—whether in the regional forums or in the Municipal Budget Council—they were usually quite successful. On every occasion that I observed participants questioning government positions, the government took those questions seriously. Officials would meet with participants, present evidence, negotiate alternatives, and, occasionally, agree to reverse original positions altogether. To understand why this flexibility occurred, one must consider the role that participation played in the administration’s broader strategy for governing. The government relied on the mobilized support base of participants to help pass projects in the city council, to mobilize at election time, and so on. It also needed to maintain public approval and a public image that the government was ‘democratic’ and ‘socially just.’ Therefore, participants had significant bargaining power when they organized. On occasion, dissatisfied participants would declare that if the government did not listen to their demands, they would ‘go to Zero Hora,’ the local newspaper. They rarely carried out these threats, however, because the image-conscious administration responded quickly. In a context where the government respected the Municipal Budget Council’s right to demand more control, the council ultimately was able to gain power over time, despite the difficulties in organizing. Usually pressure on the administration to open up new areas for the council’s consideration was instigated either by the CIDADE staff members that accompanied the process or by the highly educated professionals that were often elected to the council by the thematic forums. In one case, for example, a CIDADE observer convinced budget participants that they should also be able to examine certain details of the Secretariat of Public Works’ maintenance budget, although the agency’s representative had insisted that the issues were too ‘technical’ to explain. In another case, thematic forum members pushed for greater council participation in decisions about the council’s discussion agenda. As a result, in 1994, council meetings, which had previously been coordinated by the government, began to be coordinated by a bipartite commission of council members and administration officials. In that same year, the council successfully pressured for the creation of a joint commission including council members, municipal labour union representatives,

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and administration representatives, which would have final say on all hiring and layoff decisions. Although the problem still remained that council members had too little time to monitor effectively this growing array of policy issues, the insistence that they should discuss a growing body of decisions further increased the transparency of government decision-making and opened up new areas of government action to potential challenges. Interestingly enough, although the Regional Budget Forums were able to resist government control within the narrow sphere of neighbourhood-level capital improvements, they did not play as important a role in pushing for decision-making control in other areas of policymaking. That, I would argue, was a consequence of the same factors that led those forums to defend their own capital improvement projects so vociferously. The mobilization energy of the budget process came out of the fact that poor neighbourhood residents easily recognized capital improvements as intensely important to their lives. The formation of powerful horizontal neighbourhood organizations which developed a strong political consciousness occurred as people sought to gain such projects for their neighbourhoods. Yet other types of decisions did not seem to generate the same mobilization response, because people for whom the costs of participation are high are not likely to get involved in issues they see as not actually essential for their everyday lives. The irony here is that the same factor that initiated mobilization in Porto Alegre—people’s desire to address easily recognizable, immediate needs—also put the brakes on organization around less immediate, more technically inaccessible issues. Nevertheless, even though it was more difficult to mobilize neighbourhood participants around broader policy issues, there was also a slow but certain expansion of the decision-making role of the regional forums. By 1997, regional forums throughout the city were making decisions not only on capital improvements but also on spending for social services, cultural programmes, and economic development projects. As neighbourhood groups learned to identify with the region as a whole, the regional forums increasingly became organizing spaces in which people discussed and designed proposals for long-term planning and policymaking. In the Extremo Sul budget forum, participants combined with other regional activists to formulate a regional plan for the southern part of the city. This proposal was later integrated into the Master Plan. In Gloria, several recent budget participants joined in an older Conselho Popular effort to gain more control over how

state-society synergy and the problems of participation 163 the administration provided everyday services-ranging from trash collection to road maintenance. These discussions of region wide, longer-term projects tended to mobilize fewer people than the discussions about capital improvements. But they were becoming more and more common, engaging many participants who had initially entered into the budget process only to obtain specific improvements for their neighbourhoods. All this suggests that the success of the budget policy that I have described in this article led to the development of a participatory system that went beyond the immediate confines of capital improvements. The budget policy was a proving ground in which a skilled, organized, and politically conscious citizenry could grow even in the city’s poorest neighbourhoods. Through it, participant decision-making gained legitimacy as an effective form of governance. Whereas citizen groups learned how to take advantage of their bargaining power, participatory forums in Porto Alegre became true spaces of negotiation through which civic groups could gain increasing control over the direction of state policies.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ASSESSING THE CLAIMS OF PROPONENTS AND CRITICS OF THE PARTICIPATORY BUDGET: LESSONS FROM MINAS GERAIS, BRAZIL William R. Nylen

Over the years, I have been impressed at the number of leaders and activists of the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) who describe popular participation (more often than not, exemplified with a reference to the Orçamento Participativo (OP)) in terms of the well-known Christian parable: ‘You can give a poor man a fish today and he will be hungry tomorrow, or you can teach him to fish and he will never be hungry again.’1 Popular participation is said to engender empowerment: as the poor and otherwise excluded/disengaged majority take part in processes of decision-making and policy implementation that improve their lives and that of their communities, they are able to see themselves as agents in their own self-improvement and not mere supplicants of generally inadequate and ultimately demobilizing ‘gifts from on high.’ They are able to see themselves, in other words, as bearers of human and political rights. For an individual’s empowerment to be effective, however, PT leaders are quick to point out that empowerment has both an individual and a collective dimension. The transformation of the individual cannot bear fruit without the necessary collective dimension of political engagement. Empowerment therefore explicitly assumes an acceptance of the responsibility of active democratic citizenship: since one has acquired the consciousness to act, one is obligated to use that consciousness in the continuing struggle against economic inequality, political authoritarianism, paternalism, and other forms of oppression. This is all the more necessary in a political context of electoral democracy where a ‘popular democratic’ party (e.g. the PT) may occupy positions of executive and legislative power only to be turned out at the next election by those

1 This chapter is a selection from my book, Elitist Democracy v.s. Participatory Democracy: Lessons From Brazil (New York: St. Martins/Palgrave, 2003).

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determined to return to the demobilizing and disempowering traditions and practices that have characterized Brazilian politics for most of its history. Empowered citizens, in this latter scenario, are something of an insurance policy against a total rollback of progressive reforms instituted under PT leadership.2 But to what extent is this responsibility to become, in effect, a political activist actually embraced by those exposed to these new participatory public spaces? That’s a question that kept coming back to me as I delved into the histories of Brazil’s PT and the OP.3 Was it possible to verify these claims of OP-induced popular participation and empowerment? If so, we could potentially go a long way toward embracing the Participatory Democratic model as a practical alternative to neoliberalism, neo-populism, and do-nothing conservatism.4 If not, well, we need to know if we’re barking up the wrong tree. In order to answer this question, I propose to analyse the dominant claims that surround the Orçamento Participativo.5 Three of these claims emphasize the emancipatory and representative nature of the OP, while four others focus on its alleged negative side-effects. For all claims, I will critically assess their validity in the daily practice of the OP in Brazilian cities such as Porto Alegre, Betim, and Belo Horizonte.6 – Pro-OP Claim #1: The OP is fundamentally popular participation (participants are primarily non-elites). In all PT-administered cities and states, administrators and political leaders claim that the OP is an instance of ‘popular participation.’ In other words, it is primarily intended as a means for previously excluded, 2

For an analysis of the efficacy of this ‘insurance policy,’ see Nylen (2001). Certainly, the majority of PT leaders and activists had reached the conclusion that it was their responsibility to provide the generative experience for citizen empowerment through such ‘democratic and popular’ institutional reforms as the Orçamento Participativo (OP). These individuals, then, are Brazil’s ‘Neo-Tocquevillians’. See Nylen (2003b: 29–32, 131–144). 4 These three alternatives are examined as the main models of contemporary Latin American democracy at the turn of the century in Nylen (2003), chap. 2. 5 I base this investigation on research that I have conducted in several Brazilian cities—mostly in the state of Minas Gerais—that were practicing the OP in the midto-late 1990s. 6 For Porto Alegre, I have relied mainly on the works of Rebecca Abers (1996, 1997, 1998, 2000). For Betim and Belo Horizonte, findings are based primarily on my own original research, and on Somarriba and Dulci (1993, 1995, 1997), and Silberschneider (1998). 3

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ignored, and/or underserved non-elites to have access to, and to become more active participants in, democratic politics. While all citizens are welcome to participate, OP administrators expect the more wealthy and comfortable to have less interest, which is not a problem because these latter groups are assumed to already have ready access to the political system and to other means of economic and social advancement. But do OP delegates really come primarily from the non-elite ranks of society? In addition to testing the claims of OP proponents, this question is all the more important because a number of participatory programmes implemented elsewhere—in the United States, for example—have been noted for their tendency to attract a disproportionate number of relatively well-to-do and more-educated participants.7 Research in Betim and Belo Horizonte shows that women, the poorly educated, salaried workers, and the unemployed are highly represented in the OP. This supports the claim of the OP’s popular or non-elite composition. Given Brazil’s elitist political regime (itself a reflection of the country’s elitist political culture and social structures), these characteristics of active OP delegates in Betim and Belo Horizonte are quite remarkable. They suggest that a significant number of non-elite Brazilians are willing to involve themselves in participatory processes of local-level governance. While many non-elites are disengaged from the political world, some at least are willing to buck that trend if given the opportunity to do so. As its proponents claim, the OP appears to provide such an opportunity. Rebecca Abers reaches the same basic conclusion of predominantly non-elite participation in her case study of Porto Alegre’s OP, but her data point out an important detail: that ‘the “very poor” living in squatter settlements and shanty towns were less well represented than the “not-so-poor” poor living in impoverished, but somewhat betteroff, working-class neighbourhoods’ (Abers, 2000: 132). This view is supported by other observers who show that for the very poor, few opportunities exist for participation, because of lack of time and other resources. Therefore, for lamentable albeit entirely understandable reasons, not all non-elites appear to be equally represented in OP-style

7 This latter claim is certainly true in the United States. Referring to a 1995 study by Verba, Schlozman, and Brady, Dalton argues that, ‘Higher-status individuals, especially the better educated, are more likely to have the time, the money, the access to political information, the knowledge, and the ability to become politically involved’ (Dalton, 2002: 47). See also Cnaan (1991: 614–634).

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participatory democratic institutions. When survival itself is in question, participation is either an unaffordable luxury or a minor distraction. – Pro-OP Claim #2: The OP is an instrument of empowerment (through participation, the previously excluded become socially conscious and politically active).8 Many activists and observers emphasize that those who start to participate in the OP for the first time, go through something of an ‘eyeopening experience’, which leads many of them to become active in the community in other ways as well. But are these stories of OP-inspired empowerment truly typical ones? Are they representative of the majority, or a significant minority, of OP delegates’ personal histories? Or are they the exception to the rule—for example, delegates participating only once in the OP then, ‘untouched’ by the experience, withdrawing back into their apolitical private lives and micro-communities (i.e. no empowerment); or, on the opposite extreme, of delegates with past histories of active participation in party politics and/or organized civil society merely continuing their activism in the OP (i.e. previous empowerment being ‘carried over’ into the OP)? These are important questions, as empowerment lies at the root of the Participatory Democratic model as it is normally understood and of the process definition of democracy.9

8

For a more thorough presentation of this section, see Nylen (2002). Held (1996: 268) refers to Pateman (1970), Dahl (1985), and Held and Pollitt (1986). The ‘process definition of democracy’ (Nylen, 2003: 3), refers to an understanding of democratic rights and institutions as outcomes of historical processes of political conflict: . . . a conflictual process of inclusionary adaptation both reflecting and spurring on changes in the overall balance of social and political power. While originally a means of adapting to the competing demands of a relatively small number of rich and powerful groups and individuals by sharing power, public revenues, and responsibilities among them (rather than fighting it out until one individual held complete and unchallenged power), the history of democracy in the West has seen such inclusionary adaptation extend itself outward from the well-to-do and the well-connected, deeper and deeper into the ranks of average citizens: working men, women, people of colour, etc. Throughout the twentieth century, democratic adaptation came to include the extension of government-provided social goods and services in favour of citizens suffering the effects of various types of market failure, from economic downturns, to entrenched poverty rooted in ethnic and gender discrimination, to urban decay, to environmental degradation. Such adaptation has always followed upon [indeed, is predicated upon] a groundswell of actual or potential public unrest [‘from below’]. 9

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In Belo Horizonte and Betim, the hypothesized spill-over relationship of the empowerment thesis between OP participation and subsequent greater participation in organized civil society is clearly confirmed.10 Most of this spill-over occurred in neighbourhood organizations and other local government-sponsored participatory processes. Upon closer examination, however, it becomes clear that the majority of delegates in these two cases were already active in civil society before becoming OP delegates. In other words, relatively few delegates were disengaged from civil society prior to their involvement in the OP. These data challenge claims made by proponents of the OP and the empowerment thesis that participatory processes like the OP address the problems of civic disengagement. Indeed, it would appear that the OP amounts to a great deal of ‘preaching to the choir,’ that is to the already empowered, and comparatively very little actual empowerment. This hypothesis-challenging conclusion is bolstered by the fact that a large majority of delegates who were inactive in civil society prior to their involvement in the OP were first-time participants in the OP. Only a small minority of these first-time participants stayed on as OP ‘veterans’ for two or more years. Assuming that longer participation in the OP means more exposure to democratic learning-by-doing, this association seems to indicate that disproportionately fewer pre-OP non-activist delegates actually exposed themselves to such longer term political learning. Those most in need of empowerment, in other words, were the least likely to pursue it. In sum, the data show that the lion’s share of the spill-over effect from OP participation to participation in organized civil society took place among individuals previously active in civil society. This is the same group that was also the most likely to remain participating in the OP beyond the first year. And while roughly half of the delegates in Belo Horizonte who were inactive in civil society prior to their involvement in the OP remained inactive in civil society despite their OP activism, it is important to recognize that almost half did become active. At the

This discussion follows a quote from Norberto Bobbio (1987) about democracy as a necessarily dynamic system, and includes footnote references to Robert Dahl (1971) and T.H. Marshall (1992). It is precisely the absence of such adaptation, with or without popular unrest that characterizes what I call ‘Elitist Democracy’. For a similar, but more elaborated, process definition of democracy, see Guidry and Sawyer (2003). 10 ‘Organized civil society’ activism refers to participation in neighbourhood associations, labour unions, religious organizations, cultural entities, philanthropic and charity organizations, municipal councils and ‘other’ organizations not covered by this list.

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same time, a majority of previously inactive delegates in Betim became civil society activists. So while the data show that the OP generally did not attract a great many previously disengaged citizens, this conclusion is qualified in both cases (more so in Betim) by significant increases in participation, primarily in neighbourhood associations, among the previously disengaged. What about party politics? Is participation in the OP associated with an increase in delegates’ participation in political society? My research in Minas Gerais suggests that delegates show relatively low pre-OP and time-of-survey indices in party membership, party militancy and candidate militancy, and only moderate indices of party sympathy. These are combined with relatively high indices of disinterested voting and even a few isolated cases of disinterested nonvoting.11 Despite this, the direction of change in all categories indicates support for the empowerment thesis. Party membership rises significantly with OP participation, as does party militancy, candidate militancy, party sympathy and interested non-partisanship. As such, the data supports the hypothesized relationship of the empowerment thesis between OP participation and greater participation in political society. Once again, however, we need to ask whether our observations so far are the result, not of OP-induced political learning and empowerment, but rather of increased political activism on the part of those already active, in this case, in the arena of party politics. Indeed, a significant majority of the delegates were active in political society prior to their OP experience. Once again, the prevalence of previously active participants challenges the claim of the empowerment thesis that participatory processes like the OP address the problems of civic disengagement. The lion’s share of the hypothesized spill-over effect from participation in the OP to participation in organized political society seems to have come primarily from individuals previously active in political society. This is the same group that is also the most likely to remain participating in the OP beyond the first year. At the same time, most of the delegates

11 ‘Party Militancy’ refers to being not just a member of a political party, but an active member. Many Brazilians state that they vote for, or are active on behalf of, ‘individuals, not parties.’ ‘Candidate Militancy’ is an attempt to capture this antiparty, but not anti-political society, sentiment. ‘Party Sympathy’ is commonly used in Brazil to express a less committed measure of patty identification. ‘Disinterested voters’ are those claiming to have no interest in patty politics but who still vote in elections. ‘Disinterested non-voters’ represent the extreme of disengagement from party politics and political society in general.

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who were inactive in political society prior to their involvement in the OP remained inactive in political society despite their OP activism. They are also the most likely not to participate in the OP beyond a single year. Again, the data show only weak support for the argument of OP-inspired empowerment of previously disengaged citizens. The empowerment thesis implies that new arenas of popular participation such as the OP can engage historically excluded, ignored, and/or underserved non-elite sectors of the population thereby encouraging greater participation and pluralism in other arenas of democratic politics. That the Ops in Belo Horizonte and Betim did in fact not tend to attract or engage many previously disengaged citizens is clearly a challenge to this thesis.12 Instead, most OP delegates were already engaged civil and/or political society activists. These same pre-OP activists also accounted for a disproportionate share of the spill-over effects of new participation in civil and political society, and they tended to participate longer in the OP, thereby gaining disproportionately from the democratic learning assumed to accrue to veteran participants. While these results challenge the empowerment thesis, they should not be interpreted as necessarily delegitimating the Participatory Democratic model. Popular participation is not exclusively about empowerment; it’s also about citizens’ oversight of government and the political class (accountability), and the pluralization of democratic participation and representation (i.e. active participants in a democracy should not all be wealthy men from similar socioeconomic and ethnic backgrounds). Finally, the fact that previously active delegates tended to become even more active during their OP experience should not be dismissed just because it does not conform precisely to the claims (and hopes) of the empowerment thesis. Even a passing knowledge of the literature on democratization and social movements suggests that sustaining popular political activism is an important challenge to countries moving from 12 This conclusion also challenges Abers’ conclusion ‘that innumerable individuals who had never participated in social movements or civic groups began to gain experience with collective action in the context of the budget policy (2000: 131–132). This difference may be due to something unique about the Porto Alegre case, but I doubt it. Abers reaches her conclusion about individual empowerment from data measuring participation in assemblies in neighbourhoods and regions with differences in histories of collective organization and mobilization. Her reasoning from the collective to the individual level of analysis, however, is flawed. Participating individuals in previously unorganised and immobilized neighbourhoods may have had personal histories of activism in any number of civil society organisations and/or in political society. Her conclusion of OP-inspired empowerment, therefore, is suspect.

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a period of democratic transition to one of consolidation.13 Brazilian political scientists Sergio Azevedo and Leonardo Avritzer make the general case that ‘neither those social movements built upon demands for public services and rights, nor the civic associations constructed during the last phase of the authoritarian period, were to be included in the specific organizational structures of the State that emerged from the process of [Brazil’s] redemocratization. On the contrary, what one saw was an expansion of the influence of clientelistic structures . . . and a growth of all of the vices proper to that form of relationship between State and society’ (Azevedo and Avritzer, 1994: 13). In this context of diminishing space for grassroots political activism in new democracies, the OP provides an important space for sustaining existing non-elite grassroots activism (or ‘social capital’).14 Participation in the OP, in other words, could keep community-level activists from either trickling up (or being co-opted) into more ‘distant’ and/or clientelistic arenas of party politics and public administration, or of ‘exiting’ into political disillusionment, apathy, purely personal spaces and/or apolitical micro-communities. Constituting a meeting ground for territorially and thematically isolated popular sector activists, the OP could also be seen as providing them an opportunity to build and maintain horizontal solidarities and networks—to provide the heretofore missing bridge between citizen politics and the official world of party politics. Finally, and no less importantly, the OP offers existing activists an opportunity to learn how to compete and negotiate democratically for scarce public resources (who says existing political activists don’t need democratic schooling?).15 Neither does the OP constitute a case of some form of ‘participatory elitism’ where the previously active are unfairly privileged vis-à-vis the disengaged.16 First, context is key. We are talking about previously active non-elites acting within a demonstrably elitist political system showing clear signs of even further elitization.17 We are not talking here about relatively wealthy and educated civic boosters and socialites crowding out the voices of the truly needy. Second, as I will argue in

13

See Oxhorn (1995); also Roberts (1999); also Hochstetler (2000). See Putnam (1993) and (1995). 15 See de Souza (1999), 73. 16 As argued by, among others, Ribeiro (2000). 17 I discuss ‘democratic stagnation and decay’ in the context of the process definition of democracy in Nylen (2003, chaps. one and two). 14

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the next section of this chapter (along with proponents of the OP), promoting spaces for continued non-elite activism—and a modicum of empowerment of the previously inactive—contributes to a healthy ‘pluralization’ or diversification of democratic representation. Even if participatory mechanisms of public administration and decision-making like the OP are not able to put an end to civic disengagement, establishing new arenas and instruments of non-elite activism can make it harder for antidemocratic elites to continue to undermine and debase existing traditional or official democratic institutions and processes. And in conjunction with an electorally viable political party dedicated to promoting and furthering non-elite interests (e.g. the PT, with its platform of ‘inverting priorities’ and promoting popular participation), such participatory mechanisms can promote new democratic advances both in terms of enhanced representation and in terms of substantive gains in material well-being and political rights for non-elites, in general.18 Over the long run, this may even begin to have an impact on the problem of civic disengagement, as those who have ‘exited’ from politics because of alienation and disillusionment with contemporary elitist democracy and/or for reasons of extreme poverty or discrimination, decide that it may be worth their while to reengage in a democracy more clearly ‘of the people, for the people, and by the people.’ In short, Participatory Democracy needs to be seen not as an end in itself (i.e. as an alternative to representative democracy), but as a means for reforming and advancing systems of representative democracy that find themselves in a state of stagnation and decay. To sum up this section, my research suggests that, contrary to its proponents’ claims, the OP is a less-than-effective tool for engaging and empowering the disengaged. While no doubt a troubling finding for proponents of participatory democracy, it is by no means a damning one. In both cases, the OP appears to have been instrumental in maintaining and, in some cases, actually increasing existing supplies of social capital by keeping previously engaged non-elite activists participating in democratic politics—in civil society and in political society—at the municipal and grassroots levels. Democratic institutions are, therefore,

18 This was written prior to the scandals that plagued the PT and the administrations of President Lula (2002–2010), placing doubt in the minds of many former supporters of the PT (while ‘confirming’ the suspicions of the party’s critics) regarding its democratic, progressive and incorruptable credentials. See for example, Flynn (2005); also Hunter (2006).

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peopled by a more diverse or demographically representative, as well as a better informed, socially conscious, and ‘democratically schooled’ set of political activists than might otherwise be the case. – Pro-OP Claim #3: The OP constitutes another layer of political representation (participants represent the broader interests of their neighbourhoods and regions, their organizations, and of people ‘like them’). This claim can be broken down into three separate parts. First, the institutional design of the OP forces delegates to think and act in the collective interests of their neighbourhood, region, and city. Delegates are elected to represent their communities, and they must negotiate with other elected delegates to pass a limited number of OP priority projects. Second, the OP gives its delegates a means to revitalize and renovate existing, oftentimes less-than-democratic, neighbourhood organizations. Third, the ‘transparency’ of the budget-making process under the OP injects greater accountability (therefore, representation) into the entire public administration. Many observers and participants emphasize that OP negotiations and campaigns teach participants that talking about ‘my’ candidacy or project gets them nowhere; that victory can only come when speaking in collective terms of ‘our’ slate or project and then acting accordingly. Delegates, in other words, are said to necessarily become representatives of collective interests (i.e. they learn to tie their individual interests to those of the larger community in which they live: Tocqueville’s ‘self interest properly understood’).19 If they won’t or can’t do so, they will fail for lack of the necessary support. Learning to become better organized can generate positive results, in the short term, in the form of passing priority projects for one’s neighbourhood and, in the long term, in the form of building a core of unified representatives in the neighbourhood for any number of social and political purposes. OP delegates’ organization of neighbourhoods for the purposes of supporting neighbourhood projects in the OP voting process was not unusual. According to Monica Maria de Jesús Carvalho, a five-year veteran OP administrator for the North-eastern region of Belo Horizonte,

19 Tocqueville (1969), 225–228. Citing the work of Seyla Benhabib, Abers aptly labels this ‘Enlarged Thinking’ (2000: 177–194).

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her Regional Administration office used to organize all OP-related neighbourhood meetings. By the sixth year, however, ‘neighbourhood OP delegates meet on their own, to mobilize voting blocs around specific proposed obras. This is a positive development. It means they are becoming self-sufficient. They only call us when they need technical information or something of the sort.’20 When OP delegates travel as a group to visit the projects in their region that they will soon be voting on, many are visiting neighbourhoods they’ve never seen before. They know that roughly half of those projects will not receive funding. They have the choice of casting their votes according to their conscience (which projects deserve their support based on their own perception of need) or according to the logic of tit-for-tat negotiations constantly put forth by proponents of any number of the projects (‘I’ll vote for your’s if you vote for mine’). These are the same difficult choices that face any democratic representative. And while neighbourhood priorities are likely to remain prominent in the minds of most OP delegates, they can’t help but be affected in some way by these processes of learning about the larger region in which their neighbourhood is situated and by the numerous face-to-face meetings and negotiations with other OP delegates. Such meetings and negotiations can help forge horizontal bonds of solidarity across otherwise isolated neighbourhoods with similar needs and interests. Constructing and articulating collective interests and representing those interests in OP forums as neighbourhood-level and even regionallevel political leaders, OP delegates often find themselves treading on the turf of already existing supposedly representative neighbourhood associations. I say ‘supposedly representative’ because Brazil’s neighbourhood associations are notorious for being the neighbourhood-level extensions of clientelist political machines, directed and controlled from above by political bosses and from within by a neighbourhood boss or a small group of loyalists, and usually active only in periods preceding elections.21 That neighbourhood-level collective action and clientelism do not necessarily go together, however, is emphasized, for example, in the work of Robert Gay on Rio de Janeiro favela organizations, and of Rebecca 20

Interview November 6, 1998. See Gay (1994); also Abers (2000): 25–35; and Cnaan (1991). According to Hochstetler, ‘Neighbourhood movement leaders have been especially susceptible to co-optation efforts’ (2000: 175). 21

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Abers on the OP-induced renovation of neighbourhood organizations in Porto Alegre.22 By introducing real means of neighbourhood-level representation (i.e. with annual elections for delegates and open, democratically run meetings) and producing real results in the form of needed public works projects, the OP is said to directly challenge the false representation of traditional clientelistic associations. Many such processes of renovation and contestation between mobilized OP delegates and long-time leaders of the more traditional neighbourhood associations have taken place. We need to remember that although previously inactive OP delegates in Belo Horizonte and Betim tended to remain inactive outside of their all-too-brief foray into participatory decision-making, that was much less the case when it came to participating in neighbourhood associations. The implication here—echoing a similar conclusion by Abers from her analysis of the Porto Alegre case—is that well-designed institutional innovations providing meaningful opportunities for politically active non-elites to participate at the level of the neighbourhoods in which they live can be effective in transforming former instruments of neighbourhood-level clientelism and citizen demobilization into instruments of grassroots participation and representation.23 In addition to OP delegates themselves, on-the-ground administrators of the OP were the most likely to voice the argument that the OP enhances democratic representation by challenging the traditional clientelistic structures normally present at the neighbourhood level. These were the administrators who regularly attended the neighbourhood and regional meetings, and who saw the struggles actually taking place. Many of them voiced a complaint that top administration officials and party leaders seemed not to recognize the importance of this outcome of the OP and, therefore, did not sufficiently support OP delegates in their neighbourhood-level struggles against clientelism. For example, according to one of his closest aides, Betim’s Mayor,

22

Gay (1994); also Abers (1997: 99–100) and 135–153; and Baker (1995: 880–

887). 23 Abers (2000): 135–214. Ribeiro offers a more cautious analysis based on a case study of the Participatory Public Housing Budget of Belo Horizonte between 1995 and 2000 (2000: 114–136). He argues that the leadership of supposedly representative grassroots movements and organisations can and do, in some instances, reproduce the antidemocratic practices of clientelism and corporatism once they have been ‘anointed’ as civil society partners in a given instance of participatory decision-making. He calls this outcome ‘Neo-corporatism.’

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Jesús Lima (1997–2000), did not recognize the impact that OP delegates were having in transforming or, at least, challenging many of Betim’s older neighbourhood associations (many openly created and supported by individual city council members to solidify their electoral bases (redutos eleitorais). As a result, there seems to exist a paradox: while many OP delegates and administrators close to the day-to-day operations of the OP process recognize a new OP-induced vibrancy in neighbourhood-level politics (a ‘pluralization’ of political activism), top administration and party officials seem strangely unaware that this new vibrancy represents precisely the sort of civic engagement the OP is supposed to generate. Taking place at the neighbourhood level, one might hypothesize that such activism operates below the proverbial radar screens of political leaders more concerned with ‘important’ political dynamics at the municipal, state, and national levels. In the end, however, even where ignored by top administration and party officials, the evidence seems strong that the OP enhances political representation by opening up neighbourhood-level spaces to pluralistic contestation and participation. The third and final way in which the OP is said to enhance political representation comes about through the ‘transparency’ of the OP process itself. Putting information about city finances and operations directly in the hands of citizens makes the formal institutions of public administration and political representation more accountable, responsible, and therefore, more representative.24 The active role played by Municipal Councils and other institutions as well as by regular OP delegates in the sometimes fierce struggles between the administration and the city council constitutes the strongest illustration of the OP functioning as a means of injecting greater accountability into local government.

24 The problem of ‘opaque’ public administration is directly related to the problems of clientelism and corruption at all levels of governance in Brazil. For example, ‘According to the United Nations, only 18% of international development assistance to Brazil, for public works and programs, are actually invested in those works and programs. The remaining 82% gets eaten by bureaucracy’ (‘Betim mostra Orçamento Participativo na ONU,’ Diario da Tarde, June 12, 1996, p. 1).

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william r. nylen The Claims of Critics of the Participatory Budget

After having examined the main claims of supporters of the OP, I will examine four major critiques of the OP that have been put forwards time and again by opponents of the process. Like in the previous section, these critiques will be put in the context of the counter arguments that, in this case, mainly come from administrators and officials affiliated with the Workers’ Party (Partido dos Trabalhadores). – Anti-OP Criticism #1: The OP is unnecessarily antagonistic to the legislative body (e.g. city council) and to existing representative organizations in civil society. City council members in Brazil describe their function primarily as one of representing the citizenry and monitoring the activities of the administration.25 Those who oppose the OP oftentimes see it as reproducing, and therefore unnecessarily impinging upon, these very functions. Similarly, they argue, popular participation already exists in the many neighbourhood associations dotted throughout many medium-to-large size cities. At a minimum, they ask, why put in place something that already exists and functions well? Anti-OP council members argue that even worse than this unnecessary duplication of functions is the fact that the council members themselves and their constitutionally founded offices are constantly denigrated and discredited by OP administrators before the population. Obviously, they do not see themselves as the enemy. On the contrary, they are the constitutionally endowed, democratically elected legislative representatives of the municipality and its citizens. Having attended a large number of OP meetings in several Brazilian cities, I can attest to the fact that city council members are regularly singled out by OP administrators and other administration officials, less by name than by office, as some of the worst abusers of the formal instruments of democracy for personal political and economic gain. My experience, as well as volumes of case studies of clientelism in Brazil and Latin America, demonstrates that city council members (members

25 ‘. . . the most important role of the City Assembly is an unofficial one: that of interlocutor between civil society and the executive branch of municipal government’ (Abers, 2000: 96).

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of legislative bodies in general) deserve to be singled out, because they have regularly used their offices in ways that abuse the public trust.26 The same is true of many of the neighbourhood associations pre-existing the OP: most represent the political interests of their ‘sponsors’ (patrões) on the city council, or the leaders of the associations themselves, far more than the residents of the neighbourhoods in which they are located. In other words, most of the existing institutions do not ‘function well,’ at least not with respect to representing the citizenry (neither, for that matter, do they do a very good job in efficiently and effectively administering the public good). Proponents of the OP make no apologies for the fact that the OP directly challenges the ability of city council members and traditional neighbourhood associations to be the exclusive ‘representatives’ of specific neighbourhoods and regions. They argue that city council members and their hand-picked or self-selected neighbourhood ‘leaders’ have traditionally constructed clientelistic political machines through the targeted distribution of rewards (e.g. public works projects, jobs in the public administration, etc.) in return for electoral support, and punishments (e.g. no public works projects, loss of jobs, etc.) in retaliation for electoral opposition or weak electoral support. These machines have served to disempower and to demobilize the popular sectors over the years as the latter find their avenues of legitimate representation always subordinate to the interests of one or another temporarily dominant elitist political machine and subject to the punishments of the losing machine.27 At best, clientelistic intra-elite competition provides limited access to what should be universally accessible public goods and services as ‘rewards’ for extending support to one machine against another. At worst, the rewards are only promised at election time but are never actually delivered. At any rate, when residents of a neighbourhood feel beholden to a given politician for the rewards he or she bestows upon them, collectively or individually, they are less likely to hold that politician accountable for such things as ethical behaviour in office (‘She may be a thief, but at least she shares some of the spoils with me’), and they are less likely to collectively mobilize on behalf of anything, including an opposition candidate, that the politician doesn’t approve

26 See, especially, Ames (1997); also Mainwaring (1999); Power (2000); and Samuels (2003). For one of many examples ‘ripped from the headlines,’ see Campos (2001). 27 For a version of this argument, see Rocha (1999: 116).

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of (‘We really need paved streets in our neighbourhood, but council member X says I better not push for it or I may lose the other things he says he’s going to give me.’). Thus, the OP is explicitly constructed to be an extra instrument to impose accountability on both the city council and traditional neighbourhood associations, and even on the administration itself. In effect, the OP acts as an extra check and balance on these more established institutions.28 In a context of rampant clientelism, to call such an extra check and balance ‘unnecessary’ is to stand in favour of the essentially inegalitarian and antidemocratic status quo. Whatever political conflict that may ensue with established institutions should be seen as the result of enhanced opportunities for non-elite organization and representation. Collectivities of non-elite citizens organizing outside of, and against, long-existing elitist institutions should be seen as healthy for the process of democracy (and only hurtful for those who stand to lose their traditional clientelistic privileges or for the ‘ungovernability’ theories of their academic apologists). But is this extra check and balance constitutional? Does it, as some of its detractors argue, illegally usurp the political-administrative function constitutionally reserved for the formal legislative body, in this case, the city council?29 First and foremost, the use of citizens’ councils to both participate in and to monitor the administration of government programmes was firmly established in the 1988 Brazilian Constitution.30 Secondly, OP processes take place within the deliberative and implementation phases of the Executive’s budgetary process (i.e. during preparation of the Executive’s draft of the annual budget submitted to the Legislature, and in overseeing the actual implementation of approved projects). This puts it fully within the powers of the Executive to organize and administer. It is, in other words, a choice of the Executive whether to construct and implement his/her administration’s budget proposal using instruments of popular participation such as the OP, or whether

28 See, e.g., Daniel (1999): 235. Abers goes even further to argue that the ‘neighbourhood-based clientelism’ of traditional city councils ‘was virtually eliminated in Porto Alegre with the PT administration and, in particular, with the participatory budget’ (2000: 96). 29 This criticism took the form of a legal challenge to the state-level OP introduced in the state of Rio Grande do Sul in 1999 by the PT administration of Olívio Dutra, former mayor of Porto Alegre. The challenge came from ex-governor and then-federal deputy, Alceu Collares. See De Souza (1999: 80–81). 30 See Benevides (1991).

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to construct and implement it haphazardly, behind ‘closed doors’ in ‘smoke-filled rooms’ and/or from the formulas of technically trained experts.31 City council members are free to object to specifics or to the entirety of the Administration’s OP-induced budget proposals and subsequent implementation processes; this right has not been, and cannot be, taken away from them by the OP. They do so, however, at the risk of alienating and angering constituents who have been active in the construction of the Administration’s budget proposal or, if not active participants, may still see substantial benefits for themselves and their communities in the proposal. Ultimately, council members’ decisions to contest the Administration’s OP-induced budget are fundamentally political, not legal or constitutional. Such decisions must always involve a political cost/benefit calculus that takes into consideration such factors as the number of PT or PT-allied council members in the Council itself, the degree and intensity of organization and mobilization of OP delegates during the process of the Council’s deliberation of the budget, and the relative capacities of the Administration and the Council to present their side of the story to the larger electorate (the latter having a great deal to do with the attitudes of local media vis-à-vis the Administration). Again, none of this contradicts the logic or the rules of democracy. – Anti-OP Criticism #2: The great majority of citizens never participate in the OP, and among those few that do, the subsequent drop-off in their participation is evidence that so-called popular participation is actually not all that popular at all The first component of this critique—that few people really participate in the OP—is represented by the following complaint from Romulo Veneroso, one of Betim’s opposition city council members: ‘In my neighbourhood, we have about 4,000 residents. Yet we were ‘represented’ by only twenty delegates in this year’s OP [1996].’32 Assuming that Veneroso’s figures are correct, the 20 delegates in his neighbour31 Since choosing the OP as a means of organizing the administration’s budget proposal stems entirely from executive decision and not from a legally constructed process, the OP exists only as long as administration leaders want it to exist. As such, the OP is extraordinarily vulnerable to elections cycles and results. Most cities that turn out a PT administration end up losing the OP as well (as occurred in Betim in 2000). See Nylen (2001). 32 Interview with Romulo Veneroso (18 July 1996).

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hood represented 200 participants at the neighbourhood meeting, or 5 per cent of the neighbourhood’s total population. When officially registered rates of citywide OP participation are set alongside the size of their respective cities’ total population, Veneroso’s observation for his neighbourhood is broadly true for both Betim and Belo Horizonte. The 10,735 participants in the fifth year of OP discussions (1993) in the much celebrated case of Porto Alegre represented less than 1 per cent (0.77) of the city’s 1,400,000 residents.33 These percentages represent far less, some detractors have pointed out, than the percentage of citizens who vote in elections (especially in Brazil, where voting is mandatory). And these figures clearly overstate the numbers of what we might call ‘effective participants’ due to multiple counting of some individuals’ participation (e.g. those attending several neighbourhood meetings and subsequent regional and municipal assemblies) and to counting as participants those citizens who merely show up once to a neighbourhood meeting, including those who may leave early, and never ‘participate’ again.34 Proponents of the OP respond to these criticisms in three ways. First, the PT and most OP proponents with whom I have spoken argue that political participation is not for everyone and, therefore, not everyone can be expected to participate in OP-style participatory processes. Indeed, most OP administrators and PT leaders with whom I have spoken over the years seemed to understand very well what social scientists like Robert Dahl have long understood about political participation: ‘At the focus of most men’s [and women’s] lives are primary activities involving food, sex, love, family, work, play, shelter, comfort, friendship, social esteem, and the like. Activities like these—not politics—are the primary concerns of most men and women’ (Dahl, 1961: 279). This is all the more true in a country like Brazil, with so many of its population deeply mired in numbing poverty and insecurity that require all of their time just to survive, political activism may be an unaffordable luxury.

33 Data for Porto Alegre and Belo Horizonte are from Jacobi and Teixeira (1996), and Somarriba and Dulci (1995). On the other hand, a 1994 survey cited by Abers ‘found that about 8 percent of the adult population had directly participated in the budget assemblies’ (2000: 110). 34 To avoid this latter problem (but not the problem of multiple counting), some OP administrators prefer to use the number of citizens actually present and voting at each year’s neighbourhood meetings where initial priorities are set and delegates are elected (i.e. after the initial introductions and discussions).

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Far from holding some kind of pie-in-the-sky Utopian vision of pure Participatory Democracy, proponents and administrators of the OP point out that the OP and similar instruments of popular participation provide citizens who want to and can participate with a wider range of possibilities of actually doing so—and doing so in decision-making processes that they, themselves, have decided matter to them. In other words, even if you can’t reach everybody, you can reach some who might not be reached otherwise.35 OP proponents also argue that once initial participants discover the opportunity to be a positive one, others are likely to follow. Participation may start out small, but can be expected to increase as the process is perceived by more and more people to be worth their while. To a certain extent, this is just common sense (or, perhaps, ‘rational choice’). In numerous conversations with OP delegates in Betim and Belo Horizonte, the initial impetus for the participation of those who were not ideologically attracted to the OP (i.e. those who were not diedin-the-wool petistas) was their determination that real gains could be obtained for their communities and/or for themselves through their participation as delegates. I want to reemphasize the argument that the PT seems to understand that OP-like processes of popular participation cannot attract huge rates of mass-scale participation. They can, however, attract a small but significant number of citizens who want to, or who someday may want to, actively and efficaciously invest their social capital in their democracy at the local level. The second response to the criticism of ‘minuscule’ participation in the OP flows directly from these latter arguments: the fact that a relative few citizens heed the call to participate does not negate the fact that

35 OP proponents assume, of course, that more participation means better democracy. For all but the most starry-eyed Neo-Tocquevillians, however, there is a practical limit to how much participation one can either expect or even hope for. Michael Walzer argues, for example, that the ideal cannot be universal participation, but the production of sufficiently public-spirited and legitimate representatives from among a mass of ‘joiners’ at all levels of society; this must be fostered and maintained by the democratic State in a variety of ways—including participatory decision-making at local levels (Walzer [1995], 153–174). As I argued before, the OP is an arena primarily for those already, to some extent, politically conscious and active. Let me reemphasise the argument, once again, that preserving and developing pre-existing stocks of social capital is no mean feat. And in a context of elitist and clientelist democracy such as Brazil’s, the fact that this social capital has a primarily non-elite bias is an entirely positive contribution to that country’s democracy—conceived of, it should be recalled, as a necessarily conflictual process of inclusionary adaptation.

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more of them are participating—and participating efficaciously—than would otherwise be the case. Focusing on the number of OP participants in cities such as Betim, Belo Horizonte, and Porto Alegre relative to their total populations, the percentages certainly appear quite small. When seen another way, however, it can be argued that some tens of thousands citizens have embraced the opportunity—even if only fleetingly in some instances—to participate in matters of direct concern to them and to their community in a way previously unavailable to them, and still unavailable to the vast majority of citizens in Brazil and throughout the world. In fact, given that the number of politically aware and active citizens in modern democracies is always quite small (recalling Robert Dahl’s argument),36 the number of OP activists should not be compared to the total number of citizens but to the total number of political activists. While we may not know this latter figure, we do know that the numbers would be significantly smaller (and, as can be seen in the extensive literature on civic disengagement, they have been getting even smaller in many contemporary democracies). Looked at in this light, the number of OP participants might not appear to be so ‘minuscule’ after all. At this point, let me remind the reader that we are touching upon an extremely important argument in defence of the OP against its critics: the OP was never intended to replace representative democracy, but to reform it, first, by expanding upon and, second, by diversifying democratic political representation itself. On this latter point, let’s recall the arguments regarding the overwhelmingly non-elite or ‘popular’ character of OP participants and their capacity within the OP to effectively represent a more diverse citizenry than is currently represented under formal political institutions. By adding greater diversity to the ranks of the politically active, at least at the local level, the OP pluralizes—or democratizes—democracy by extending democratic representation into areas of society whose inhabitants have traditionally been either ignored, actively excluded, or touched only by the disempowering reaches of clientelism.37 To the extent, for example, that OP delegates are seen by many of their neighbours as defending and promoting the collective interests of the neighbourhood, those neighbours may come

36

Dahl (1961), 276–282; Dahl (1971: 126–128). In the words of Russell Dalton, ‘The question of who participates is as important as the question of how many participate’ (Dalton, 2002: 47). 37

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to feel—and actually be—more effectively represented in the political process.38 Add to this the fact that many OP participants are members of existing organizations in civil and political society. As such, they represent the interests of those organizations and their members within the OP and, therefore, within the municipal administration. In other words, the admittedly small numbers of OP participants, measured in global terms, include representatives of a much greater number of non-elite organizations, neighbourhoods, and even otherwise apolitical micro-communities. In sum, then, in response to the criticism of relatively low numbers of participants in the OP, proponents argue that those numbers translate into a qualitatively significant increase in the democratic participation and representation of non-elites even if the quantitative measurement of that increase is not immediately impressive. Participation in the OP is ‘qualitatively’ important because it signifies a diversification, or pluralization, of democratic representation itself. Let us now turn to the second component of the criticism that OPstyle ‘popular participation’ is, in a word, unpopular: that declining participation in the OP indicates that many who initially participated in the OP subsequently dropped out, allegedly because they discovered that it doesn’t work and/or that it’s merely a facade for political-ideological indoctrination. When I was doing my field work in 1998, the problem of declining participation in the OP was a very real one, recognized by critics and supporters alike. Participation levels in Belo Horizonte began to level off or decline significantly after 1996. Similar declines in participation occurred in cases of PT-administered OP’s studied by Rebecca Abers, including that of Porto Alegre. In all cases, the two main reasons given for these declines were, first, some people’s dissatisfaction and frustration at what they perceived to be unnecessarily long delays between when a given public works project was voted on as an OP priority and when it was actually completed; and, second, others’ satisfaction with the passing and construction of ‘their’ obra giving them the sense that they no longer needed to participate. One key element of the dissatisfaction surrounding unnecessary delays concerns the time it takes the administration to complete OPapproved obras. In Abers’ study of Porto Alegre’s OP:

38

See Nylen (2003), 80–89.

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william r. nylen In case after case, according to administration informants, the promise to attend to the demands followed by the implementation of only a fraction of them led to a dramatic drop in grassroots support for the administrations. This decline in support negatively affected future attempts at implementing participatory programmes [. . .] a large portion of potential participants had lost faith in the capacity of the government to respond to their demands (Abers, 1996: 42).

Given the OP’s place as a centrepiece of the PT’s ‘mode of governing,’ the alleged impracticality of the OP allowed some critics to bring up the familiar charge of the PT’s ‘Utopianism’; in this case, implying that the delays represented the party’s incapacity to effectively administer a real-world city or state, ‘let alone the entire nation.’ In such arguments, the ‘real world’ is, of course, the world of clientelism and patronage politics (precisely that which OP administrators wish to challenge, not accommodate). In a slightly more partisan version of the same argument, many argued that the delays and inability to finish projects merely unmasked ‘the fact’ that the OP was more about the PT’s partisan image-making than about translating that image into effective public administration: the PT knows that the OP sounds impressive even if it’s ‘obviously’ impractical. One such complaint for instance focused on the case of Betim, in which the mayor, Maria do Carmo Lara (1993–1996), only included a relatively small percentage of the city budget within the OP (about 17 per cent in 1995), then allegedly told people there wasn’t enough money to finish all the projects on time; yet she retained discretionary control over some 40 per cent of the budget and used it repeatedly for projects never even discussed in the OP process.39 In both versions of this argument, OP participants are assumed to ‘discover’ that the OP is more about selling the PT than about getting things done. That’s why they drop out, perhaps even more disillusioned with politics than when they began their participation in the OP. Assuming for the moment that declining participation in the OP really was explained by the administration’s inability (real or merely perceived) to finish OP priorities in a reasonable time frame, how do proponents of the OP respond to these criticisms? First, they argue that the problem of delays is primarily one of perception rather than fact. A standard argument, for example, is that the PT and OP administrators have tended to oversell the OP in the heady 39 Interview with Paulo Mundim (July 19, 1996) Betim city council member (PDT).

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first year or two of entering into office. In many cases, PT administrations were so naïve as to think that they would be able to implement one year’s priority projects before the next year’s priorities were voted on. As a consequence, expectations were driven to extreme heights and bound to be frustrated. Another argument refers to how the ‘culture of clientelism’ among many OP participants creates an interpretation of events that seems somewhat conspiratorial or cynical at first glance, but is quite ‘rational’ from the standpoint of non-elite individuals historically subject to clientelistic offers ‘from on high’. In this instance, I recall a refrain I heard frequently in Brazil that ‘technical talk’ (e.g. reasons given by administration officials for delays in implementing OP projects) is, at root, just a ruse meant to cover up the truth and fool people; that, in fact, everything is in one way or another a political power play ( jogo de poder). So if promises aren’t being kept, the reason is really because those in positions of power want it that way, probably in order to line their own pockets (corruption) or to feather the nest of their friends and families (clientelism and nepotism). For such participants, the OP is just another arena of clientelistic exchange: they give their support in the form of participating in the administration’s OP (certainly not their OP) in exchange for government-distributed projects (their reward). If the projects don’t come, why show support? By the same token, if one’s project is passed and completed, the political exchange is complete and it’s time to retreat back into the comfort of private spaces and apolitical micro-communities, at least until the next political deal offers a chance for another reward ‘from on high’. OP administrators with whom I spoke came to understand that battling such a deep-seated culture of clientelism was an effort that might take many years, perhaps decades or generations. In some cases (e.g. Betim), administration officials decided that it wasn’t worth it. Funding for OP projects subsequently stagnated or declined, and participation followed suit. In other cases (e.g. BH), funding levels were maintained and even increased. Again, participation rates followed suit, this time in a positive direction. These results should not be surprising. When and where the OP budget increased, the likelihood that an individual delegate’s priority projects might be approved also increased. Accordingly, participation became more rational. The implication: participation in the OP is directly related to the perceived, if not actual, efficacy of that participation. Declining participation occurs not because participants ‘discover’ that the OP is inherently impractical, or that it’s a mere façade

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for partisan propagandizing, but because declining resources translate into reduced possibilities of delegates obtaining their desired projects. In the end, people participate when it’s worth their while to do so . . . which could be said for democracy in any of its incarnations. – Anti-OP Criticism #3: The OP is merely a disguised form of party activism and recruitment for the PT (‘partisanization’). A third type of criticism of the OP comes from those who dismiss it as disguised party propaganda and recruitment for the PT and its Leftist allies. We have already seen some of this ‘partisanization’ critique in this article in previous comments by OP detractors—that the OP is merely a disguised effort to impose PT ideology or partisanship on many of its unwitting participants. A related argument is that the PT-led administration illegally (or, at least, unethically) uses the OP as a means to exclusively showcase its own candidates and allies. A third related ‘partisanization’ criticism is that most full-time participants in the OP (e.g. delegates) are petistas and their allies on the Left. As such, the OP should be seen as a thinly disguised partisan front in which the PT and its allies use public institutions and personnel to distribute public funds for obras in their actual or hoped-for redutos eleitorais. These are serious criticisms. Given the generalized low level of interest and trust in party politics in Brazil (i.e. a big part of the problem of civic disengagement and Elitist Democracy), if the OP were to turn out to be ‘contaminated’ by partisan politics, that might serve to dissuade continued or engaged participation in the OP and/or, even worse, to further alienate potential non-elite activists and citizens from democracy itself. It could, in other words, make the problems of civic disengagement and Elitist Democracy even worse. So how do these criticisms stand up to close analysis? The first component of the critique, that the OP is merely a disguised effort to impart PT ideology on its unwitting participants, is unfair at best and, at worst, constitutes a deliberate twisting of the facts. Proponents of the OP make no effort whatsoever to disguise the fact that they are trying to create a new way of thinking about and practicing democratic politics. Participants in the OP are told from day one that the basic idea behind the OP is their own empowerment, and that empowerment means changing the way they perceive their role in the game of politics from dependent acted-upons (massa de manobra) to autonomous political actors.

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But while the goal of empowerment or conscientização was never hidden From OP delegates (and while this goal constituted a fundamental component of the PT’s ideological and programmatic development), rarely did OP administrators in Belo Horizonte or Betim refer to the OP as a ‘PT programme.’ This was surprising.40 After all, at the national level of the party and in international academic and development circles, the OP had become something of a symbol of the PT’s new way of doing politics (a moda petista de governar). But OP administrators in Betim and BH (and, according to Abers, in Porto Alegre as well) were sensitive to the context of widespread disillusionment with party politics in Brazil and the negative effect that ‘partisanization’ would have had on participation and potential participation.41 So while these OP’s clearly and unabashedly represent attempt to ‘ideologize’ participants, they did not, for fear of delegitimating the entire process, attempt to partisanize this ideology by associating it exclusively with the PT. The counterargument could easily be made that explicit partisanization of the OP’s ideology is unnecessary since virtually everyone in Brazil knows that the OP is synonymous with the PT’s ‘mode of governance.’ This argument would be hard to refute. Though exceptions exist, the rule has been that the OP is a ‘PT thing.’ PT administrators and politicians hope that its successful implementation will show voters that the PT governs in a completely different way compared to Brazil’s traditional political class. Once again, however, administrators recognize that the OP cannot in practice be perceived to function in a partisan manner, even as it represents a partisan ideology. Thus the explicit efforts to ‘departisanize’ the OP, particularly by designing the process to function in a non-partisan and democratic manner in which neither the administration nor the party can impose their own preferences on OP delegates (for more on the design of that process, see below). The second component of the ‘partisanization’ critique—that the PT-led administration illegally and/or unethically used the OP as a means to showcase its own candidates and allies—is, once again, unfair and a misrepresentation of the truth. In many cases opposition members have been invited to participate in the OP, even though at a later stage they may have excluded themselves from participation by their 40

This made more sense in 1998 in Belo Horizonte, where Mayor Celio de Castro belonged to the PSB (he later joined the PT), and the PT was merely a junior partner in his administration. 41 Abers (2000): 100–101; also see De Souza (1999): 73.

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critical approach. Direct and indirect participation of non-PT politicians in the OP process negate the criticism that the PT uses the OP as a means to exclusively showcase its own candidates and allies.42 If any cases of exclusion did, in fact, exist, they were far more likely to be the self-exclusion of those who, for whatever reason, rejected the OP and therefore chose not to present themselves before its delegates. Let us now examine the third and final component of the critique of the OP’s ‘partisanization:’ that since most full-time participants in the OP (e.g. delegates) are allegedly petistas and their allies on the Left, the OP should be seen as a thinly disguised partisan front in which the PT and its allies use public institutions and personnel to distribute public funds for obras in their actual or hoped-for redutos eleitorais. Let’s begin by analysing the second part of the critique. Democratic politics in the trenches, so to speak, is about getting elected and, once elected, about staying elected. This is the essence of the aforementioned ‘electoral logic.’ No politician or political party can completely ignore it and still hope to gain or retain office. Therefore, all politicians in some fashion or another design and target State-provided programmes and public policies in an attempt to retain the support of their electors, and to win new ones. To criticize that is disingenuous at best and hypocritical at worst. However, if the critique comes from those who necessarily do the same thing, but who do so using clientelistic techniques that demonstrably demobilize and disempower non-elite members of a highly unequal society (such as Brazil), then the critique needs to be seen as a deliberate and cynical attempt to undermine a potentially emancipatory political project by smearing it with the image of the very political tradition it is designed to abolish. Such a critique ignores the fact that the institutional design of the OP process more-or-less forces delegates to be active participants, not passive recipients. They vote on the projects that will and will not be constructed. Prior to voting, they participate in oftentimes heated debates on the pros and cons of each project, and they regularly negotiate (sometimes even fight) among themselves. The administration cannot simply ‘distribute public funds’ in this process because it is the delegates who ultimately decide what projects will be constructed as well as where they will be constructed.

42 ‘Indirect participation’ meaning politicians sending allies and sometimes even staff to represent their office.

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Now let’s turn to the first part of the ‘partisanization’ critique which states that most OP delegates are petistas or their Leftist allies. In their analysis of the third OP in Belo Horizonte in 1994, Somarriba and Dulci refuted such arguments with their finding that most OP participants were not members of the PT or any other political party (Somarriba and Dulci, 1995: 11, 14–15; 1997: 402–403). They concluded that the great majority of OP delegates were, in fact, ‘apolitical.’ My own findings substantially qualify this argument.43 First, it is true that most OP participants were not members of the PT or any other party. However, by including lesser degrees of participation and interest in party politics other than the most extreme expression of party membership, and by looking at their evolution over time, we see a story of a more politically engaged set of delegates than Somarriba and Dulci’s data suggest. Moreover, the vast majority of the delegates that indicated ‘sympathy’ with one party over others were sympathetic to the PT. This suggests a certain amount of support for the OP’s critics by pointing to a possible ‘partisanization’ among a significant minority of OP delegates. Critics’ arguments about an ‘overwhelming presence’ of petistas within the OP process may be overblown. But their concern about the party’s undue influence cannot be entirely discounted. Once again, however, we need to consider the argument that the design of the OP process itself (i.e. open information, debates, negotiations, voting) deliberately impedes the administration from ‘distributing benefits’ to its supporters as it sees fit. Sensitivity to the criticism of politicization serves the same purpose. Generally, local PT branches have not adopted the OP as an arena of party recruitment. It would seem, therefore, that the reason one finds so many petistas involved in the OP is because they have individually determined that it is worth their while to participate. Many of those involved come with a life history of participation in various social movements and in the progressive wing of the Catholic Church that preached and practiced grassroots social/political activism during the dictatorship and the first years of the democratic transition. It makes sense that those who strongly believe in the efficacy and importance of non-clientelistic grassroots organizing would be the ones most likely to take advantage of an instrument of public administration that places a high premium on autonomous grassroots organization and participation.

43

See Nylen, 2003: 74, 76.

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It hardly seems surprising that these are the same individuals that identify with the PT and the Left: the only political force that values nonclientelistic grassroots politics. Put the two together and you get a party project that naturally provides a means for these individuals to remain active on behalf of their communities and organizations; and one that provides them with another incentive (community obras) they can use to convince neighbours and colleagues that it is also worth their while to become more organized and mobilized outside the traditional channels of clientelism. So there is some truth in the ‘politicization’ critique in that there does exist a natural affinity between the PT-created OP, on the one hand, and the ideals and beliefs of PT activists and sympathizers, on the other. It would be hard to conceive of this relationship in any other way. Of course, those who share the same ideology as party leaders are going to: one, identify with the party and, two, identify with the party’s ideology-induced flagship programme. Having said that, however, it is still true that the perceived ‘contamination’ of the OP by partisan politics could serve to dissuade continued or engaged participation in the OP and/or, even worse, to turn off potential non-elite activists and citizens. If people perceive the OP to be nothing but a ‘PT thing,’ then they will likely avoid it in the same way that they tend to avoid anything and everything having to do with party politics. This perception seems not to be dominant, though. As we will see in the next section, all delegates—not just petista delegates—tended to give the OP administrators high marks for their work. This would be an unlikely outcome if the partisanization critique were widespread among them. – Anti-OP Criticism #4: Most ‘common’ people don’t know how, and can’t know how, to participate in important political discussions and decisions (non-elites are incapable of serious political decision-making) and are, therefore, subject to manipulation by OP administrators. The fourth and final criticism of the OP that I will discuss stems from charges that the whole OP process is chaotic and inefficient (uma bagunça), with too many disorganized and/or conflict-laden meetings. This criticism is a variant of the ‘ungovernability’ or ‘overload’ thesis expressed by conservative democratic theorists in which modern mass democracies are criticized for allowing too much ‘undisciplined’ participation, especially in the realm of civil society, ultimately leading

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to a breakdown in governability.44 Even among OP participants, one hears complaints about long and boring meetings, with too much time devoted to long-winded bureaucrats, seemingly pointless speeches by show off delegates, and other delegates’ relentless public pursuit of personal interests (e.g. ‘You haven’t paved my street yet!’). Similarly, the resulting projects are often criticized by the technically trained for not being rationally integrated into an overall plan for the future. Finally, as we have seen, partisan critics often echo the criticisms of many OP delegates themselves by pointing out the ‘unnecessarily long time’ it takes for OP-generated projects to be completed. In a word, the process is criticized for being too conflictual and inefficient to be worth the effort. A companion criticism—rarely expressed in public however—is that OP delegates, coming as they do from the ranks of average Brazilian citizens, are too uneducated, inexperienced, and/or self-centred to participate effectively in something as important as deciding upon the priorities of even a small portion of a city’s budget. According to an extreme version of this view, delegates often end up being manipulated by administration officials who then legitimate the predetermined outcome by calling it ‘the voice of popular participation.’ OP supporters counter these criticisms by stating that ‘politics’ among multiple neighbourhoods’ participants—necessarily entailing noisy and ‘messy’ disagreements but also entailing negotiated settlements and compromises—is precisely the kind of popular participation that leads to greater levels of empowerment, community consciousness, and democratic learning. Democratic politics is necessarily full of rulebound conflict, debates, negotiations, compromise, winning, losing, and the like—again, precisely the sort of thing found in the OP. The OP is presented by its proponents as an important school of democracy for those unaccustomed to being autonomous and empowered citizens.45 OP proponents are correct in arguing that the myth of efficiency so often associated with ‘modern’ autocratic and technocratic leadership 44 See, e.g., Crozier, Huntington and Watunuki (1975). For a critical analysis, see Held (1996: 233–273). 45 Personally, I suspect that the myth of democratic harmony reveals a certain nostalgia for the days when the common people ‘knew their place’ (or else!) and politics entailed ‘agreements among gentlemen.’ This myth ignores the fact that even the restricted aristocratic democracy of pre-industrial societies was far from harmonious. For empirical challenges to this myth, see Phillips (1993).

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styles is debunked on a daily basis in Brazil and elsewhere in the world as the news media reveal scandal upon scandal rooted in the lack of democratic accountability and procedural ‘transparency’ in government. Administrative efficiency requires respect for basic laws and other rules of the game. In an elitist political world with very little accountability, a great deal of impunity and an obvious disregard for the needs of the majority, the concept of administrative efficiency has historically served as nothing but a smoke screen for keeping the public out of public administration. OP proponents argue that it’s time for a new concept of democratic efficiency. Indeed, they argue, the best way to ‘reform the State’ (a concept constantly on the lips of neo-liberals as well as many within the mainstream development community) is not to dismantle the State, thereby unleashing a flurry of self-seeking and rent-seeking behaviour, but to democratize the State by setting up participatory instruments of non-elite empowerment and public accountability.46 This, they argue, is exactly what the OP and other OP-like participatory processes do. Indeed, in the case of Porto Alegre, Abers illustrates how ‘the participatory budget increased governability’ by establishing a single process with unified rules and criteria through which all of the Administration’s spending proposals and decisions had to pass (Abers, 2000: 88). Not that the OP in practice is a Utopia of democratic public administration. Problems certainly exist, and even the most devoted OP supporters admit the worst of these: OP delegates from some neighbourhoods who cut mutual support deals with other neighbourhoods then back out on their promises at the last minute, other delegates purportedly in the employment of opposition city council members who purposely try to disrupt meetings and delegitimate the process, and neighbourhood association leaders who pursue personal objectives in the name of community. Acknowledging such problems as evidence of the staying power of traditional practices and mentalities, however, OP proponents argue that the only long-term solution is civic education and citizen empowerment, ‘pluralizing’ or diversifying democratic activism, and bringing important decision-making processes out into the public eye precisely through such participatory institutions and processes as the OP. But these participatory processes can only work their magic—not the ‘magic of the marketplace,’ but the magic of democracy—if participants

46

See, e.g., Avritzer (2002); also Vargas (1999); and Fischer (1993).

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are willing and capable of taking their duties within them seriously and carrying them out accordingly. The critics are right to indicate this as a potentially problematic proposition. Can complicated information be condensed and otherwise made understandable to ‘common people’? In other words, are ‘common people’ ready for the task of participatory democracy? Judging by the opinions of OP delegates themselves in Belo Horizonte and Betim, they tend to view the work and behaviour of their co-delegates as both responsible and of good quality.47 However, in the end it may be difficult to objectively argue one way or another on the question of whether or not OP delegates (in the majority, as we have seen, consisting of ‘common’ or non-elite citizens) are capable of rationally taking part in, let alone fully understanding and rationally administering complicated administrative and political processes. Perhaps the answer must ultimately rest on the normative foundation of each one of us regarding the relative ability of ‘commoners’ and ‘experts’ to guide a given society. Is it that we don’t trust so-called human nature? If not, why should we trust the experts when they are just as human as the commoners? Is it that we don’t trust the commoners because they’re . . . common (the uneducated ‘unwashed masses,’ as it were)? If not, then why support any kind of democracy at all? And might our own lack of trust belie our own class interests in protecting what we’ve got from those who have less and want more? Perhaps we don’t trust the uneducated. But given the, at least, potential power of numbers in the representative institutions currently existing, wouldn’t it be better to educate the uneducated in ‘schools of democracy’ (not to mention decent public schools and preschools) rather than leave them unprepared for the temptations of demagogues, populists, and the purveyors of anti-politics and uncivil movements? I am reminded here of a justifiably famous quote from Thomas Jefferson: ‘I know of no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion by education.’ As for the other question—whether or not OP administrators are effectively able to keep education or ‘capacitation’ from becoming co-optation or manipulation—we have seen how OP administrators themselves were aware of the problem and tried to minimize it

47

See the results of surveys of these OP delegates in Nylen (2003), 122–126.

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through an institutional design that would make such manipulation so delegitimizingly obvious as to be not worth the effort. That, in itself, offers some evidence of PT leaders’ and OP administrators’ honesty and commitment to an ideal that goes beyond mere partisan or power politics. In addition, surveys in Belo Horizonte and Betim reveal that the delegates themselves—many of them politically conscious and active but by no means universally petista—appeared to feel, on the whole, that the processes were well-administered. Given the general atmosphere of scepticism and wariness about politics in Brazil, especially party politics, such a collective seal of approval offers one more piece of evidence against critics’ charges of the PT’s co-optation and manipulation of OP delegates.

Conclusions The analysis of the claims that have been made in favour and against the OP leave a complex image that offers several interesting, yet at times conflictual, insights. If we first turn to the proponents of the OP, it is clear that the system is a good example of ‘popular participation’. Women are much better represented among active OP delegates, for example, compared to more formal representative political institutions. Similarly, the clear majority of OP delegates had less than a high school education; and most were either salaried workers, housewives, retired, or unemployed. These characteristics of active OP delegates are quite remarkable in light of Brazil’s elitist political regime, political culture, and social structures. They show us that, while many non-elite Brazilians are disengaged from the political world, a significant number are willing to involve themselves in participatory processes of local-level governance if given the opportunity to do so. Second, the OP does not provide much support for proponents’ claims that such participatory processes engage and empower large numbers of previously disengaged or alienated citizens (the ‘empowerment thesis’). It turns out that most OP delegates were already engaged in civil and/or political society activists. These same pre-OP activists also accounted for a disproportionate share of the spill-over effects of new participation in civil and political society; and they tended to participate longer in the OP, thereby gaining disproportionately from the democratic learning assumed to accrue to veteran participants. While it may not have been a great tool for empowering the disengaged

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(at least not in these two cases), the OP was arguably quite useful in maintaining and, in some cases, actually increasing existing supplies of social capital by keeping previously engaged activists participating in democratic politics—in civil society and in political society—at the municipal and grassroots levels. Finally, in assessing the general claim that the OP enhances locallevel democratic representation, we find three specific arguments to substantiate that claim. First, the open election of OP delegates and their subsequent need to negotiate among themselves for collective benefits constitute an entirely new layer of democratic representation and activity (i.e. an expansion of the ‘public sphere’). Second, OP delegates directly challenge the antidemocratic clientelistic distribution of public services and goods traditionally associated with neighbourhood associations and other local-level organizations. Third, the OP’s open distribution of information about the finances and operations of municipal government promotes greater accountability, responsibility, and ultimately, better representation within the executive and legislative branches of local government. In sum, OP-induced political participation does substantially appeal to and include non-elite citizens. And while OP processes do not appear to empower many of the politically disengaged and alienated, they do appear to offer substantive opportunities to existing non-elite activists to continue their political participation beyond the heady days of democratic transition into the more mundane and otherwise increasingly elitist and distant game of democratic consolidation. The overall result: the ‘pluralization of democratic activism’ and, therefore, the ‘democratization of democracy.’ If we turn to the arguments that are made against the OP, critics are right to argue that the OP is antagonistic to the legislative body (e.g. city council) and to existing representative organizations in civil society. They are wrong, however, to argue that such antagonism is either ‘unnecessary’ or unconstitutional. It is true that city council members are regularly singled out by OP administrators and other administration officials as some of the worst abusers of the formal instruments of democracy for personal political and economic gain. That’s because city council members (members of legislative bodies in general) have historically been the carriers, so to speak, of Brazil’s clientelist traditions and practices. As such, they deserve to be singled out because they have regularly used their offices in ways that abuse the public trust. The same is true of many neighbourhood associations pre-existing the

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OP: they tend to represent the political interests’ of their sponsors on the city council, or the patronage-seeking leaders of the associations themselves, far more than the residents of the neighbourhoods in which they are located. Together, city council members and neighbourhood associations have constructed clientelistic political machines that have historically served to disempower and to demobilize the popular sectors as the latter find their avenues of legitimate representation always subordinate to the interests of one or another temporarily dominant elitist political machine and subject to the punishments of the losing machine. The OP acts as an instrument to impose accountability on both the city council and traditional neighbourhood associations, and even on the administration itself. In effect, the OP acts as an extra check and balance on these more established institutions. Whatever political conflict that may ensue, should be seen as the result of enhanced opportunities for non-elite organization and representation. Collectivities of non-elite citizens organizing outside of, and against, long-existing elitist institutions should be seen as healthy for the process of democracy. The second criticism levelled against the OP turned on the allegedly minuscule and declining levels of participation in the process. Low and declining levels of participation in 1996 and 1997 ‘revealed’ to critics the fundamental unpopularity and, therefore, the unrepresentativeness of OP processes and, ultimately, their wasteful Utopian and/or partisan nature. Measured relative to each city’s total population, participation levels were indeed low. But no one, let alone proponents of the OP in the late-1990s, expected participation levels to be very high in OP-like participatory processes, especially in a country like Brazil with such huge levels of poverty and insecurity. The goal was to provide citizens—especially historically excluded and underrepresented non-elite citizens—who wanted to and could participate in public affairs (or who someday may want to) with a wider range of possibilities of actually doing so, and of doing so in decision-making processes that they, themselves, had decided mattered to them. The OP and the numerous OP-like participatory processes do exactly that: as forums of open and efficacious collective decision-making, they allow that most precious of democratic resources—social capital—to be put to productive use, further developed and even passed on to a small (but, arguably, not insignificant) number of those who might otherwise have never become politically active at all. In the final analysis, while participation rates may be small in global terms, the OP has allowed tens of thousands of

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citizens, most of them non-elites, to more directly engage themselves in Brazil’s otherwise elitist democracy. In so doing, these citizens have diversified or pluralized political activism and public decision-making and, thereby, contributed (in an admittedly unmeasurable but nonetheless significant degree) to the democratization of Brazilian democracy itself. Criticisms of declining participation in the OP were ultimately shown to be premature, as were critics’ arguments purporting to explain those declines (e.g. the PT’s ‘inherent’ incapacity to implement OP priorities in a reasonable time frame, delegates’ ‘discovery’ that the OP was more about partisan propagandizing than either empowerment or public administration, the OP’s fatal incompatibility with clientelistic political culture). In fact, stagnant and declining rates of participation in the OP were shown to be due primarily to severely reduced OP revenues (therefore a reduction in the number of funded OP projects); these were rooted, in turn, in a deepening national recession and in a series of federal and state government policies aimed at reining in municipal fiscal autonomy. A third critique of the OP was its alleged ‘partisanization’—that it was essentially nothing more than ‘disguised party propaganda and recruitment’ for the PT and its Leftist allies. The first component of this critique, that the OP is merely a disguised effort to impart PT ideology on its unwitting participants, is unfair at best and, at worst, constitutes a deliberate twisting of the facts. Proponents of the OP make no effort whatsoever to disguise the fact that they are trying to create a new way of thinking about and practicing democratic politics. But while the goal of empowerment or conscientizacão was never hidden from OP delegates, rarely if ever did I hear OP administrators refer to the OP as a ‘PT programme.’ OP administrators recognized that the OP could not in practice be perceived to function in a partisan manner, even as it represents a partisan ideology. Thus, the explicit efforts to ‘departisanize’ the OP, particularly by designing the process to function in a nonpartisan and democratic manner in which neither the administration nor the party can impose their own preferences on OP delegates. The second component of the ‘partisanization’ critique—that the PT-led administration illegally uses the OP as a means to showcase its own candidates and allies—is also unfair and a misrepresentation of the truth. The direct and indirect participation of non-PT politicians in the OP process negates this criticism. If any cases of exclusion did,

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in fact, exist, they were far more likely to be the self-exclusion of those who, for whatever reason, rejected the OP and therefore chose not to present themselves before its delegates. The third component of the critique of the OP’s ‘partisanization’ argued that most full-time participants in the OP were petistas and their allies on the Left thereby ‘revealing’ that the OP is a thinly disguised partisan front in which the PT and its allies use public institutions and personnel to distribute public funds for obras to their supporters. I argued in response that all politicians in some fashion or another design and target State-provided programmes and public policies in an attempt to retain the support of their electors, and to win new ones. To criticize that is disingenuous at best and hypocritical at worst. But this critique also ignores the fact that the institutional design of the OP process more-or-less forces delegates to be active voting and negotiating participants, not passive observers or recipients of elite-determined and distributed benefits. The administration cannot simply ‘distribute public funds’ in this process because it is the delegates who ultimately decide what projects will be constructed as well as where they will be constructed. The claim that most OP delegates are members of the PT and other Leftist parties simply does not hold up. However, if we examine lesser degrees of participation and interest in party politics other than the most extreme expression of party membership (e.g. party sympathy, candidate militancy, interested non-partisanship), and by looking at their evolution over time, we do find evidence of a more politicized, even partisanized, set of delegates. And when we look at those delegates in both cases who did express party membership or sympathy, the PT is far and away the preferred party. The data suggest that while critics’ arguments about an ‘overwhelming presence’ of petistas within the OP process may be overblown, their concern about the party’s undue influence cannot be entirely discounted. Once again, however, I argued the relevance of the institutional design of the OP process itself: open information, debates, negotiations and voting deliberately impede the administration from ‘distributing benefits’ to its supporters as it sees fit. The party’s sensitivity to the criticism of politicization serves the same purpose. I also pointed out that the local parties did not adopt the OP as an arena of party recruitment, partly for fear of politicizing the OP and partly because they had determined that it was a dry well. I concluded that the reason one finds so many petistas involved in the OP is because they have individually determined that it is worth their while to participate. It makes sense that those who strongly believe in the

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efficacy and importance of non-clientelistic grassroots organizing would be the ones most likely to take advantage of an instrument of public administration that places a high premium on autonomous grassroots organization and participation. It hardly seems surprising that these are the same individuals that identify with the PT and the Left: the only political force that values non-clientelistic grassroots politics. The fourth and final criticism of the OP charges that the whole OP process is too chaotic and conflictual (along the lines of academic ‘ungovernability’ arguments), and that average Brazilian citizens are too uneducated, inexperienced, and/or self-centred to either participate effectively in important administrative processes such as setting the priorities, of a city’s budget or to avoid being manipulated by administration officials. I argued, in effect, that one observer’s ‘chaotic conflict’ is another’s ‘school of democracy’ and system of public accountability. Democratic politics is inherently associated with rule-bound conflict, debates, negotiations, compromise, winning, and losing; and so is the OP. Meanwhile, the ideal (or myth) of efficiency so often equated by the OP’s critics with ‘modern’ autocratic and technocratic leadership styles and administrative models is debunked on a daily basis as the news media in Brazil and many other places in the world reveal scandal upon scandal rooted precisely in the lack of democratic accountability and procedural ‘transparency’ in government. But OP critics are right to indicate the potential, if not actual, gap between theory and practice: participatory processes can only work if participants are willing and capable of taking their duties with them seriously and carrying them out accordingly. OP delegates receive training (the most actively involved received extensive training) and easy-to-understand information from OP administrators. Data from my survey of OP delegates in Belo Horizonte and Betim indicated that the majority in these cases believed that their OP’s were fairly well administered and that their fellow delegates acted quite responsibly, thus suggesting a positive evaluation of their time spent in this ‘school of democracy.’ Given the general atmosphere of scepticism and wariness about party politics in Brazil, such a collective seal of approval offers further evidence against critics’ charges of partisanization and of the PT’s co-optation and manipulation of OP delegates.

CHAPTER NINE

SURVIVING REGIME CHANGE? PARTICIPATORY DEMOCRACY AND THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP IN PORTO ALEGRE, BRAZIL Kees Koonings

Introduction: Democracy, Citizenship and the ‘New Left’ in Latin America Almost a decade into the ‘pink tide’ and after a generation of democratic transition and consolidation in Latin America, the balance sheet of progressive or leftist democratic politics is inconclusive. With the demise of the old (Stalinist or revolutionary socialist) Left in Latin America, the challenge for the democratic left after 1980 was to make use of the new political spaces opened up by democratization to advance alternative economic and social policies addressing the entrenched patterns of inequality and exclusion in Latin America (Castañeda 1994). This agenda can be termed an agenda for full and effective ‘citizenship’; the challenge for the new or democratic Left was to work towards civil, political, social and cultural rights for all, especially for those social sectors that had historically been excluded and for whom political democracy was never more than an empty shell of promises, clientelism or cooptation. In order to mean something, democracy had to be a ‘citizens’ democracy’ (PNUD 2004). ‘Full’ or ‘inclusionary’ citizenship means both that all conventional dimensions of citizenship (civil, political, social) are operative and that no social categories are excluded from it (Turner 1986). Authors such as Castañeda (1994) and Angell (1996) have argued that such a project might inform a new progressive political agenda. For such an agenda, a constructive interaction is called for between on the one hand social mobilization and civic engagement, and on the other hand political access to administrative resources through free and competitive elections. In this way not only may limited or elitist conceptions of democracy be overcome through the constitution of what Avritzer (2002) has called ‘participatory publics’; also the performance

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of democracy may be enhanced through a better and more just provision of public goods and services. Conservative or establishment political forces were widely seen as interested solely in upholding procedural democracy or even actively condoning democracy ‘with adjectives’. Hence, making democracy meaningful for sustainable social reform, social inclusion and empowerment of the powerless, became the platform of the democratic left. Towards the end of the 1990s, the mounting dissatisfaction with the social costs of neoliberal economic policies linked to a critique of mere electoral forms democracy, contributed to electoral victories of the left and the rise to power of leftist governments. Starting in the mid1990s in Brazil and Chile, but gaining profile with the advent of the Chávez-government in Venezuela in 1999, observers came to speak of the ‘pink tide’, indicating both the ‘systemic’ nature of the advance of the left as an alternative proposal to neoliberal globalization and the new left’s more ‘moderate’ agenda of social reform. Clasista politics, revolutionary transformation, and the establishment of radical socialism were abandoned; liberal democracy was embraced as the high road to social change without fundamentally challenging market capitalism as the foundation for economic development. As a result, leftist democratic politics proposed addressing a set of issues around the core frame of effective citizenship: growth with equity, social service provision, human and citizen security, ‘radical’ or direct democracy, participatory involvement of social movements and civil society multiculturalism, all under the umbrella notion of good (i.e. transparent, accountable and effective) governance. If successful, leftist democratic politics would therefore not only work towards less unequal, less exclusionary and more just societies, but also contribute to more meaningful and therefore more solid democracies in Latin America. It is, however, not the intention of this chapter to assess the extent to which almost ten years of leftist national governments in Latin America has brought these goals any further. Indeed, national governments of the pink tide persuasion have been too diverse, in too different settings for too short a time frame to make this feasible. The purpose of this essay is more modest, in focusing on local-level administrations led by the left in Brazil. Indeed, these have been in the game much longer, particularly those led by the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT, Workers’ Party), because this party has grown into the very paradigm of the new democratic left in Latin America and has accumulated experiences of good governance and social reform at the local level for more than

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 205 twenty years. I will basically review the much acclaimed (and perhaps overanalyzed) case of Porto Alegre for this city has been seen as a laboratory for long term governance by the left. From 1999 to 2004, the PT has governed this important capital city of the state of Rio Grande do Sul during four consecutive administrations. Addressing the needs of the poorest segments of the urban population by way of an intricate system of participatory governance centred on (part of the municipal budget) was an important factor in explaining this political success. Yet, the Orçamento Participativo (OP, Participatory Budget) in itself was not enough to secure a fifth term in power for the PT. It was not a total surprise that the PT lost the mayoral electoral contest in October 2004 but it did mean an important political change. Since 2005, a nominally centre-left administration (but staunch rival to the PT legacy) led by mayor Jose Fogaça, is in power. Interestingly, neither during his campaign nor during the subsequent years in office, Fogaça gave signs that he wanted to abandon participatory budgeting. This remarkable historical experience opens scope for two types of assessment: first, to what degree has a prolonged period of local governance under democratic leftist administrations contributed to enhancing the quality and depth of democracy through a transformative focus on citizenship? and second, to what extent can such an experience be inscribed into the democratic polity itself, meaning that advances in terms of citizens’ democracy through ‘radical’ or participatory designs will not be obliterated by electoral loss of its political mentors? This chapter seeks to address both issues. But before doing so, I will first situate the PT and its track record of local administration within the broader framework of the transformation of the left in Latin America and Brazil (from a ‘democratic deepening’ perspective), and then give a brief overview of the background and historical evolution of participatory governance in Porto Alegre. The two final sections of the chapter will, in turn, attempt to assess the track record of 16 years of PT participatory budgeting in this city since 1989 and the impact of ‘regime change’, the ousting of PT from power in the 2004 municipal elections.

Democracy in Brazil and the PT Experience of Local Governance Democratic transition and consolidation across Latin America over the past three decades has presented an extremely diverse set of results

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so far. On the one hand we can observe the apparent consolidation of electoral democracy. On the other hand many authors point to the persistent flaws and shortcomings of the democratic process (Agüero and Stark 1998) in view of problems such as inequality and social exclusion (Castañeda 1996), non-democratic politico-administrative practice and political culture (O’Donnell 1999), and various forms of violence and insecurity (Méndez et al. 1999; Koonings & Kruijt 1999). Democratic transition and consolidation in Brazil echoes this overall situation. After 1985, a broad and often vibrant electoral democracy has taken roots. Yet the flaws of formal democracy have been quite manifest in postauthoritarian Brazil. Political institutions show persistent weaknesses (Power 2000). State policies often fail to address pressing social needs (Weyland 1996). Hence, inequality and exclusion on the basis of class and colour, as well as the unrule of law and social violence cast shadows over the long-term chances for democracy (Hasenbalg & do Valle Silva 1999; Koonings 1999; Lamounier 1995; Peralva 2000; Pinheiro 1996). Such problems have earned Brazil the reputation of an ‘ugly democracy’ (Pereira 2000) in which democracy only serves to adorn deeply rooted elite privileges and structural forms of inequality and injustice. In Brazil, the slow process of political opening and transition since the 1970s has given space to new forms of social organization and mobilization. From the late 1970s onward, this civil society reborn has found multiple ways to link up to the emerging political party structure. As such it played an important role in putting pressure upon the authoritarian regime. After 1985 the democratic transition gave rise to new debates as to the relevance of social movements in contemporary Brazil (Doimo 1994; Hochstetler 2000). On the one hand there is disenchantment in face of a perceived withering away of social movements (Foweraker 2001). Democratic politics simply restored old political vices while being ineffective against the structural flaws of Brazilian social injustice. But others argue that democracy has opened new spaces for civil mobilization. Social movements during the 1990s sought for what Telles (1994a; 1994b) called new forms for forming a public space and a public identity. This led to practices that tried to avoid a closing off from the state but also to avoid a too optimistic allegiance to (opposition) parties. Social movements now are open to pragmatic and empowering arrangements with politicians and state agencies. Social movements and civic associations in Brazil have thus adopted the concept of citizenship as a banner for improving democracy and using it to empower and benefit the poor and excluded popular masses.

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 207 This agenda has precisely been given a practical significance of the electoral advance of the Workers’ Party (Partido dos Trabalhadores, PT) after 1985 (Keck 1992; Nylen 2000). Few would doubt the significance of the PT, not only with respect to the innovation of partisan politics in Brazil, but also withy respect to a new progressive or left-wing agenda for democracy-cum-social justice. Nylen (2000) points at the broadly positive contribution of the PT to the consolidation of democracy in Brazil. According to Angell (1996), the PT should be seen as the most important development within the democratic Latin American left since the 1970s. This advance has not been without ambiguities, however. The PT in office has shown a mixed track record of early failures and more recent success. The basic puzzle to be solved has been the strike a balance between the three faces of the PT: as social movement, as political party, and as government. These dilemmas have come to the fore especially at the local level since 1985. Diamond (1999) highlights the relevance of decentralized governance as a potential underpinning of democratic consolidation insofar as it offers scope for increasing accountability, citizens’ participation, pluralism in the distribution of power, and administrative performance. The local arena was therefore well suited to experiment with the political agenda of the new left (Chávez 2004: 19–20). In Brazil, the new constitution of 1988 has contributed considerably to effective political and administrative decentralization (Montero 2000; Samuels 2000). Particularly, municipalities have been made more autonomous (having received, among others, full legislative prerogatives within their sphere of competence), more policy responsibilities, and more funding. Jacobi (1995) offers a perceptive analysis of the early experience of PT local governance. In those cases where this ended in failure (and subsequent electoral rejection) the PT had been unable to solve the puzzle of its potentially conflictive orientations. This led to fragmented and divisive PT administrations that for this reason also were unable to tackle the leftovers from their predecessors in office or the constraints put up by hostile governments at higher levels. This has been most noteworthy in the cases of the early PT administrations of Fortaleza (1985–1988) and São Paulo (1989–1992). Baiocchi (2003a: 15) points at the dilemma, faced by local PT administrations and party chapters, of governing the city, pursuing socially just policies, and addressing categorical interests of traditional and often well-organized and vociferous PT constituencies. Managing ‘well’ the city as such might do little to convince poor and excluded voters, who had been deprived of the

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fruits of local governance in the first place, to continue to lend support to the PT. Yet, more explicit redistributive policies, to the extent that they are within the purvey of municipal governments at all, are bound not only to meet fiscal constraints (especially in the crisis-ridden and hyperinflationary economic environment in Brazil in the late 1980s and early 1990s) but also political opposition by vested interests. Not attending categorical interests, in turn, often led to activist responses (like strikes) by unions or grassroots movements that had adverse effects for (the perception) of local administrative process. Baocchi (2003a; 2003b) has argued convincingly that especially early (i.e. 1985–1992) PT administrations that were less successful neglected to find political solutions to the dilemmas pointed out above. These political solutions would have to address the following two key concerns: organizing sufficient support or at least tolerance for redistributive policies (such as local taxation); creating a political and public space for empowerment alongside or even beyond the PT-controlled local executive so that conflicting policy interests would not have to be merely decided by the municipal government but would be part of a broader process of political opening bringing new subjects into the public domain. Participatory governance, especially budgeting, emerged in the 1990s as a promising, and in many cases tested, formulae to achieve precisely this (see also Jacobi 1995; Nylen 1997). The Development of Participatory Budgeting in Porto Alegre until 20051 The system of participatory planning and budgeting has been in place in Porto Alegre since 1990, one year after executive power in Porto Alegre had been won by a leftist party coalition called Popular Alliance led by the local PT. The electoral victory, won late in 1988, followed upon a long period of authoritarian rule and, between 1985 and 1989, three years of municipal administration by the populist Democratic Labour Party (Partido Democrático Trabalhista, PDT) led by Alceu Collares. A large number of combative neighbourhood associations had played an important part in promoting the PT candidacy among the 500,000 or so considered to be the ‘urban poor’: one third of the inhabitants of Porto Alegre. Neighbourhood associations had been mushrooming

1

This section and the following section draw extensively on Koonings (2004).

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 209 particularly in Porto Alegre since the late 1970s. (Baierle, 1998). Against this background the somewhat surprising victory of the Popular Alliance can be understood. Still, the first year of the Popular Alliance administration was marked by the familiar problems and dilemmas that many new PT administrations had been facing at the time, as discussed above (Abers 2000; Fedozzi 2000a; Navarro 1996). The eventual success of this and the following municipal administrations in Porto Alegre led by the PT up till 2004 initially depended upon a determined set of policy decisions made in 1990 aimed at restoring conditions for governance and for giving real substance to the party’s strategy of ‘inverting priorities’ and popular participation. Alongside restoring the fiscal capacity of the municipal administration and improving relations with the public sector trade unions and relevant business sectors this strategy included the revamping of the planning and administrative capacity of the municipal administration as well as the refurbishing and progressive consolidation of a system of participatory governance centred on the municipal budget. In the years to follow, this system of the Participatory Budget developed into the cornerstone of the PT municipal governance, lending it a consistently strong image of effectiveness and legitimacy among a significant portion of the city’s population. The principal indicator for this assertion can be found in the successful re-election of PT candidates for the position of city mayor in 1992 (Tarso Genro), 1996 (Raul Pont) and 2000 (again Tarso Genro, although he stepped down in 2002 to compete—unsuccessfully—in the elections for state governor that same year). The evolution and refinement of the OP system continued throughout the 1990s (cf. CIDADE 2001). These developments responded to the evolving experience within the system, both by participating citizens and involved civil servants, but also emanated from shifting visions within the political leadership of the ruling coalition, especially from one administrative mandate to the next (cf. Genro & De Souza 1997). Gradually, emphasis shifted from a process in which the administration and the militant grass roots organizations in the most mobilized neighbourhoods participated to a process in which an expanding and more shifting population across the 16 regions of the city participated in an institutionalized universe that became consolidated and was able to negotiate with city officials. In addition, the consecutive municipal administrations set about to constantly expand the universe of spaces for popular deliberation and supervision of policy areas. In 1994, participatory budgeting was extended to five (after 2000: six) thematic policy

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areas alongside the regional level. The thematic plenary meetings and forums were meant to discuss budget proposals for more wide-ranging issues such as city-wide transportation and infrastructure, urban zoning, taxation, economic development, etcetera. A large number of Popular, Tutelary and Municipal councils were set up for an increasing number of issues such as education, child rights and welfare, public health, public security, sport, environment, science and technology, etcetera. In 1993 the second administration led by Tarso Genro organized a city-wide ‘constitutional assembly’ to discuss long-term directions and priorities. Pluri-annual financial planning and urban zoning plans also came to be discussed in the institutional spaces of the Participatory Budget and other arenas that link the citizenry and the municipal administration. By 2000, an intricate system had been consolidated in which (organized) citizens from the (peripheral) neighbourhoods, the political leadership of the municipal administration, and city planners and public servants met to prepare, discuss and decide upon the annual budget of the city of Porto Alegre. The process of participatory budgeting has been moulded into a yearly cycle through which the budget for the following fiscal year is determined. Since the working of this cycle has been extensively reported in what has become a flourishing craft industry of ‘OP watchers and researchers’ (Abers 2000; Baierle 1998; Fedozzi 1997, 2000a; Fischer and Moll 2000; Goldfrank 2003; Baiocchi 2004). I will not go into details. The main change between 2000 and 2004 (the last of the four PT administrations) concerned the streamlining of the cycle, moving from two rounds of plenary meetings in the regions and the thematic forums (see Koonings 2004 for details) during the first half of the year to one plenary round prior to the deliberations of the city-wide Conselho do Orçamento Participativo (COP, Participatory Budget Council) from September onward. During the first half of the yearly cycle, smaller-scale preparatory meetings and regional and thematic plenary meetings took stock of implementation of previous OP decisions, discussed upcoming priorities, determined the number of delegates and voted for candidates to the COP. The mayor, a number of his municipal secretaries and other leading civil servants were usually present at these meetings that total 22 (16 regional and six thematic plenaries). Over the years many of these meetings, especially in the various regions that agglomerate Porto Alegre’s poor districts, have turned into mass meetings. The better part of the meetings’ agenda used to be taken up by spokespeople for the many grass roots associations active in the region. Meetings were

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 211 concluded with the voting for regional delegates who will sit on the Regional Budget Forum and will coach and accompany the process from that moment onward. Election of these delegates was done by all attendants of 16 year of age or more; therefore all participants had to identify and register prior to the proceedings. The number of delegates to be elected depended on the size of the plenary meeting: one delegate for every 20 participants. Candidates are presented in ‘lists’ supported by competing neighbourhoods. Having delegates elected means more influence in the later parts of the cycle. The small scale (grassroots level) meetings were actively supported by the forum delegates. In addition, Regional Participatory Budget Coordinators (CROPs), municipal employees supervised, until 2005, by the municipal Coordinating body for Community Relations (CRC), were positioned in the various regions to play an active role in the meetings. Out of these meetings came specific investment demands (in the form of prioritized lists of obras and other investments) that are presented to the plenary meetings of the second round. After 2000, a virtual public domain was added to the cycle: any citizen could make proposals through the OP Internet site; these proposals were organized and categorized, worked into the preliminary budget ‘matrix’ and presented to the COP for deliberation and voting. Eventually, regional and thematic priorities were worked into a consolidated regional or thematic investment proposal. At the same time, the municipal administration presents its own investment proposals for the region or theme, to be scrutinized in plenary debate. Finally, the plenary meetings elected members for the new COP: each regional and thematic plenary can send two members and two substitute members (suplentes) to the COP, to be elected from often competing lists. Depending on the proportion of votes received, a list may win all or none of these posts, or any combination in between. From August onward, the focus of the participatory budget process shifted to the COP which organizes a city-wide representation of the budget process. The COP had 48 members: 32 regional representatives, 12 thematic representatives, one representative of the Municipal Employees syndicate (in view of the payroll implications of the budget), one representative of UAMPA, and two non-voting representatives of the municipal administration. Until 2005, CRC also provided an executive secretary for the proceedings of the COP. During August and September the COP debated the budget proposal on the basis of a draft prepared by the municipal Planning Office (GAPLAN) out of

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the regional and thematic priorities. COP reviewed this proposal and entered into sessions with representatives from the various agencies of the municipal administration. COP and GAPLAN, working closely together, employed a set of fixed criteria to allocate the investment budget for each policy area or sector to the different regions. This set of criteria had been elaborated by the COP with the support of GAPLAN and consisted of a sum of weighted grades for the deficiency of the region in a given investment sector (e.g. sanitation, health posts, or paved streets), the number of inhabitants of the region, and the priority assigned to the sector by the regional plenary. In this way, every region scored a number of points for a certain sector, and funds are allocated to the region on the basis of this score. This system, although complicated at first sight, aimed to infuse the allocation of resources with rationality and transparency on the basis of ‘objective needs’, the number of people living in the region, and the preferences voted by the participants in the budgeting process. When this step was concluded by the end of September, the COP officially presented the budget proposal to the mayor, who then put it up for deliberation and approval by the Municipal Council, the legislature of Porto Alegre. COP councillors, forum delegates and representatives of grass roots organizations usually stage an active scrutiny of the proceedings in the Municipal Council. At the same time the COP established a detailed Investment Plan within the parameters of the budget proposal. The Impact of Participatory Budgeting under the PT Administrations The participatory budget process was designed to be a key component of the mode of governance of the PT and its ‘popular administration’. For many observers, the participatory budget contributes in a decisive way to the core goals of ‘inverting priorities’ and ‘popular participation’ adopted by the PT as its governance proposition. From a more analytical point of view the question may be raised whether the participatory budgeting process contributes to strengthening (or consolidating) democratic governance through the promotion of political and social citizenship rights. Diamond (1999) argues that a consolidated democracy crucially rests on the interlocking of stable political and administrative institutions, the rule of law, civil society, a sense of community and civic culture, and a political culture that lends broad legitimacy to democratic principles and practice. In this section I briefly review the impact of

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 213 the participatory budget in Porto Alegre by looking at what Diamond (1999: 74–76) holds to be the key operational parameters for democratic consolidation: performance, institutionalization and deepening. Although there are no systematic data that monitor the output and impact of projects and investments decided in the participatory budget, it is possible to assess the redistributive significance of the process with respect to public goods and services. The overall investment budget amounts to ca. 15 per cent of the total annual budget of the city of Porto Alegre (the bulk being payroll and overhead expenditures). Throughout the 1990s, the municipal administration has significantly increased its direct revenue capacity while greatly reducing the outstanding public debt. As a result, the real availability of investment resources has grown substantially. Some estimate that roughly half of the investment budget responds to the community priorities generated through the channels of the participatory budget (the other half being based on ‘administrative and technical’ priorities brought in by the administrative apparatus of the city, yet also discussed by the plenaries, forums and the COP). Approximately 35 per cent of the investment budget is allocated to regional (or micro regional) priorities. Particular progress can be noted with respect to street paving (a mayor grassroots demand) and education (responsibility for which has been delegated to the municipal level by the federal Constitution of 1988 imposing minimum proportional levels for municipal spending on education). By and large, there has been a significant improvement of the quality of public space and the provision of public goods and services in the peripheral areas of the city. Until 2002, street pavements and water and sewerage were the most prioritized issues, since then popular housing (including legalization of urban property) has been consistently chosen as the number one priority (Marquetti 2001; Baocchi 2003a: 2, 23). In addition, the Popular Alliance administrations have made substantial efforts with respect to citywide projects in infrastructure, green areas and cultural facilities, among others. This does not mean that re-directing public investment has been able to solve the poverty problem in toto. Poverty dimensions related to income and assets are largely beyond the scope of municipal government, if we do not consider specific instruments such as micro-finance or work programmes. Regularization of titles of occupants of private urban terrains is legally cumbersome and takes years, although it is seen as one of the key poverty problems in the city (ca. 20 per cent of the population still lives in precarious, ‘irregular’ slum dwellings).

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With respect to ‘good governance’ Marquetti (2001) also notes that the efficiency of public investment has improved; he found a more favourable investment/civil servant ratio than in the past. It is not clear, though, to what extent this has been caused by the participatory budget. In general, popular scrutiny of the implementation of the investment plan tends to put pressure on the administration’s apparatus to deliver. This scrutiny also applies to supra-regional investments and to projects funded with external resources such as IDB loans. In addition, the COP has gained some influence on public employee issues through a tripartite commission for the civil service. Good governance may be seen as having not only an ‘efficiency and effectiveness’ dimension but also an ‘accountability’ dimension. In this respect, the participatory budget—through its meetings and publicly distributed material—seeks to be open and transparent. Particular emphasis is placed upon account rendering by the administration and direct supervision of implementation by citizens’ commissions. This has eliminated most of the space for conventional neo-patrimonial and clientelistic practices in municipal politics. Politicians, e.g. Municipal Council members (vereadores) have effectively lost the spaces for pork barrel politics. No obra or investment can be offered in exchange for votes or other forms of political support. Instead, participants in the budget discuss and decide on public priorities within a level institutional context that has fixed (though somewhat complicated) rules beyond the tinkering capacity of individual politicians. In the course of almost 16 years, the participatory budget system has been strongly institutionalized. There have been fairly frequent modifications of the format of the process, but with some exceptions these changes have been on details. The pillars of the budget process are the rounds of meetings with their fixed procedures, the criteria for consolidating priorities and dividing sectoral investment funds over the various regions. The architecture of the participatory budget is in principle communicated on a permanent basis but it can be assumed that not all are equally knowledgeable about the details. Baierle (1999: 12) reports that almost half of the participants in the 1998 plenaries stated that they knew ‘little or nothing’ about the rules of the budget. Knowledgeability moves up when dealing with grass roots association leaders, forum delegates, and COP councillors. But despite the apparent complexity of the system, rank-and-file participants overwhelmingly think that the participants have voice in the budget, and that delegates and councillors respect the priorities of the plenary meetings.

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 215 The municipal administration had set up a specific bureaucratic support structure for the participatory budget. The three main elements of this structure, until 2005, were the Gabinete de Planejamen to (Planning Office, GAPLAN), the Coordenação das Relações com a Comunidade (Community Relations Co-ordination, CRC), and the Regional Participatory Budget Co-ordinators (CROPs) who are based in the regions and linked to Regional Administrative Centres. These entities were directly linked to the mayor’s office and served to lubricate the budget process, to provide it with necessary technical information, and to support the involvement of line departments (secretárias) in the budget procedures. GAPLAN furthermore had to consolidate the administration’s input in the process and to assist the COP with the technicalities of the budget preparation. CRC harboured and active, committed and hands-on staff, firmly embedded into the local PT chapter. In addition, NGOs such as CIDADE were (and still are) active in monitoring the participatory budget process, advising the municipality and offering training to participants such as forum and COP delegates. Deepening can be assessed through the quality and volume of participation and through the overall legitimacy of the OP system. In the starting years of the participatory budget, participation was modest an basically limited to leaders and militants of grass roots associations that were strong in certain popular councils and already had ties with the PT. Failure to deliver on the priorities even led to an initial decline in participation. This situation was reversed only after the financial problems of the municipal administration had been resolved. After 1991 the number of participants in the plenary assemblies of both rounds of the budget cycle increased from 3,694 (in 1991) to 20,724 in 1999, dropping somewhat to 19,025 in 2000 (GT Modernização 2001). After 2000, participation (as registered in the plenary meetings) further increased to 28,907 in 2002, dropping off again to 23,500 in 2003 (this having in part to do with the implementation of the shift from two to one plenary round in the regions and thematic forums).2 Although there has always been the problem of double counting (those registering for the first round assemblies and for the second round assemblies were added up despite the fact that an unknown number of people go

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CRC data reported by CIDADE, www.ongcidade.org, consulted February 2008.

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to both rounds), it still means that, over the past decade, several tens of thousands of people may have been directly and actively involved in these meetings. To this must be added the (unregistered, hence unknown) numbers of those participating in the grass roots meetings during the intermediary rounds. The municipal Working Group for the Modernization of the Participatory Budget (GT Modernização 2001) estimates these participants to be close to 40,000 each year. Even in pure quantitative terms this looks favourable in few of the size of the total population of Porto Alegre (roughly 1.4 million people) given the fact that we are looking at numbers of direct participants (age 16 years and older). It might just mean that over the past five years or so, at least 100,000 individuals took part in one way or another in budget meetings, in other words, up to one third of the total ‘poor’ population of the city. According to several surveys conducted in the course of the 1990s (Abers 2000; Baierle 1999; Olegário Filho et al. 1999), most participants in the plenary meetings were indeed to be considered poor (earning less than 5 minimum wages), with low educational levels, and living in poorer districts and shantytowns (vilas). Men tended to participate more than women, although towards the end of the past decade women participation was increasing. On the levels of forum delegates and COP councillors, those elected to these positions tended to be less poor, better educated, and older (e.g. retired so that they had time available for the more laborious tasks in the forums and the COP). Critics tend to compare the smaller number of participants to the larger number of voters in general municipal elections. Such a comparison misses the point, first of all because voting in elections is mandatory in Brazil, while going to (and voting in) budget meetings is optional. Tens of thousands of (up till then) excluded city dwellers showing up voluntarily mean, therefore, a quite valid representation of the total poor population. What is more important is that the spaces opened up by the participatory budget process offer the possibility to participate if and when organized groups or individual citizens decide it is in their interest. These spaces apparently have come to stay, are stable and yield results. They contribute to a sense of trust among the people in the system and hence to its legitimacy. Of course quite another dimension of participation is the quality of the participatory experience and the ensuing outcome in terms of empowerment. Not all are equally active or vociferous in the meetings. Only a minority of participants states that they fully understand all the

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 217 details and technicalities of the process. What matters, though, is that participation is spreading horizontally and people by and large acknowledge the validity of the participatory budget process. One question that can be raised, but not answered, is the relevance of the budget process for the middle classes and elite segments. It is well known that these people hardly go to regional budget meetings and tend to dismiss it as irrelevant or coisa do PT (something of the PT), although middle class representatives are more active in the thematic meetings. The decision to open up an Internet access to the participatory budget process is intended to stimulate middle class interest and input in the system. A final point to consider here, given the conceptual observations made earlier in this chapter, is the question of how and to what extent did the participatory budget further the role of civil society? Abers (2000) has argued in her excellent study of the participatory budget process in its initial seven years that the experience offers a clear example of synergy between autonomous grass roots mobilization and associational life on the one hand and pro-active government action to further result-oriented participation on the other hand. Survey data make clear that civil associations, particularly neighbourhood movements, still play a heavy role in the budgeting process. Abers (2000: chapter 8) shows that the mechanisms of the budget tend to favour more open and ‘horizontal’ types of associations that can compete with each other or build alliances according to fairly autonomous perceptions of short- or long-term interests. She demonstrates that in fact the number of civil associations has grown as a result of the budget process, particularly in districts with a weak tradition of mobilization. Apparently, collective action can be strengthened once people perceive the relevance and impact of this action to be good both in terms of procedure and outcome. This does not mean that there are no issues such as an enduring technocratic logic within the administrative apparatus, or the often dominant role of the budget institutions (especially the regional forums) to dominate the agenda for civil mobilization. What matters more is that there has been created what Fedozzi (1997) calls a new public domain of ‘co-governance’ that empowers the hitherto excluded precisely because of political-institutional conditions created by a municipal state that professes to seek this empowerment within the context of formal democracy. The consecutive PT administrations have strived to multiply spaces for empowerment, not only within the participatory budget but also through other mechanisms such as

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numerous new councils, debates on the urban master plan, regular citywide conferences on strategic issues, etcetera.

Surviving Regime Change? Local Politics and Participatory Budgeting in the ‘Post-PT’ Era Despite these positive outcomes, the broader political consolidation of the participatory budget has always been more complicated. Between 1990 and 2005, the participatory budget has grown and ripened in the political leeway of PT/Popular Alliance control of the municipal Executive. As such, its inception was the prerogative of the mayor and his staff, supported initially by militant grass roots associations and later by the apparent success of the process, as indicated above. The net result has been the consecutive re-election of PT candidates for the mayoralty. However, critics, especially opposition politicians, argue against the participatory budget on the ground that it erodes the legitimate prerogatives of the Municipal Council. On paper, the Council can make any amendment it sees fit, but deviations from the budget proposal as voted in the COP could in that case be annulled with a veto of the mayor. Still, both the Executive and the Municipal Council have preferred not to seek open confrontations with respect to the annual Budget Law. Council members have the additional consideration of the potential electoral costs of being openly against a budget supported by the grass roots (Baierle 1998; Abers 2000). Related to these considerations was the issue of consolidating the participatory budget through municipal legislation or to include it in the municipal constitution (Lei Orgânica Municipal). This had not been done, although a debate to that effect was waged in the municipal council in 1996. Some parties were in favour of regularization by law to give the Municipal Council more influence in the process, but the Administration rejected this on the ground that this would limit popular sovereignty and the self-regulatory capacity of the participatory budget. The issue has not been brought up since. Nevertheless, the electoral loss of the PT in the 2004 municipal elections in Porto Alegre brought this question once more into the centre of political attention. Although the PT candidate, Raul Pont, had obtained by far the largest number of votes during the first electoral round of October (more than 304,000), this was not enough to avoid a second run-off round against the runner-up, José Fogaça, who had

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 219 obtained slightly over 229,000 votes. In the second round, one month later, votes for Pont increased to 378,000, but the opposition to the PT rallied behind Fogaça giving him almost 432,000 votes.3 Although the loss by a margin of 6 percentage points (47 versus 53 per cent) did not mean a landslide defeat for the PT, it was significant that Pont only secured a slight majority among voters with monthly family incomes of less than R$ 1,000. This stratum includes all of the city’s income poor, as well as parts of the (formal) working and (lower) middle classes, the sectors that had benefited most from PT governance, including the OP, during the previous decade-and-a-half. But this alone was not sufficient to secure a fifth PT term in office. Fogaça won by increasingly wider margins among the middle, upper middle, and elite segments of the population, that comprise a full two-third of Porto Alegre’s total number of inhabitants (Baierle 2005: 40–41). This in itself may go a long way in explaining the outcome. Additional actors have been the creeping erosion of the PT governance proposition (including the OP, see below), the erosion of the appeal of the party’s running ticket (Pont, previously mayor but linked to a more radical ‘tendency’ within the party, and João Verle for deputy mayor, seen as an inexpressive technocrat). The changing regional and national political context contributed as well: the PT had gained the federal presidency in 2002 and the Lula-administration was at that time plagued by a budding corruption scandal within the PT congressional delegation and by relatively mediocre policy results. The competent twice former mayor of Porto Alegre, Tarso Genro, had lost the 2002 gubernatorial elections in Rio Grande do Sul. In order to compete he had to step down as mayor, to be replaced by his deputy, Verle. In sum, a combination of factors created PT-weariness among the non-poor and non-popular segments of the electorate in the gaucho capital. Fogaça’s party (the Partido Popular Socialista, PPS) emitted a centreleft image, but his backing coalition ranged the full spectrum from established conservative and centrist parties to the traditional populist trabalhista (labour) groups that have been historically strong in Rio Grande do Sul. Fogaça himself had a political history of affinity with middle class positions and interests of the local and state entrepreneurial

3 Numbers reported by Baierle (2005: 14) on the basis of Tribunal Regional Eleitoral do Estado do Rio Grande do Sul (TRE-RS) results.

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sectors. It was noteworthy that Fogaça, although he severely criticised the PT monopolization of power in the city, never claimed to consider abolishing the OP and other components of the participatory structure. During his 2004 campaign he stated: The Participatory Budget belongs to the public sphere but is not a state organism. It is where the community resides. The will of the community needs the partnership of the municipal government (prefeitura), so it is the political will of the mayor to maintain the Budget and to guarantee its functioning. It is possible to improve the Participatory Budget through increasing information, so as to create instruments for greater transparency, to enable it to be more functional, easy and efficient.4

It was clear that Fogaça did not want to return to past politics of a paternalist, clientelist or populist nature. However, critical voices argue that the decision to preserve the OP had to do with his need for a ‘popular’ dimension to add to his administration.5 The overall (social) policy strategy of the Fogaça administration was called governança local solidária (solidarity-based local governance). This was presented as a guiding principle and a sort of superstructure for social policies based on information exchange, deliberation and consultation between the municipality and various stakeholders. The OP was to become one of the spaces of this approach, less prominent but, in the eyes of the new administration, enhanced and more effective. In practise, governança solidária local started to give prominence to so-called private public partnerships within a less political and more managerial and effectiveness-oriented style of administration. According to critical observers, the policy changes introduced by the Fogaça administration since 2005 have had a number of consequences for the functioning and relevance of the OP.6 First, the general thrust of governança solidária local implies introducing ‘partnerships’ to carry out social policies and investment projects. In these partnerships, both managerial responsibility and part of the funding is often delegated or privatized to NGOs or even private companies. The rationale behind this approach is that the municipal administration claims to have limited financial resources, and solidarity contributions by other stakeholders

4

Quotation taken from the online magazine VoteBrazil, 2004. See Baierle 2005, 2007. 6 Interview by the author with Sérgio Baierle, director of CIDADE and long term involved observer of Porto Alegre’s and other participatory formats, on 5 June 2007, Porto Alegre. 5

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 221 have to chip in. In practise, this has had very little result so far, since private funding for social programmes did hardly come forth if not directly linked to corporate interests. At the same time, the volume of public investment as part of total expenditures of the city administration has been dropping from almost 10 per cent in 2000 to around 5 per cent in the last few years (Baierle 2007: 14). Indeed, this decrease of the spending and investment capacity of the municipal government of Porto Alegre in fact already set in during the last PT administration (2000–2004) due to diminishing local tax revenues, decreasing transfers by higher levels of government, and greater outlays for large scale urban projects and the debt servicing associated to these. The Fogaça administration defended the reduction of public investment as part of total municipal expenditures as a necessity to adjust to the deficits created by the PT. The execution rate of public works and other investments approved by the OP and included in the yearly Programa de Investimento Social (PIS, Social Investment Programme) has been dropping; often half-finished works are listed as concluded, thus eroding the monitoring function of the OP system. Second, the style of the municipal administration in dealing with the OP has become more managerial in both the technocratic-administrative and politico-clientelistic sense of the word. The prefeitura has become more top-down, presenting decisions on projects as already made on a take-it-or-leave it basis. The OP system has been loosing its role as a space for autonomous decision making and has become more like a consultation and communication environment. Also, the substitution of all the CROP office holders and the coordinators of the city’s regional administrative centres (CAR) by new officials loyal to the Fogaça administration gave the latter new instruments for directly influencing key communal leaders to support certain (cheaper) priorities in the regional forum meetings. The COP, in turn, seems to have been losing its capacity to renew both itself in terms of membership and the OP system as a self-governed domain of evolving institutionalized practises (Baierle 2007). Finally, there appears to have been a gradual separation between he municipal administration and the ‘participatory publics’ in the organs of the OP. Although the volume of popular participation did not decline notably after 2005 meaning that the public still lend credibility to the OP, the attendance of the mayor and other high ranking municipal officials became much less regular. In November 2007, this led to complaints by the COP, to which mayor Fogaça responded that, although

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he recognized the importance of the presence of high officials (such as the municipal secretarios and himself ) to ‘give explanations’, often this was impossible due to ‘agenda problems, problems of priority.’7 These observations are admittedly general and superficial. Much more in-depth research is needed to achieve a more thorough assessment of the changes to the OP and to participatory democracy by the regime change that took place in Porto Alegre, the self-acclaimed world capital of democracy, in 2005. Yet, with the demise of the PT from power, the interest of the scholarly community, that often displayed an explicit or implicit affinity with the new left, for the case of Porto Alegre, seems to be waning. Like the local PT itself, researchers seem to be at a loss how to deal with the changing fortunes of participatory democracy in the city. Still, on the basis of my assessment, it is possible to draw some overall conclusions about the significance of the OP of Porto Alegre for left-inspired democratic deepening in the long run and in a broader perspective, as I will attempt now.

Conclusion There is no doubt that political innovation of the Latin American Left in the era of post-authoritarian democratization has contributed not only to the re-invention of the left in terms of its ideological, programmatic and strategic (i.e. pro-democracy) orientation, but also to the further improvement and even deepening of the overall significance of democracy in the region. Over the past 10 years this has given rise to a series of national experiments with progressive democratic governments as part of the ‘pink tide’. These governments have made political capital out of a critique of and popular dissatisfaction with the hegemonic neoliberal view of electoral democracy as a necessary and sufficient corollary to market-driven economic development. However, local level experiments with democratic leftist governance has done much more to achieve another aspect of this re-invention: the transformation of democratic politics itself, towards a more radical version of democracy, with participatory spaces in which citizens-as-citizens co-decide about the priorities for local level public policy (Chávez & Goldfrank 2004).

7 Fogaça quoted in CIDADE Newsletter, 27 December 2007, consulted through www.ongcidade.org.

participatory democracy and the politics of citizenship 223 The participatory budget experience of Porto Alegre has been widely cited as perhaps the most successful and enduring example of this innovation. Assessing the impact and relevance of this case, especially at its apogee around 2000, there can be little brought against the conclusion that the OP contributed to a more equitable allocation of public investment (thereby significantly alleviating the human and social dimensions of poverty in the city), enhancing the quality of local governance, both in terms of effectiveness, transparency and legitimacy, and, finally, creating new public spaces, broadening the scope for active citizenship to popular sectors that for many years had been excluded from the polity (Koonings 2004). In this light, the gradual erosion of the OP since 2000, and especially the changes brought about by the ‘regime change’ of the 2004 electoral outcome, can easily be seen as a ‘failure’ of the project of radical democratic innovation of the local left. Since this project did not guarantee the permanence of the left in power, it cannot be seen as a successful, structural change of democratic governance, because the successor regime is bound to undo the progress made. In my opinion, this is a too limited and unduly pessimistic interpretation of what happened in Porto Alegre, despite many indications that the new administration took steps that eroded the participatory and co-governing qualities of the OP. Here we see the risk of falling into the methodological pitfall of short-term distortion. Rather than envisaging the demise of participatory democracy in Porto Alegre, we are witnessing the way in which the ‘traditional non-left’ is also forced to address the issue of local citizenship and popular participation in local policy making. The fact that the OP was not abolished, and indeed, even in the words of the present mayor himself, has become part of the city and the citizenry, means that a profound reshaping of the local politico-administrative arena has indeed been achieved by 16 years of leftist government. It is almost normal that a government of a different political and ideological persuasion will try to place its own imprint on the participatory system and its outcomes. In this way, participatory formats have become part of the mainstream of democratic contestation at the local level. This may well be the real significance of the Porto Alegre experience. In a broader perspective, this suggests that, just as the left in national governments has seen the expediency of adopting ‘right wing’ approaches to issues such as macro-economic management, social safety nets and democratic institutions and procedures, also the right at local levels can no longer ignore the claims for participation, equity and accountability

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made by the poor and long excluded sectors of society. In the long run, here we may see the lasting contribution of the political revolution of the new left in Latin America and its relevance for the enhancement of citizenship.

THE CASE OF CHILE: CONSULTATION FROM ABOVE

CHAPTER TEN

CIVIC DELIBERATION AND PARTICIPATORY BUDGETING: THE CASE OF SAN JOAQUÍN, SANTIAGO DE CHILE Adolfo Castillo Díaz

Introduction This chapter focuses on the new relation between the State and civil society in Chile at municipal level, which has challenged the long-standing centralist tradition that permeates all levels of Chile’s state institutions. In the municipalities, the logic of clientelist power and omnipotence of the Mayor is being replaced by a new relationship based on the logic of collaboration and reciprocity between citizens and authorities. This process started after the restoration of democracy in 1990, at a time when the transition process focused on the elimination of the authoritarian enclaves of the military regime, the modernization of the public administration and the economy, and the reduction of poverty. This new process is rooted in the civil society and founded on a reconceptualization of the notion of citizenship. It has implied the creation of new social actors empowered to claim their political rights and is a development that challenges the rules of the game of representative democracy and the balance of power in Chile. In particular, the present study analyses ‘participatory budgeting’ (PB) in the Municipality of San Joaquín in the Metropolitan Region of Santiago. This is one of the first cases in Chile in which a municipality has modified the municipal budget allocation procedure and has allowed its citizenry to take part in the decision-making process by means of the civic deliberation of all inhabitants. It is a special type of democracy which, under the denomination of deliberative democracy, manifests itself in the institutional context of a representative democracy. This innovative administrative project has opened up a new space for the

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political participation of citizens and has become an opportunity to enrich the debate on democratization in Chile.1

A New Context A striking fact in this recently emerging scenario has been the renewed protagonism of the social actors and the decisive importance of citizen participation, as a result of the insufficiencies of the market and the subsidiary role of the State. In the context of this change, there is an ongoing conceptual and political dispute over the new power balance between state and civil society, and the particular role to be played by the emerging actors, the new social movements, and the so called ‘third sector’. This process has been accompanied by criticism of the government’s style of doing politics and general disenchantment with the economic, cultural, and social order in Chilean society.2 A consensus can be observed among academics, civic leaders, and part of the political elite about the fact that there exist shortcomings in the relation between, on the one hand, the representative structures and the politico-cultural coordination of the state, and, on the other, the system of social actors and its structures for the representation of demands and rights. Such a restructuring process is, in the first place, ‘polycentric’ due to the multiple public spaces where the creation of citizenship takes place. Since the 1990s, an array of new actors, movements and civic organizations has intervened in the public sphere, where they seek to manifest their ideas and demands. They include human rights and women’s movements; indigenous movements; sexual minorities; political and social NGO networks; neighbourhood associations; economic and social municipal councils; social enterprises (empresas sociales); environmental groups; organizations aimed at protecting the rights of disabled people, abused or abandoned children; volunteers; and new foundations that promote corporate social responsibility. All these orga-

1 This chapter would not have been possible without the contribution of many social leaders of the comuna de San Joaquín. My gratitude goes particularly to Sergio Echeverría, Mayor of San Joaquín, Carolina Guerra, director of the community development department, Gerardo Sánchez, director of the planning department, and all the municipal officials who have been part of this experience. Furthermore, I would like to thank Fundación Avina, Hugo Villavicencio, Luciano Ojeda and Vólker Gutiérrez of the Corporación Libertades Ciudadanas. 2 See Lechner (1994; 2001).

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nizations constitute a wide associative network that has been gradually emerging since 2000. In the second place, the restructuring process is ‘versatile’ because, as can be derived from the multiple fields of action mentioned above, it encompasses diverse issues and action modalities and operates in particular niches and at different levels of organization. The immediate consequence of these phenomena has been a change in the historical matrix that defines the political and social actors in their relationship to the central government. This new matrix regulates the functioning of the economic market system and has brought out into the open a new social diversity and heterogeneity, which had previously been absent from the public debate. Voices which until now had been repressed and gone unheard in the democratic deliberation process have been gradually emerging and have started to gain power by claiming sufficient political manoeuvring space, a more pronounced socio-political identity, and a better articulated party affiliation. After redemocratization, Chilean politics has been marked by large political parties, which address the socio-political issues in Chilean society without sufficient discussion or inclusion of the civil society. This has resulted in a crisis of the representative system, political logic and ideals; and the combination of all three has compromised the idea of a genuine democratic government. Nowadays, the down-to-earth political reality shows the contrast between the insulated representative political structure and a more participatory structure in which the social actors are able to exert their citizenship. The system of parliamentary representation in Chile has allowed the overrepresentation of certain dominant conservative forces and induced the creation of coalitions that exclude those that are not part of one the two main political families of the Left and the Right. In Chile’s present socio-political reality marked by twists in social stratification, these exclusions can only result in a significant increase of social conflicts and tension (Varas, 2003). Riquelme and Castillo (1993) have pinpointed a problem that troubles many South American political regimes, namely, that these regimes have become ‘bystander democracies’ in which the large majority of the voters can make no difference, while the real decision-making power is concentrated in the hands of a political elite formed by the party leaders, certain members of parliament, and high-ranking civil servants. This small elite group has evolved into a relatively homogeneous nucleus that controls political power at the national level and has consolidated clientelist relationships with ramifications at the regional and local level.

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In some countries this overall situation persists despite constitutional provisions that guarantee the principle of participatory democracy at national level and effective participatory mechanisms at local level.

Participatory Budgeting (PB) and Deliberative Democracy The participatory mechanism of PB, which was established in Chile in the late 1990s, allows the articulation of social arguments and the open deliberation on allocation of goods and services in the public sphere of the municipalities. This new political format challenges the traditional clientelistic mechanisms based on personal transactions and favours. It enables the emergence of a new role for the public administration, as part of the expansion of formal democracy that started in the 1990s. From this perspective, participatory budgeting constitutes an innovative mechanism that re-establishes the importance of collective interests in the public sphere and includes a variety of social actors in the public investment policy. Therefore, this mechanism enhances the transparency of the municipal administration because of the pressure generated by civic control and the concomitant public discussions in which the municipal authorities are called to account for their performance. Deliberative democracy is conceived of as the institutionalization of political practices and rules (both formal and informal) based on pluralism, political equality and collective deliberation. This system has the potential to eliminate the typical obstacles that normally endanger democratic cooperation and open dialogue on an equal standing. It allows intervening in the underlying causes of social inequality in a positive way and paves the way for the effective and decisive contribution of ordinary citizens in the broadening of the public sphere. In addition, it favours the articulation of participation under conditions of social equality and political freedom, which should result in a decisionmaking process based on public discussion, pluralism, and social justice (Luchman, 2002: 20). Other authors have pointed out that deliberation refers to a special type of discussion implying the serious and attentive consideration of the arguments voiced in favour of, or against a certain proposal (Fearon, 1998: 88). Unlike representative and participatory democracy, which share the idea that citizens have preferences, interests and pre-political identities, deliberative democracy rejects this assumption. On the contrary, it implies that the political generation of preferences is the output of

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a deliberative process. Thus, the will of the people is not the starting point of deliberative democracy but the contingent result of a political process in which the incomplete and preconceived preferences of the citizens are transformed and evolve through knowledge and rational reasoning. Moreover, it has been argued that the focal point of deliberative democracy is ‘the quality of the participation’ and, especially, the ‘capacity to participate’ in the process of understanding problems and taking appropriate measures. Through the exchange of ideas and by listening, the citizens are exposed to other ways of thinking that may change their initial preferences. This may result in a much broader consensus than the one existing before the deliberative process.3 Deliberative democracy seeks to strike a balance between rulers and ruled; decision-making is no longer the result of arm-twisting by ever-changing majorities, but a process of open discussion and deliberation among free and equal citizens. It is the right of all citizens to participate that legitimizes decision-making in a deliberative democracy. Thus, in this type of democracy, it is not the outcome of an election but the existence of a previous debate that authorizes a government or municipality to govern. For the deliberative conception, as Cohen (1998: 236) indicates, ‘a decision is collective whenever it derives from binding collective choices that have been the outcome of free and public reasoning among equals that are governed by the decisions’, and where citizens treat each other reciprocally like equals, offering mutual justifications for the exercise of collective power. Critics of this conception argue that deliberative democracy is based on a debate the purpose of which is to change the preferences of the participants. This implies that the deliberative debate is by definition ‘political’ because it leads to a decision by which a community must abide after the outcome of the debate is decided by means of voting. Furthermore, given the fact that people intend to convince others in order to obtain the result they themselves favour, what difference does it make to have a deliberation before voting? And, does a vote preceded by deliberation give a better result than without it? The question remains whether people are more likely to accept the outcome if they have the opportunity to be reciprocally persuaded before voting. What is more, deliberation can make people espouse beliefs that do not correspond to their main interests. It can even produce results that are perverse from

3

Phillippe Schmitter. El Clarín, Buenos Aires. 27 June 2004, p. 32.

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the perspective of democratic theory in cases when public communication overrules causal models that people have internalized about possible consequences on their well-being and that of others (Przeworski, 1998: 183–184).4 In the same vein, public deliberation can tempt people to adopt causal beliefs that are misleading and favour the sender of the message, or can result in preconceived preferences about the results. From this critical viewpoint, political candidates or parties compete with each other about policy proposals, and citizens vote for parties or a candidate standing for a political project that most coincides with their preferences (Stokes, 1998: 162; Przeworski, 1998: 186). In perspective, deliberative democracy can be considered as a critical alternative to the ‘realistic’ theories of democracy, such as the elitist currents that emphasize the instrumental and private character of politics.5 In contrast to the elitist conception of democracy that reduces citizens to consumers of products offered at markets in which there exists a fierce competition for power, a participatory idea of democracy arises that highlights the broad and active participation of citizens in collective matters.

Conditions for Free, Rational Discussion At least three essential conditions or principles have been put forward, which make free and rational discussion among equal citizens possible, and define deliberative democracy (Cohen, 1999: 38). The first condition corresponds to ‘the principle of deliberative inclusion’, which implies that all citizens have the same rights, regardless of their social, political, cultural or economic background. This principle refers to the freedom of parties to express their different arguments in the public space where the debate about ideas takes place. For this purpose one should assume that conditions are guaranteed through constitutional norms or regulations with an imperative character. The second condition corresponds to ‘the principle of participation’, characterized by the

4 According to Przeworski, deliberation can lead to ideological domination, a term introduced by Gramsci. 5 To the group of realistic theories of democracy belong Schumpeter’s ‘competitive elitism’ and the pluralist model of Robert Dahl. The former focuses on the power concentration in the hands of political elites, whereas Dahl’s model highlights the activities of interest groups in the struggle for political power.

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guarantee of equal rights for participation, including the right to vote, the right to association, the right to political expression, and the right to be elected to a political position. This second principle refers to the equality of parties to utter their conceptions and arguments, and this assumes the existence of societal and institutional conditions that allow the manifestation of this equality. The third condition corresponds to ‘the principle of the public interest’, which guides the discussion toward public agreement on social priorities based on the promotion of a greater social justice. This third principle should guarantee that civic or democratic deliberation is preferentially guided by the search for public interest or the attainment of public good with a collective reach instead of private or corporative interests. These three principles define a deliberative conception that succeeds in articulating effective processes and in making the expression ‘by the people’ and ‘for the people’—so characteristic for the democratic ideal—come closer to being a reality. In this proposal the associations or organizations of civil society are fundamental, because they represent the interests of a wide social base that would go underrepresented in the representative version of democracy.

Advantages and Drawbacks of Deliberative Democracy Deliberative democracy may generate a number of advantages when it is put into practice including: (1) the provision of information about one’s own preferences, the preferences of others, and the effects of decisions; (2) the modification of short-term and myopic interests; (3) qualitatively better decisions; (4) higher likelihood of reaching a consensus related to the public interest; (5) the strengthening of equity when equal opportunities are required to participate in the public debate; (6) and better qualified citizens as opposed to the passive voter profile, or that of client/consumer of preferences (Maíz, 2003: 7). Hand in hand with awareness of the virtues related to deliberative practices, a series of criticism, doubts, and fears associated with its development have arisen. They come from two sources. On the one hand, there are those that criticize the institutionalization of deliberative democracy and the co-optation of the civic participants by the state power, which results in the loss of potential transformative power. These critics have put forth the following arguments: (1) The power of

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the best argument may ignore the issue of power, inequality and exclusion of speech; (2) the attention focus on public interest may exclude healthy conflicts, strategic negotiation, and the defence of the interests of subordinate groups; (3) its application at local level may lead to a situation in which the central state omits to provide preconditions at national level for a deliberative debate and the existence of deliberative citizens; (4) the concern for policy making may push aside the issue of politics and necessary institutional reforms, as well as protests against deliberation; (5) the obsession with institutional spheres for deliberation may neglect the role of the social agents and of the mobilization of organized actors that may contribute with new interests, identities, and demands to the deliberative scene. On the other hand, there is criticism from those who argue that deliberative democracy results in an excessive antagonism among the civil society actors and that this damages the technical rationality and the effective and efficient results expected from responsible public agencies in providing public goods and services. The second group identifies the following critical points: (1) participation should not replace the technical expertise that is required throughout the development of public projects; (2) there is a risk that participation may heighten the expectations of the groups involved without the possibility to satisfy them; (3) given that participation intends to open up the decisionmaking process to excluded groups, it requires mechanisms for conflict resolution in order to mitigate the traditional power relationships and to instigate the privileged groups to end their refusal to share power with other social groups; (4) it is necessary to prevent conflicting interests within vulnerable social groups combined with a lack of accountability of their communal leaders from resulting in exclusion and abuse of power within these marginalized groups (Yamada, 2001: 11–13).

Deliberation and Civic Participation Civic deliberation is understood to mean the attentive and thorough consideration of arguments exposed by others concerning a matter of public interest before taking a decision. Deliberation is part of civic participation and the intensity by which it is exercised is closely related to the levels and limits of participation. It is a public action performed by collective actors or citizens. The concept of ‘citizen’ is of great importance. It had its origin in the European monarchic regimes and refers

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to an individual who is liberated from the ties of a repressive order. To this notion of ‘citizen’ were attached the possession of rights, rationality, electoral capacity, and self-determination. It implied that all human beings were equal and ignored inequalities that persisted in spheres other than the juridical-normative one. Obviously, this characteristic made it susceptible to critics, both from the Right, who stated that it seeks to equalize something that is naturally unequal, and from the Left, who stated that the concept grasps an abstract equality that hides persisting social inequalities. Apart from these criticisms, the citizen concept established the principle of equality of people at the juridical level. The notion of citizenship as well as the group of rightful claimants was enlarged in the 20th century during the development of the constitutional democratic state. Afterwards, citizenship evolved and the states designated the rights and responsibilities of men and women beyond their diverse collective identities. This dynamic process of the expansion of rights and their holders continues until today (Vieira, 1998: 215–221). From a wider perspective the concept of citizenship refers to a conflictive practice linked to power, which reflects the struggle about who has the final say in defining the common problems and the way in which they will be solved. It includes civic commitment, centred on active participation in the public process and the symbolic and ethical aspects, anchored in subjective inclinations that confer a sense of identity and belonging as well as a sense of community on a human collective. Participatory mechanisms are being implemented today in the programmes and public policies on poverty alleviation and social inclusion. This increases the economic and institutional efficiency of development projects generating savings, mobilizing additional financial and human resources, and promoting equity and the strengthening of the democratic system. There is not one particular participatory model which can be applied in all situations due to institutional heterogeneity and diverse technical requirements. Yet, there are today sufficient concrete experiences that can function as a basis to formulate projects and programmes each with its own participatory character. To realize this participatory approach, authorities should consider civic participation as a central element in the formulation of social policies, and encourage the creation of social organizations and networks in order to increase the agency of citizens to defend their own interests and take part in the negotiation with the public sector. The combination of civic participation and improved education may bring about fundamental changes in

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society, because both strengthen human capital, generate social capital and stimulate the emergence of a new authentically democratic and solidarial culture. Public policies can promote the participation of civic organizations in the public administration in a variety of ways, allowing civic deliberation to manifest itself in diverse policy environments, at different participatory levels as shown in table 10.1. The public policies carried out at local or communal level contain at least three stages of development and each one of them can give rise to at least five participation levels that manifest conceptions about democracy and the role of citizens in it. The quality of civic deliberation in the last three levels (decisive, co-management and control and evaluation) refers to an effective deliberative democracy in action. Table 10.1: Degrees of civic deliberation at different policy levels Stages Policy formulation

Implementation or execution

Control and evaluation

Participation levels

Quality of civic deliberation

Informative

Low intensity. The argumentation of civic actors is not expressed in the public space, which results in a communicational deficit between state and civil society.

Consultative

Low intensity. There is an open deliberation in the public space, but it does not lead to the best possible outcome.

Decisive

High intensity. The deliberation of the different options results in the best possible outcome.

Co-management

High intensity. The deliberation includes the implementation stages, generating a sphere of co-responsibility for public affairs.

Control and evaluation

High intensity. The deliberation includes the outcome and consequences of the decisions which have been taken together.

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Characteristics of PB In a PB scheme the community participates directly in the drawing up of the municipal budget and in the activities related to its control and evaluation. The discussion and deliberation about the priorities of public investment in which the population is involved favours a transparent administration, excludes intermediaries in the spending of public resources and, most importantly, improves the relationship between the population and the state authorities. PB forms a co-government model, that is to say, a model for power distribution through a network of democratic institutions that make decisions underpinned by deliberation, consensus, and public commitment. This allows a municipality to make the selection procedure of investment priorities more effective, efficient, and equitable. The whole decision-making process takes place in a deliberative and transparent public space in which the administration and different segments of civil society are represented. It offers a wide range of sectors of civil society—including those traditionally excluded and without representation in the traditional democratic model—the chance to take part in the discussion and deliberation about the budget. This inclusion helps to set priorities especially targeted at these excluded groups in order to improve their condition. PB is also an educational process that provides an important learning experience for the civil society actors and public authorities involved. The whole process from mobilization of the population, sequencing and content of its stages up to the implementation of the projects constitutes a learning experience that the participants may consider as part of a ‘school for citizenship’. The deliberative character and the role of the civic actors in the regulation of PB are fundamental components of the educational process and of its appropriation by the actors involved. Consequently, PB becomes a didactic tool to learn about public affairs, deliberation, and to grasp a sense of what the public interest really involves.6 There are at least two models for the administration of resources at municipal level. Table 10.2 establishes the dominant indicators that can explain the differences between two models. The first one is a model of local administration that responds to the logic of political action in a centrist state with the predominance of political parties and the 6 Part of these ideas derived from Pedro Pontual (2001), ex-secretary of the PB of the municipality of San Andrés, São Paulo, Brazil.

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adolfo castillo díaz Table 10.2: The deliberative versus the clientelistic model

Deliberative model

Clientelistic model

Impersonal, objective and universal criteria in the distribution of public resources

Personal and/or particularistic criteria in the distribution of the public resources

Differentiation between public and private interest Voting and priority setting after deliberating guide the use of public resources

Personal or private use of public resources Political favouring guides the use of public resources

Differentiation between the public and the private sphere

The disappearance of the boundaries between the public and the private sphere

Contractual relations Universal access to the decisions

No-contractual relations Privileged access to decisions

Transparency and accountability

Lack of transparency; no accountability

Institutional mediation and power control

Absence of institutional mediation and control

Autonomy of civil decisions and public issues

Tutelage or co-optation by the state

Coherency between the institutional and social level Equivalence between public decisions and the social reality

Duality between the social and the institutional level Disparity between public decisions and the social reality

co-option of social actors by a partisan municipal bureaucracy. The second model is based on a participatory logic that focuses on public deliberation, which stimulates civic involvement and the scrutiny of public affairs. The deliberative pattern differentiates itself from the clientelistic one because it is based on respect and recognition of social subjects and not on a perspective of distrust. It enables real transparency in the use of public resources and is the antithesis of top-down allocation linked to particular and clientelistic interests.

State and Civil Society in Chile The changes generated by the military coup of 1973 broke down the relationship existing between State and civil society in Chile. The reestablishment of the state order brought a double tension: the com-

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bination of Chile opening up to a world market economy with the internal fragmentation of society, as Portantiero (1999) rightly states. The result had an impact on civil society, breaking down community networks, social bonds, and safety net mechanisms. In turn, this set in motion a scenario in which society was marked by fundamental social and economic uncertainty, the privatization of life, and a crisis of the public space. From the military rule until today, article 94 of the law of municipalities has stipulated that every municipality requires a social and economic communal council (CESCO) formed by representatives of the organized local community. The mayor must inform this council about the investment budget, the communal development plan and the regulatory plan. This council has a mere consultative character and, in practice, remains without any decision-making power. The only institution with real power is the municipal council, because it has the power to approve the municipal development plan and the annual budget. Despite the advances made since the return to democracy in 1990, the majority of municipalities still have failed to address the demand and needs of their inhabitants or to create channels through which the citizens can voice their concerns. The absence of spaces for participation both in the field of communal public policies and in budgetary themes is largely due to a lack of an institutional framework and of commitment on the part of the municipal authorities to stimulate civic participation.7 Additionally, the local politicians maintain the tradition of acting like caudillos, and cling to power through a system of exchanging favours with their clientelistic base. A pioneer study by Arturo Valenzuela, which exposed this phenomenon indicated that ‘the Chilean partisan system is characterized by the central importance of particularistic transactions involving small gratuities and recompenses in exchange for political support’ (Valenzuela, 1978: 448). In this clientelistic system, the best organized power groups generally obtain the most advantages. They have at their disposal networks that remain connected to the political parties or hold influential positions. Those who do not have access to these networks—most citizens—must content themselves with the aid of a caudillo in their neighbourhood or the commitment of a local political leader. Consequently, the scarce resources available are often not allocated according to actual deficiencies

7 According to the Chilean association of municipalities, only five percent of the municipalities in Chile have issued a decree regulating citizen participation.

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and inefficiency is responsible for the reproduction of poverty, discrimination and/or environmental pollution. At present in Chile, genuine civic participation in municipal budgeting is limited to a few municipalities. There exist participatory initiatives to open up spaces where citizens can prioritize themes and allocate resources. It should be emphasized that these examples of participatory mechanisms are the exception rather than the rule in Chile and that they have a limited impact in terms of the financial resources involved. The following sections will discuss the success story of PB in San Joaquín.

The Idea behind PB in San Joaquín The PB scheme that has been put into practice in the municipality of San Joaquín has enabled the creation of a new form of democracy. This ‘deliberative democracy’ has implied an advance in the sharing of power relations between the rulers and the governed. The municipality is located in the central sector of the city of Santiago and has an area of 10 km2. San Joaquín’s estimated number of inhabitants is 98,000 and the number of people living below the poverty line reaches 15.7 per cent, of which 3 per cent is living in conditions of extreme poverty. The average monthly income of a household is approximately 223,000 Chilean pesos (€ 310).8 The PB regulation in San Joaquín qualifies PB as a planning instrument that allows a community to participate in the programming and allocation of the resources of real investment, collaborating in the prioritizing of the needs of the community, and allowing universal access to the decisions of the municipality. The overall aim of the PB programme in San Joaquín is to let the inhabitants intervene in the budget process through the design of investment proposals. These proposals are prepared in any of the seven defined territorial units that represent the public platforms for participation. The main objectives are, firstly, to increase the transparency of the municipal administration and overall political participation in the community; secondly, to improve the efficiency in the allocation of resources for municipal investment; thirdly, to increase the scope and impact of municipal projects; and fourthly, to encourage innovation in municipal administration.

8

Secretary of Planning, Municipality of San Joaquín.

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The importance of this process lies, in particular, in the way in which citizens can intervene in three of the stages of the decision-making process. Involvement is guaranteed at the initial stage of obtaining information and knowledge about relevant issues in the municipality. Secondly, participation is possible in formulating and submitting policy proposals for public spending. Thirdly, civic participation takes place during the deliberation process when the final budget is decided. The added value of PB is the increased democratization of the relationship between the local government and the citizens, which breaks away from the traditional vision that politics is limited to the act of voting. PB as conceived in this community seeks to democratize public services and to guarantee access to state institutions for all citizens, discarding the traditional method of top-down decision-making. This entire process assigns the residents an active role in their local governments and, at the same time, confers more power and a greater responsibility on the local government, in contrast with the traditional centralism of the national government.9

Facts and Figures of PB in San Joaquín PB was organized in San Joaquín for the first time in 2004, when the municipality allocated 73 per cent of its investment budget through this participatory scheme. The PB councillors selected seven investment projects out of 35 pre-selected projects with a cost of 104 million Chilean pesos (Euro136, 000). The projects included road paving, construction of communal centres, sports and health care facilities, and the purchase of a fire engine. A total 4,200 people, representing four per cent of the municipality’s population, participated in the popular assemblies. The majority of the participants were women (66 per cent) and the participants’ average age was 53 years. The largest category of participants consisted of members of neighbourhood associations (39 per cent), followed by participants belonging to a variety of socio-cultural organizations (27 per cent), sport clubs (15 per cent), individuals not linked to any organization (13 per cent), and members of the modernization committee (5 per cent).

9 PB evaluation document, 2004–2006, Department of Community Development, Municipality of San Joaquín.

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adolfo castillo díaz Table 10.3: The PB in San Joaquín .

Year Budget in millions Nº of Councillors elected Projects of Chilean pesos participants to the PB Council11 allocated funds 2004 2005 2006

104 120 130

4,000 5,353 10,049

55 65 95

460 145 103

Source: DIDECO-SECPLAC, San Joaquín.

PB has gradually expanded in San Joaquín (see table 10.3). The number of participants has increased and the budget that the participatory council can decide on went up to 130 million Chilean pesos (€ 190,000) in 2006. The municipality can now boast about having allocated the largest PB in Chile in terms of available funding and participants.10 Half the assigned funds benefited the neighbourhood assemblies; one quarter went to sports clubs; and the other quarter went to different cultural and social projects. The most established and oldest organizations such as neighbourhood associations and sports clubs have had a higher weighting when it comes to distribution of the resources, while younger cultural and social organizations have lagged behind. This can be explained by the fact that the core of leaders with the largest public vocation and leadership capacity tends to be concentrated in neighbourhood organizations, which results in greater capacity to articulate proposals and to negotiate deals. On the whole, the population favours presenting initiatives in the areas communitarian and urban infrastructure, while communitarian equipment and social services are in a less advantageous position. Most stages of the participatory process such as deliberation and decision-making have evolved successfully, and this has contributed to enhance the success story image of PB in San Joaquín. However, there have also been problems in the participatory process, especially at the stage of diagnosis of proposed projects, since there is a very low level of civic participation. The reason is that diagnosis is not carried out systematically and, therefore, does not include the real priorities of the community when the projects are submitted for consideration.

10

Municipal website of San Joaquín. www.sanjoaquin.cl. Between 2004 and 2006, 76% of the councillors were elected for 1 term, 14% for two terms, and 10% for three terms. This indicates a high degree of renewal of the civic leaders (Department of Community Development, San Joaquín). 11

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Table 10.4: Stages of the PB process and corresponding democratic modalities Stages

Conditions for deliberation

Democratic form

Prevailing logic

Informative and proposal assemblies

Free and equal speech and argument about neighbourhood projects in each territory

Communal deliberative democracy

Institutionalized competence of individual and collective actors formulating projects

Deliberative assemblies

Liberty and equality to prioritize and choose (by voting) the best projects

Deliberative democracy and communal management

Cooperation between individuals and grassroots organizations

Election of Liberty equality to representatives choose representatives for the PB council

Communal deliberative democracy

Institutionalized competition between preferences

PB Council

Communal representative democracy

Cooperation y competition between preferences

Exposition of arguments in favour of public made preferences

Free and equal speech and argument about projects in each territory

Consequently, this contributes to a situation in which the most powerful communal leaders and civic organizations are granted funding for projects developed for their own particular interests. The modalities of PB functions can be analysed by distinguishing between the different stages of the process. Table 10.4 presents an outline and shows that PB does not only entail the distribution of the municipal investment budget, but also results in real power-sharing and local popular sovereignty. Municipal deliberative democracy is understood to mean a moment in democracy that takes place when the social actors deploy arguments and use their power in relationship to other actors in a deliberative space. They express preferences, interests, options and what they bet on to improve the quality of life of the inhabitants of a given neighbourhood. It is important to stress that this deliberative process is a combination of direct deliberative democracy and municipal representative democracy. On the one hand, the inhabitants of the municipality actively engage in a modality of direct democracy when they vote on projects related to their neighbourhood or municipality in the public assemblies. On the other hand, their choosing the councillors

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for the PB council as representatives of the territorial districts is the first step in the development of a municipal representative democracy. These councillors are citizens representing the people, who secretly vote in the PB council in favour of those projects that they consider to be the most solid and likely to have the most positive impact on the municipality.

The ‘Caravan of Priorities’ Before the final voting round the councillors of the participatory council scrutinize all the project proposals during a visiting tour (caravana de prioridades) of all the projects submitted. In one single day, the councillors travel by bus and visit the seven territorial units of the municipalities and make a stop at each of the 35 pre-selected project proposals. During the ride, the mayor and the chief official introduce each project; on arrival, the councillors are welcomed by a committee of locals who have undertaken responsibility for the project and who guide their visitors through maps and billboards related to the proposed project. The councillor who represents the territorial unit explains the project and seeks to convince his fellow councillors in order to gain support among them. The purpose of the caravan is to let the councillors become acquainted with the proposed projects and build up political commitment. This collective tour is a landmark in the participatory cycle and highlights the fair competition and equal opportunity that each project gets to become selected. It can be considered as a technical tour, the purpose of which is that councillors should understand the importance of a proposed project for a specific neighbourhood. The caravan is also an important public relations exercise for the participatory process, since it helps to promote collective identification at the level of neighbourhood and at the level of the municipality as a whole. It gives a big pedagogic boost to the role of the local community leaders and has contributed to the emergence of incipient alliances and networks of cooperation, founded in a positive spirit of trust and communal development. This initial cooperation is the first step to bolster the formation of an extended citizen network at grassroots level. After the caravan, the councillors start an intense debate on the projects visited and discuss possible alliances and deals between the

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leaders of the different districts. In order to select the winning projects, the council holds a secret voting in which each councillor holds three votes, at least one of which must be cast on a project located in a district he or she does not represent. After the voting, the municipal administration can proceed with the implementation of the projects selected and the council plays an active role in monitoring the implementation of the project.

Assessing PB in San Joaquín As a new policy instrument in San Joaquín, PB has shown immediate positive results. The first important element is the universal nature of participation. The participatory process is transparent: the projects are publicly presented and all the citizen organizations and individuals over 18 years of age are allowed to participate and vote. The PB process itself and the projects presented have not been hijacked by a single specific political actor—PB represents the common good for all the inhabitants of San Joaquín and the projects are negotiated at district level—thus transcending parochialism and the demands of any given particular organization or neighbourhood association. Secondly, clientelism can no longer take root in the new PB structure because the decision-making power lies entirely in the hands of the participatory councillors without interference from the municipal officials or municipal councillors. This is particularly innovative and contrasts with the typical bureaucratic logic of decision-making in the municipal administration and with the top-down relationship between the municipal authorities and the citizenry, which has remained in place even after the democratic transition of 1990. A third remarkable aspect is that traditional clientelistic leaders are obliged to adapt to this new political reality, lest they run the risk of putting themselves on the sidelines and do not get elected as councillors for the participatory council—as happened to a number of traditional communal leaders in 2004. They were ‘punished’ by the population for their poor past performance. Only those who were willing to act by the new PB rules managed to renew their legitimacy as communal leaders. The vacuum created by those who did not make it was filled with new communal leaders who had previously belonged to informal organizations. They became elected and today they constitute a large part of the new participatory council.

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In general, the PB has opened up a new policy channel that has reshuffled power and modified communication between the local power and civil society. A complementary political forum, where state and civic actors can meet and deliberate on investments, has emerged and operates side by side with the traditional local authorities. As a result, participation has legitimized this new mechanism for the allocation of public investments and this, in addition, has promoted consensus among people, given continuity to policy measures and guaranteed more effectiveness in solving problems in the municipality (Serrano, 1998).

Emerging Social Capital in San Joaquín Social capital implies social linkages and civic activity that are the result of community work, local networks, and social institutions. It should be embedded in state activities and mutually supporting activities of public and private actors within the context of an enabling legal framework. In an ideal situation, the social actors should have stable linkages that go beyond social, cultural and economic differences and gradually create a social capital that can stimulate social participation, local capacity building, and a permanent linkage between state and civil society. The participatory process in San Joaquín has had a positive effect on the creation of social capital. Initially, synergy between the different actors was temporary and instrumental and limited to the period between the presentation of the projects in the district assemblies and the final selection of seven projects after the voting. Subsequently, synergy could be detected at the level of the civic organizations that took part in the process and intensified their contacts and collaboration. Moreover, it has also created an enabling environment to build up the necessary social capital to encourage rapprochement between the local authorities and civil society. This relationship is traditionally characterized as vertical and based on asymmetrical relations between entities that have little in common. However, the participatory context of deliberation and negotiation has encouraged the municipal authorities to make contact with the civil society and civic organizations that have accepted this new approach. The institutional overture has gone hand in hand with the transfer of information on the design of communal projects to the local citizens in order to improve the deliberation process. This has gone beyond

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mere information provision, and has also bolstered the much needed capacity building of grassroots organizations. It has stimulated the civic organizations—some of them aimed at complete different purposes—to collaborate in the same territorial district. Moreover, some civic organizations and individuals have learned to approach policy issues on a larger scale and beyond the narrow perspective of their own neighbourhood. As a result, a common vision of the municipality as a unit has slowly emerged and the nationwide publicity generated because of San Joaquín’s successful PB has only boosted this sentiment. It has also produced a particular aspect of social capital, namely ‘citizen networks’ based on respect, trust, and fellowship. New social relations between citizens and the participatory councillors have been established, built on mutual acceptance and support. Additionally, the organized and not-so-organized grassroots organizations have started to link up with each other in a more or less horizontal way.

Conclusion This chapter has discussed that citizen deliberation can manifest itself in the modality of a PB process. PB advantages and the criticism that this model has generated can be assessed by using the experience in the Municipality of San Joaquín. The evidence obtained from the PB in San Joaquín points out that the issues of power and inequality are being assertively dealt with and that it constitutes the basis to determine the social actors relevant for the deliberative process. In the modality of the municipal deliberative democracy the inhabitants of the neighbourhoods play a decisive role, while the civic councillors in the PB council represent the municipal representative democracy. Conflict in each argumentative debate is part of civic deliberation among the participants in the process, and strategic negotiations are the way to resolve interest disputes among the diverse interested groups. The municipal sphere constitutes nowadays one of the significant spaces for the development of public policies and the results and achievements of these experiences contribute in a considerable way to the construction of new integrative public agendas and proposals to reconstruct democracy at the national level. The participatory approach to public administration brings along a politicization of public affairs and the creation of a new shared sense

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of civic action. It is the beginning of a reformulation of the nineteenth century idea of democracy. The categories in use become obsolete when thinking about the question of the creation of a new political society able to catalyze ongoing processes of social restructuring in society. PB centres its efforts on investing in local ‘bricks and mortar’ projects but this does not exclude a future deliberation on non-material demands and issues, in which, if necessary, the civic actors themselves can emerge. Different associative dynamics coexist and operate at different speeds in a municipality, but civic deliberation enables the convergence of collective actors around new common demands, identities, and interests. From the deliberative perspective, participation constitutes the legitimization of the decisions that are adopted by those who are authorized to govern by popular mandate. Therefore, participation precedes the technical expertise that is essential in the execution of projects and does not replace it. Furthermore, a clear regulatory PB framework established in discussions with all groups involved will progressively teach people to put a damper on expectations that are too high, and to learn to choose because financial resources are always limited. The PB process also indicates that deliberative democracy constitutes a path along which citizens can express their demands and present their arguments. The PB process is not intended to subvert the democratic theory that says that the authority of elected authorities should not be questioned. It is rather the outcome of a recently created public sphere in which the state authorities decide on public spending together with civic actors.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PARTICIPATION AND MESTIZAJE OF STATE-CIVIL SOCIETY IN CHILE Gonzalo de la Maza

Most studies on civil society focus on its internal dynamics and define it as a ‘third sector’ in order to differentiate it from ‘the state’ and ‘the market’.1 This chapter, however, views civil society not as a ‘separate club’ but as strongly conditioned and permeated by the dynamics of politics and economics. The weakening of civil society in recent years in Latin America has precisely been caused by the impact of economic and political models. This economic and political reality has also shaped the institutional manoeuvring space for, and the opportunities of, organizations linked to civil society. Yet there still exist opportunities for strengthening civil society through public policy instruments and this chapter will address the challenges that state institutions and civil society face today in Chile.

Participation, Democracy and State-Civil Society Confluence The reinforcement of civil society should be seen as an integral element of the modernization of the state itself, as long as this modernization is oriented towards the deepening of democracy. This implies that the modernization of the state does not exclusively refer to the rationality or efficiency of the administrative proceedings, or to the maintenance of a state that promotes economic growth on a ‘free market’ basis. Until now the Concertación governments have not accepted that modifying

1 The concept ‘third sector’ is an economic term and was popularized by the international comparative project of the Johns Hopkins University directed by Lester Salamon (Salamon and Anheier, 1994). It was the same Salamon who later transited to the concept of ‘civil society’ without changing anything in his study object (Salamon, Anheier, List et al., 2001). For a discussion about these distinctions and their application in Latin America, see Delamaza (2001).

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the relations between civil society and the state is an important area of state modernization.2 From the point of view of democratic governance, it is also interesting to identify the ways in which the country can be democratically governed involving all its relevant actors and components. What is the role of the legal and political institutions in strengthening and developing democracy? Do they permit, stimulate, or hinder citizen participation? Do they reproduce the interests of the elites and dominant groups, or, on the contrary, do they grant a major role to the poorer groups or the excluded? I will argue that the modalities of the linkage between the state and civil society play an important role in answering these questions. This approach implies a conceptual position towards democracy in transitional periods. Despite the enormous popular mobilization which preceded political democratization in Chile the transition was characterized by a tacit political pact between the armed forces, their political allies and the pro-democratic forces. This negotiation did not only involve important concessions by the military, but also implied the de-activation of precisely those socio-political forces that had made the transition possible in the first place. At the theoretical level, this position has been sustained using an elitist view of democracy, in which the governance of the political process is reserved for the elites. The population is only allowed to choose between those elites during elections, and each form of ‘populism’ or direct expression of the interest of subordinated groups is opposed from above. In the original assumptions of elitist democracy, which were put forward by Schumpeter (1942), it was emphasized that there was a pro-democratic orientation of the political elites and autonomy from the economic forces and their particular interests. These assumptions have clearly not been verified in Chile, where negotiations of the transition towards democracy included the pro-dictatorship groups, which were able to maintain a strong influence by means of their political parties. This has been reinforced by the particular rules of the electoral system, the poderes fácticos,3 and

2 It appears as if things are now evolving in Chile. In 2005, the government presented a legal proposal (Proyecto de Ley de Participación Ciudadana) to incorporate the principle of participation in public policies. Since 2005, the Chilean Parliament has had the proposal under deliberation without significant progress to enact a law. 3 The term ‘poderes fácticos’ was created by current senator Andrés Allamand of the right-wing party Renovación Nacional to refer to the Armed Forces, the top actors in the business world and the newspaper El Mercurio. All these groups have strongly influenced politics since the nineties without being submitted to electoral processes.

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the new political elites of the Concertación, which deactivated the social and political movements that had brought them to power. In contrast to this elitist position, the idea of participatory democracy has been gaining force. This concept favours a widening of inclusive mechanisms and proposes different modalities of direct participation of the social groups in policymaking (Avritzer, 2006; Dagnino, Olvera and Panfichi, 2006). In Latin America, and especially among the left, this perspective has been more present in theories such as ‘popular protagonism’ or ‘direct democracy’ than as a proposal for democratic transition. It is based on the search for a real space for popular participation, which may prevent the populist co-optation and substitution of popular demands which have been characteristic of delegative democracies in Latin America. Nevertheless, most groups have developed a clear inclination towards electoral democracy together with a strong emphasis on its representative dimensions during the process of widening the struggle against authoritarian rule. Despite this trend, the autonomy of the social movements and the need for their political involvement beyond their traditional roles is very much in evidence. Chile constitutes an exception in the region, because there has been a situation of political stability without the emergence of strong social movements or new mechanisms of civic participation in the public sphere. In other countries in South America a variety of new initiatives for public governance have grown at national and local level and these new models often entail the active participation of organized civil society and take into account the demands of the social movements. This does not imply that these movements have abandoned their demands or confrontational attitude, which is often of a violent nature. Protests of social movements continue especially in relation to the state’s economic policy (Structural Adjustment Programmes) and its administration of local services. These movements also keep on applying pressure on the central government to give land rights to marginalized farmers and recognize the rights of the indigenous population. However, despite confrontations and concomitant antagonism, the state has gradually allowed more space for the incorporation of social organizations in its policy and this is creating a new kind of ‘public management’ that is taking shape under different banners such as social participation, co-responsibility, alliances against poverty, and local public spaces of co-management. This implies a multitude of strategies, objectives, and possibilities depending on the initiator of the process, terms of reference, and degree of required institutionalism. Nevertheless, in all the different

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variations the state is conceived of as a complex and autonomous entity and not just as the simple expression of social domination, as in traditional Marxist theory. This concept of the state distances itself from elitist theories of democracy, which only cast citizens in the role of periodic voters who are allowed to choose what the political parties offer. From this new perspective, the state-society relationship does not follow a one-dimensional and rigid pattern, but rather consists of dynamic elements of collaboration, confrontation, and complementation (De Sousa, 2003). Although there is evidence, as Abers (this volume) argues, that participatory policies tend to oscillate between clientelism and co-optation, it is possible to develop participatory policies that permit both these possibilities and simultaneously fortify the autonomy and strengthening of civil society. As long as they are well conceptualized and implemented, participatory models may create new patterns in the relations between civil society and the state. Flexible participatory models are characteristic of a democratic model which remains unsatisfied with a strict functioning of the representative institutions such as Parliament and political parties. This does not imply that there is an absolute contradiction between the representative and participatory dimensions of democracy. Nor does this mean a conceptualization of civil society participation as the cornerstone of the democratization of the state and public policies. This would require an internally homogenous civil society, which has nothing but virtues and at the same time is almighty, so that its mere enhanced presence would eliminate the barriers to direct democracy that the state keeps in place. What is more, Evelina Dagnino suggests that a ‘perverse confluence’ can exist between the neo-liberal project of the ‘minimal state’, which seeks to transfer its functions to civil society, and the project of democratization; both are in need of a strong civil society, but of a very distinct nature and with very different levels of participation (Dagnino, 2003). The main thesis of this contribution is that there exist areas of possible confluence between public policies and civil society within the perspective of democratization. This idea was inspired by a negative observation. Actors in both fields need to address the problems that have emerged outside their sphere of action, which have been produced by an increasingly deregulated and internationalized economy marked by unemployment, migration, new social pathologies, lack of protection

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for vulnerable groups in society, and different types of exclusion. As a result, both democratic politics and civil society need to face these phenomena and promote solutions that may differentiate them from the dominant neo-liberal thinking that is often at the root of these problems. From a positive viewpoint, the construction of new forms of democratic governance in the context of the current crisis of political representation requires the exploration of modalities of the widening of the public sphere which create different spaces for civil society. The ‘public’ thus appears as a much wider and more diverse space than the state, and becomes a central aspect of political democratization. This sets the context for the challenge of the enlargement and deepening of democracy, in the sense of redefining the links between state and civil society. As a consequence, what is at stake is the widening of the public sphere, and not just the diversification of actors, in the perspective of the deliberative redefinition of a ‘new social contract’. This implies, embracing the original ‘contractual’ notion which has been expressed in the political realm and expanding it towards the ‘social question’ [There is now a need for new ways to] preserving social ties, securing integration, promoting a sense of belonging, and safeguarding a minimal threshold of rights that allows us to mutually recognize ourselves as citizens of the same political community. [. . .]. The social contract is an accord on rules and norms which indicates when a society decides what is right and what is wrong, on the admissible or the inadmissible, on justness or injustice. [. . .]: the common sense of the common people, who do feel part of something in common (González 1998: 24).

The effects of the neoliberal policies are expressed in the weakening of social ties. This is the result of the uncritical and subordinate attachment to the most deregularized and insecure dynamics of globalization, the changes in labour relations and the abandonment by the state of its traditional functions. As the neo-liberal model continues to penetrate in society there will no longer be ‘anyone in charge’ of the citizens’ rights beyond what is being guaranteed by the legal system. It is in this search for new modalities of mobilization and of new relations between state and civil society that a ‘new citizenship’ emerges, within the framework of the reconstruction of a ‘social contract’ in which civil society fulfils a fundamental role. However, the emergence of a new force from civil society, which takes place even in the international realm, does not annul the need

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for institutional, legal, and programmatic instruments which guarantee, promote, and develop citizenship in accordance with the new norms. On the contrary, this need only increases.

The Particularities of the Chilean Case The elitist conceptualization of democracy in Chile was exacerbated with the notion of ‘democracia consociativa’, which has been proposed by theorists for cases marked by high levels of polarization, as was the case of Chile before 1973. Instead of sticking to the principle of majority rule in the representative bodies where decisions are made, this model grants a veto and overrepresentation to minorities, thus amplifying the power of the minority through the formation of coalitions. In Chile the concept of ‘democracia consociativa’ was tried on the dominant groups as a way to ensure their loyalty to the transition process and avoid authoritarian regression. Consequently, the Chilean Right enjoys until now a virtual ‘veto power’ due to the electoral laws, the composition of Parliament, and the requirement of qualified majorities for constitutional reforms. As a result, right-wing parties have been able to exert a certain degree of power even regardless of not forming part of the ruling coalition in the past seventeen years.4 Relations between civil society and politics started to diverge in the 1990s, despite the strong convergence shown in the 1980s through their active mobilization against the dictatorship and, to a lesser degree, the collective elaboration of the democratic institutional model. The new political elites joined a state administration which was regulated by the Constitution of Pinochet’s design, which not only partially democratized, but also weakened the forms of mediation with civil society that were traditionally very strong in Chile (Garretón, 2006). This implies that the political system with the above mentioned limitations and the party system were restructured. However, this new political structure did not bring along with it the creation of a space to strengthen civil 4 The newly installed Parliament of March 2006 is the first that is integrally composed of chosen members. The binominal system for the elections and the delimitation of electoral districts, however, still favour an overrepresentation of right-wing parties. Moreover, constitutional reforms, organic laws, and laws requiring special majorities need the approval of the right-wing opposition, while the Communists and their leftwing allies have not had any parliamentary representation since 1973, although they have obtained between 7 and 10 per cent of the votes since 1989.

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society and the establishment of new forms of political participation.5 New bridges and forms of convergence are only expressed by generating local and sectoral spaces in the public domain and community cooperation, usually in the context of focalized social policies. These spaces are established without any public deliberation and without creating new social movements (Delamaza and Ochsenius, 2007). In the Chilean case, the rise of an autonomous civil society was preceded by an active and ubiquitous presence of the state. The state continues to be present in social dynamics through a number of mechanisms such as public expenditure, externalization of services, educational subsidies, housing, irrigation in rural areas, the forestry sector, business associations, health care institutions, labour training, micro businesses, and tendering for social projects. However, the presence of the state is now producing outcomes that are different from those observed before the military dictatorship, when state participation was orientated towards the formation of social actors which would be functional to the state’s dominant political strategies. This change has been the result of the subordination of the state to the neo-liberal logic. As a result of this subordination, the general increase of expenditure and its social focalization have failed to resolve structural problems which undermine social cohesion such as job insecurity, changes in family life, the situation of the poor, and the rapidly changing economic landscape. Moreover, the presence-cum-involvement of the Chilean state is dissimilar in its different levels and sectors. On the one hand, there are the new institutions and programmes created under the democratic governments; on the other, there remain different institutions such as the Armed Forces and the Central Bank, among others, which still preserve the great autonomy conferred upon them during the Pinochet years. As a result, instead of conceiving of the state administration as ‘machinery’, it may prove much more useful to view it as a space for negotiation, which expresses itself in diverse ways. This may help to explain why the state promotes active citizenship, yet discourages it at the same time by not providing the necessary legal framework of adequate political support. Consequently, the requirements for the strengthening of civil

5

It has resulted in a growing distrust of the public opinion toward political parties and Parliament, and in stagnation in the number of citizens who vote in elections. One of the major reasons is that as much as 80 per cent of people under 30 years of age have not registered as voters.

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society do not translate simply into ‘more’ or ‘less’ state, but into the need for new relation modalities between state and society. As a result, the problem of citizenship has become closely associated with the agenda of state transformation or modernization. This agenda is being put forward by different sectors with diverse arguments. The strongest pressure comes from the theorists of the ‘minimal state’, a concept that is heir to the ‘principle of subsidiarity’, which was the guiding principle for the military regime in many areas (except in its repression). Proposals in this direction are supported by the growing prestige of the ‘efficiency’ of the private sector, the importance of privatized enterprises, the slowness and incoherence of policy measures and the state bureaucracy, as well as by a general distrust in the political game. From this point of view, the modernization of the state points towards the reduction of state expenditure, the quantitative downsizing of state institutions, and the deepening of the process of municipalization. From the perspective of substantial democratization these proposals call for the elaboration of a new Constitution in order to complete the process of institutional normalization and, secondly, reshape state-society relationships on the basis of Chile’s new socio-political reality. The overall goal is to widen the public space and limit the unbound privatization of social and political activities. Consequently, the state is sorely pressurized to address the impact of unemployment, job insecurity, and lack of pension coverage, which are the result of the omnipresence of the neo-liberal model. The state, however, is not the only actor involved and both state and social movements share the responsibility to intervene in the public sphere. Should they fail to do so, they may pay a political price for exacerbating the problems that have emerged outside their respective spheres of influence. The previous viewpoint suggests that public policies can indeed become strategic tools for the strengthening of social capital due to their influence and scope. They are based on democratizing principles and, thus, can contribute to represent interests, transcending social diversity, and stimulating and setting the agenda at the local, regional, and national level. The political will to deepen democracy should be expressed through innovative social and public policies, which should replace the confrontation and antagonism between state and society, prevailing in the 1980s. These initiatives must not only be considered as a ‘problem of the government’ but as shared responsibility and, therefore, require the participation of private and public actors, who collaborate.

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New Initiatives in Local Public Management During the last years, a myriad of initiatives addressing public problems have taken place in Chile, mostly at the municipal level. The city of Santiago has been carrying out a number of innovative projects among which are participatory budgeting in several comunas such as Cerro Navia, La Pintana and Buin; policy networks in which different governmental agencies and municipalities collaborate to organize primary health care and to deal with drug addiction in the comuna Pedro Aguirre Cerda; incentives for local economic development in the southern part of the Santiago; a children’s fund (Banco de Los Niños) in Cerro Navia, etc.6 These initiatives can roughly be classified into three main fields. In the first place, there are those which are focused on the empowerment of new actor groups on the local public scene. Some of these experiences have been induced by the new social programmes implemented in the 1990s, which have been focused on ‘vulnerable sectors’ such as the elderly, the disabled and ethnic minorities. Others have been based on the struggle against discrimination, violence, and intolerance, for instance, in the case of women, indigenous groups, homosexuals, and children. Some assert their own logic of rights, while others conform to the government’s policy focus and the logics of assistance combined with participation of the target groups. These groups seek recognition, and demand the right to manifest themselves and make specific demands. All of them have enhanced the public presence of actors that before had been invisible, and have redefined the conditions for public action. This does not necessarily imply ‘citizenship through differentiation’ as Sinesio López (1997) claims, although it may lead to it. A second field refers to the processes of local economic development, in which the role of citizens is strongly related to satisfying basic needs, and generating economic activities. Small farmers, traditional fishermen, rural cooperatives, indigenous communities and recyclers of paper and cardboard have multiplied the input from civil society, and this has been innovative in two ways. On the one hand, they have developed economic alternatives, and joined forces to modernize the countryside and sustain local production. On the other, they have strengthened their capacity for collective action by taking decisions which have positioned

6

For a detailed overview of municipal initiatives see www.innovacionciudadana.cl.

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them as strategic partners in the planning process of public investments in their municipalities. The third significant field has to do with experiences in inter-sectoral coordination and links with the public sector. Many civil society projects initiated by social organizations applied an integral approach, with a territorial focus and thus managed to become important factors in the coordination and orientation of public programmes without losing their identity. The conditions for this kind of experience to bear fruit are local permanency, legitimacy in the area, and willingness of the authorities to listen. As empowerment is one of the crucial points in public politics, this capacity is strategic for local development, combating poverty, and other areas. Nevertheless, the impact of these efforts is limited in Santiago because the city has been divided into 34 comunas, each ruled by its own mayor, and lacks a centralized metropolitan government, as Bogotá or Madrid. At the same time, the city is strongly segregated in socio-economic terms, due to the eradication of slums in the eighties followed by the relocation of poor families and public housing programmes since 1990 (Corvalán, Sabatini and Cáceres, 2004). The innovative aspect of these initiatives lies in the ways in which they transform the social and institutional organization. What emerges from this process does not respond to ‘pure models’ but it rather forms a kind of mestizaje at different levels: types of action involved, different institutions concerned, mechanisms of representation, and identity of each of these organizations. These transformations challenge the broadly accepted distinction between the ‘state’ and ‘civil society’ and show social organizations that coordinate public investment or play other roles that are the direct product of state action without being synonymous with the political clientele in the municipality. One of these initiatives is that of consejos locales (local councils), which are formed by representatives of municipal, sectoral, and farmers’ organizations, and are set up through a state programme. How should we classify this kind of initiative? As a more sophisticated expression of rural civil society or as an efficient interface of rural civil society and a specific public policy? There is no doubt that these initiatives cannot be categorized by using the common conceptual sectoral terminology. They may appear to belong to the ‘third sector’, which is characterized by its non-profit character, yet many of these initiatives have been classified as profit-making entities in order to carry on with their social activities. In one case, an indigenous organization has even set up a public limited

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company with traditional community leaders as shareholders, because of the lack of other options in the legal system. These organizational forms do not correspond to their essential tasks and, therefore, different outcomes may result, depending on the evolution of public programmes and their requirements, such as legal and institutional framework, and links between the state institution and civic organizations.7 This breaking down of social barriers has resulted in a mestizaje or cross between technical competence and innate leadership as recognized by the community. Whereas in the past ‘natural leaders’, who were gifted with legal knowledge and a sophisticated political discourse, were co-opted by political parties, today, local civil leaders become familiar with the technical language of project design, the formulation of result-oriented projects, and the use of e-mail and internet. This ability allows them to enter the maze of modern bureaucracy without having to act in the public space. Consequently, there has emerged a blend of, on the one side, tradition and identity, and on the other, different modernization processes. The diverse aspects of this new reality are appropriated and adapted by the civic actors, each in their own style. This adoption is sometimes a long and difficult process for the actors involved. Sometimes, however, this adoption can be the result of a simple administrative measure, only that government officials seem to be hesitant to take it. It has become clear that the approaches used by successful initiatives are those that transcend economic, social, and political barriers. This does not mean an intersectoral approach but rather an integral focus, usually of a simple nature, which has been developed through trial and error.8 Only in some cases are these approaches systematized, studied and evaluated. Especially in poor municipality it does not make sense to distinguish different ‘sectors’ because they simply do not exist, or civic organizations are not able to discern sectoral subtleties and, instead, tackle their problems directly and not through the logic of the public administration.

7 These tendencies towards mestizaje are also found among state entities and the private sector. They do not only include public enterprise, but also municipal corporations performing education and health services as private companies and universities (Delamaza, 2001). 8 Social leaders with such a successful approach and acting as coordinators among the disarticulated and fragmented public programmes can be found in Peñalolén, a popular neighbourhood in Santiago (Delamaza and Rayo, 2002).

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In the interface of state and civil society a new element that emerges is the exercise of rights. These rights are so far not recognized from ‘above’, but are increasingly articulated from ‘below’. This process takes place at the local level, in the encounter of a specific public agency and a civic organization with some record of service, or of a persistent social group and a willing mayor. This new development can produce insights that may help to change a political culture not accustomed to the exercise of rights in the economic, social and cultural field. It is important to emphasize that the municipality can act as an interface of the different levels of administration, and is constantly under pressure to develop efficient modalities which link ‘top-down’ with ‘bottom-up’ aspects. As a result, the challenge is not between giving more power to the mayors, increasing social investment, or becoming more transparent. What is required is the improvement of the connections and the pertinence of the linkages between the different levels. If this interface is to succeed, it will need to be appropriate and adapted to the specific context. Given the heterogeneity of the Chilean municipal system it is necessary that successful initiatives obtain sufficient manoeuvring room in the different communities in which they are implemented.

Social Policies and the Inclusion of Civil Society Since the restoration of democracy, new links have been formed between the state and civil society. However, the activities of the state in the social area have not allowed widening the public sphere and constructing democratic, deliberative, and inclusive public institutions, which nowadays are considered to be as necessary. Social policies tend to become fragmented and limited in their democratizing scope, because of two phenomena. First of all, the extreme focus of social programmes, which in principle should increase their efficiency to solve specific problems, reduces their capacity for widened citizenship integration. Secondly, the institutional continuity of the mechanisms that were installed during the dictatorship has strongly limited the potential for the social re-articulation of state action in the traditional areas of social policy-making. As already mentioned, his applies particularly to a number of policy areas such as outsourcing of services, privatization of education, social security and health care, decentralization of services at municipal level—without

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setting up civil control mechanisms or adequate financing, subsidizing of enterprises instead of promoting associative groups, and weakness of regulation in key areas. The central programmes and policies have not favoured the strengthening of civil society, even though a strong civil society probably is a prerequisite for future change. However, these programmes have succeeded in mitigating some of the extreme consequences of the deregulated functioning of the economic markets, which are controlled by a small minority, and have significantly expanded the infrastructure of social services. This notwithstanding, the management model implemented, has not incorporated the logic of protagonism into the areas of deliberation and decision-making about these programmes, even though it implies the participation of poorer sectors in the implementation of programmes and actions (mainly through co-financing).9 Since the year 2000, social policies have sharpened their focus on what is called ‘indigencia’ (extreme poverty). This term sets a very debatable objective for change, namely, to ‘progress’ from indigencia to poverty, and has therefore rationalized these policies and introduced the right to social protection as a future prospect. These new focuses have opened up the space for a debate on the conditions for citizenship (what can citizens legitimately demand from the state?). However, this debate has not been formulated in universal terms, but rather as the ‘right of the indigente (extreme poor)’. The determination of the poverty line was not the object of dialogue or of a broad social debate, but was rather calculated by specialists in consultation with the entitled authorities that control resources for poverty alleviation. The latter were inclined to minimize the official threshold for extreme poverty in order to reduce the number of citizens who qualified for funding. Consequently, the incipient agenda of ‘citizen rights’ related to poverty alleviation has been separated from the agenda of genuine ‘citizens participation’. This evolution was not the result of an inevitable tendency or of a kind of ‘rational course’ of things, but rather the outcome of a specific political context in the early 1990s. This political context generated an opportunity for political consensus, which the dominant actors have not wanted

9 The Municipality of El Bosque in the south of Santiago is an example of a successful initiative to reorganize public investment at the local level emphasizing social areas (Delamaza and Ochsenius, 2004).

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to modify. However, the evolution of society itself during this period indicates that there are possible paths through which a ‘socialization’ of public policies can be achieved with the perspective of ‘integral citizenship’ (UNDP, 2004). This would allow for the emancipation of social policies which have traditionally been sidelined by the model of gobernabilidad (governability). The basis for such emancipation should be the recognition of civil society as a space for ‘deliberative communication’, the negotiation of conflicts, and the construction of alternative lifestyle forms. In a country like Chile, the debate about the trends in society is increasingly determined by an elitist group of social thinkers and specialists, who limit the debate to an interpretation of the dominant tendencies of globalization and adaptation mechanisms needed. During the 1990s significant advances were made in the process of decentralization and the modification of the local institutional system, both key areas for the strengthening of civil society. However, here too this process remained severely limited. Since 1994, the members of regional governments have not been elected by citizens and, thus, lack democratic legitimacy. Notwithstanding, these regional governments have gained strength through their power of the allocation of public funds. This has undoubtedly favoured the regional relevance of public investments, but has not secured at all civic participation in any of the phases of decision making. There have only been participatory attempts in debates on strategies for regional development, which were held at a non-institutionalized level. At the level of the local institutions, the existing participatory mechanisms have proven to be extremely ineffective and of little legitimacy. Civil organizations continue to exist and to develop in different areas, but without access to central and local government institutional channels other than those providing funding for small projects.10 Yet, an overall balance of what has been done in terms of the strengthening of civil society shows that resources have been increased, there has been some programme innovation, and the regional public institutional order has been improved. However, the objective of genuine strengthening of the civil society has not been internalized by the state 10 At the local level there are the CESCOs (Economic and Social Councils) which are consulting bodies formed by local leaders. A recent survey in six of the thirteen regions of the country showed that only 18 percent of the population knew that a CESCO existed in their comuna (Más Voces, 2005).

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institutions, the transfer of competences and resources has not been directed towards mixed agencies, and citizens have not participated in this reform process. The Lagos government (2000–2006) implemented several measures to bring about this strengthening of civil society, but it has neither touched upon all the problems, nor has it enacted any consistent legislation related to participation.

Civil Society at Local and National Level The kind of civil society that emerges from such a context is active on two levels. At the national level, the social movements participate as supporting actors in the political scene by proposing reforms, and channelling interests and broad social issues. At the local level, a new form of citizenship has emerged, which cannot be inferred from the framework of prevailing rights, but which acts as a channel for new demands and adapts to the institutional reforms that require new spaces of civic action in order to improve their political impact. Several nation-wide social movements have evolved under the influence of recent trends. On the one hand, traditional labour movements have experienced a loss in importance, due to a change in the social structure and a lack of legal protection of the workers. On the other, those movements that have maintained close ties with the state and have acquired a strong bargaining position for their demands have survived and become even stronger. This is the case of university students and trade unions of the public sector (teachers, health care workers and civil servants). The Mapuche movement stands out among others because it does no longer want to play by the rules of political incorporation of the past, but now seeks to obtain manoeuvring space and autonomy in a completely transformed landscape due to the omnipresent modernization of recent years which has even been accelerated and strengthened by public investment. The Mapuche share two characteristics with other emerging social groups such as the environmentalists, and, to a lesser extent, the feminist movement. Firstly, the institutionalization of their demands in the state administration has been partial and insufficient. Secondly, these organizations have created a distinct profile at international level. This international aspect allows them to gain influence, because their action is supported from beyond the prevalent model of

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governability and because of the increased international pressure on the environment, indigenous peoples, and gender issues. Additionally, the international treaties ratified by the Chilean Congress have gained importance and have established obligations for the central government. Civil movements have used this opportunity to divulge the state’s responsibilities and make government institutions accountable.11 At the local level, civil society expresses itself through a great diversity of groups and proposals. This articulation of social actors is often linked to municipalities and decentralized public agencies. The instigators are usually concerned local functionaries who do not follow the official line of public policy making. The public sector is also strongly present, but with much less coherent actions as a whole. Organized civil society has shown to possess an important innovative capacity as is the case of Ciudad Viva. This organization arose from a movement opposing the construction of a highway in the north of Santiago de Chile, and evolved into a stable organization working in three comunas in northern Santiago de Chile, formulating environmental proposals for a sustainable city. However, many of these organizations are fragmented and operate only at a micro-level rather than instigating projects on a regional or national scale. Civil Society Mobilization and Institutional Reactions under President Bachelet During the previous government of President Lagos (2000–2006), NGOs expected a package of policy measures that would strengthen civil society. They signed a mutual agreement with President Lagos in which the government pledged to implement policies to fortify civil society. This move was supported by the political leadership as part of the ‘re-enchantment’ of the people. When Michelle Bachelet came to power in 2006, most of the population and women in particular had high hopes that participation would be at the heart of the political renovation, a pledge that the new President had explicitly made during the election campaign. After winning the elections she repeated this promise and stated: 11

In 2007 there were mass mobilizations of miners of the copper sector and workers of the forestry industry. These protesters were not members of the labour unions, but subcontratistas (outsourced labour) working under precarious conditions and without social security.

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People do not only want the right to vote, but also the right to voice. They want to be listened to. They want to give shape to their own destiny. In my government we will make room for this desire to participate. We will forge a large alliance between politics and society, and between the representatives and the represented.12

The delicate combination between continuity of the Concertación coalition and this new political orientation was promising, but this personal commitment of the President for a more inclusive government was never translated into concrete regulations. Moreover, the government was not even able to take the first step because hundreds of thousands of secondary school students took to the streets only two months after Bachelet’s inauguration. They demanded the fulfilment of the promises made by the previous government. This movement was groundbreaking due to its massiveness (not seen since the 1988 referendum), its strategic agenda (aimed at changing the educational system that President Pinochet had put in place), its political pluralism, and its flexible and horizontal strategies and organization. Another key element was the young age of the protagonists, who were the children of the democratic transition and organized the first social movement of the twenty-first century. It showed that these adolescents were not satisfied with the limited possibilities that offered the doctrine of ‘en la medida de lo posible’ (‘we do what we can’). Without being revolutionary or fighting against the political system this student movement managed to unsettle the government as well as the political establishment, both of which unanimously agreed that education was of primordial importance. However, the improvement of education had never been a priority for the successive Concertación governments and there were no plans for structural changes, although the sector continued to show a poor performance and had not been modernized since the end of the military regime. Subsequently, the high school students confronted the government with the weaknesses and deficiencies of the Chilean educational system. Despite its unexpectedness (or, perhaps, thanks to it) the support of the population grew rapidly during the protests and, the national government had to react, which resulted in a partial cabinet shuffle. One of the first direct consequences of the mobilization of the secondary school students was a debate within the political elites, which

12

Inaugural speech of Michelle Bachelet, 15 January 2006.

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was highly characterized by fear and ghosts from the past. Among those who dominate the Chilean political scene the diagnosis is still prevalent that the 1973 military coup was the result of an excess of participation, as too many social actors wanted decision-making power and ‘their piece of the action’. This fear explains the continuous emphasis on ‘governability’ (a euphemism for a status quo involving the traditional distribution of ‘the action’), a concept which has been at the core of political activity since the 1990s. The concomitant promise of the new government of Bachelet to create a ‘citizens’ government’ was received by the conservatives with apprehension and resistance. References to the poder popular of the Allende government were made; the electoral system was defended as the only pathway for the expression of interests and positions. Political parties were put forward as the only vehicle for political organization, and the dangers of an ‘explosion of expectations’ were stressed. It was argued that a citizens’ government was a senseless project, and there were shades of a return to a mano dura in order to arrange the political agenda exclusively with the political parties. The vehement and unequal debate revealed the importance of political will to encourage participation, as well as the existence of an internal division in the Concertación and one in the right-wing Alianza por Chile. The latter considers Chile’s political future as a harvest period after a low-intensity democracy sown during the transition, and the parties of the Concertación seek the deepening and widening of the democratic pathways by means of general political openings to increase political participation. Besides, Chile’s prosperous economic situation resulting from the hike in commodity prices, particularly copper and paper pulp, has led to increasing demands for social redistribution and equality. These demands have been voiced by trade unions and various citizens’ groups and have been backed by important political sectors within and outside the Concertación. This development may suggest that there is a growing tendency in the political arena to establish more and better mechanisms for citizen participation. The institutional response to the secondary students’ movement was the creation of a Presidential Advisory Council for improved quality of education, in which all relevant actors were represented. This was actually the second council set up for education, and one of its achievements was to create a space for deliberation, which until then had been missing. Setting up advisory committees and commissions ‘by invitation’

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has been often used in Chile since 1990 to address difficult political issues, but the unprecedented character of this committee lay in its wider scope, its heterogeneous composition including various actors instead of merely ‘experts’, and its media presence and transparency. As a participatory tool these types of council have numerous limitations, mainly due to their lack of institutional embeddedness, which renders the status of their policy recommendations of these councils uncertain and without leverage. In Chile’s recent political history the only councils with influence and power have been those featuring high levels of political will (such as the Rettig and Valech reports, and the Mesa de Diálogo, both dealing with human rights violations during the military regime), or those in which the actors involved remained inside the boundaries set up by a political consensus (as was the case of the first assessing committee on education). However, if these conditions fail to obtain, the effectiveness of this kind of council diminishes significantly. Bachelet also installed committees for electoral reform, for infant care, for social services, and for the innovation of economic competition. However, the terms of reference of these councils or committees was not sufficiently specified. The main problem was that they mainly consisted of invited experts, whereas the actors who were critical about the governmental approach were underrepresented or simply excluded. In the case of the recent council on quality of education, the lack of institutional embeddedness produced a situation in which the social actors did not feel obliged to support its conclusions—which were far from univocal—even when they continued to participate in it.13 Additionally, the council formed part of a strategy to contain the student movement (mainly in order to gain time) and this obliged the movement to seek short-term strategies. The council for education combined experts, representatives of specific social sectors and public bodies, but there was no broad social dialogue. The infancy committee consisted of experts and different forms of consultation, but only virtual participation. The social services council worked on the basis of hearings, but the debate remained limited to experts belonging to

13 This pattern had already emerged in previous years in the committees for the New Pact with the indigenous population and the National Council for the eradication of poverty.

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the political Right or the Concertación. In general, political parties have been notably absent in these bodies, although they are the key actors at the moment of converting the recommendation into legislation in Parliament (Aguilera, 2007).14 After intense negotiations within the government, Bachelet presented a Pro-Participation Agenda in a speech in 2006, in which she referred to a number of broad issues such as the reform of the binominal electoral system, introduction of automatic electoral inscription, political participation for women, voting rights for Chileans living abroad, direct election of regional authorities, and municipal reforms aimed at creating local governments, and a popular legislative initiative. However, the contents of the subsequent decree dealing with these issues proved to be much more limited than the promises made in the presidential speech. The decree proposed the formation of councils representing civil society organizations at all administrative levels, but only as consultative bodies, with no real power. It envisioned an increase in funds which were only available through tendering, such as the Fondo para el Fortalecimiento de la Sociedad Civil, for improved access to information on public policies, strengthened anti-discrimination policies and measures in favour of tolerance. Additionally, the government proposed two constitutional reforms, (1) the Ley de Bases de la Administración del Estado, aimed at the official recognition of citizen participation in public administration; (2) ‘popular initiative’ as a formal instrument enabling citizens to include a specific project in the government agenda. Within the state administration, departments seem to be working at a different pace. Some departments responsible for social areas and the promotion of decentralization stand out positively. In the Planning Department (MIDEPLAN) efforts are made to incorporate participation as a criterion to be used in the evaluation of the public investment system. Participatory budgeting is being fostered at municipal level (with the financial support of the IDB), and regional governments are being strengthened. Furthermore, in the Health Ministry there are some ongoing experiments with participatory budgets and other modalities of participation. In the Housing Ministry policies have been modified from a top-down perspective towards more emphasis on participation.

14 Political parties were exceptionally present in the Quality of Education Council, in which deputies from the Education Commission participated.

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These initiatives, however, are not coordinated, nor is there a broadening of this participatory agenda to include other institutions.

Conclusions Since the democratic transition in Chile in 1990 multiple transformations have taken place in the interrelationship between state and society. Their traditional linking pattern, which went through the political system with the active intervention of political parties and social movements of a nationwide scope, does no longer exist. Nowadays, linkage takes place in a more fragmented way and in hardly articulated local spaces, without institutional mechanisms for participation and marked by a slackening of public deliberation (e.g. media, universities, social organizations, and Parliament). It is mainly through social policies that the government has established linkages with marginalized social groups—on which it focuses its efforts. These social policies are being carried out through outsourcing the services to the private sector (profit and non-profit). This has resulted in the rise of different hybrids or ‘mestizo’ forms of social organization and socio-institutional articulation at local level. However, the excessive ‘sectorization’ of the Chilean state (e.g. the health sector, education sector, housing sector) and the predominance of an economic agenda based on a neo-liberal model and strongly conditioned by the business community, have both weakened the state capacity to convert this social diversity of potential links into an effective statesociety alliance that might contribute to deepening democracy and social inclusion. In reaction to this trend, an increasing debate about social equality, social inclusion, and the need to deepen democracy is taken place at grassroots level in Chile. It is remarkable that the ‘pro-participation agenda’ should be relatively weakly articulated in governmental initiatives concerning social protection, decentralization, and political reform. Together, these are four pillars of the same political edifice, and should keep each other in balance. If all of them are put forward together, they may have a significant impact on the strengthening of citizenship. Something similar could be argued for two other agendas cutting across all sectors, namely, anti-corruption and innovation, which are priorities of the government and involve social actors. Both have gained much more visibility, political support, and financial back-up than the pro-participation

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agenda. The first one is still very much focused on legal control mechanisms and the professionalization of the public sector. Efforts have improved access to public information, but have failed to strengthen the role of organized civil society, and establish mechanisms of social control and more pluralism of the mass media. The innovation agenda, meanwhile, is still very much restricted to the ‘innovation of competition the private enterprise’ without considering the challenges of social, cultural, and political innovation, which are crucial to stimulate citizen’ participation. The President’s commitment to all these themes including the promotion of participation is real and reiterated continuously. However, this commitment constitutes no real policy option for which there is consensus inside the Concertación coalition. Implementing this commitment would result in breaking with the governability model, which was agreed in 1989 with the political forces that supported the military regime, and remains in place until today. With the disappearance of Pinochet from the political scene and with the armed forces not involved in politics, the governability model today is founded only on an elitist conception of politics and a neo-liberal economic model. The relevant political forces have not yet proposed a comprehensive alternative to alter this dominant model, and the various experiences with local participation do not have the potential to influence and modify these big parameters of post-dictatorial Chilean politics. The lack of a consensus inside the government and the low level of priority of the matter are evident. Bachelet’s style of ‘being close to the people’ has to be translated to ‘new forms of action’ in public policies. In order to gain independence from the political will of individual politicians, this implies a much higher level of institutionalization. Simultaneously, the measures that are taken in support of participation should be much more clearly related to other policies which open or close participatory spaces in sectoral spheres or political reforms. As long as political participation is not viewed as a tool for significant transformations, it will lose its meaning and validity. One of the clearest examples where participation has been almost completely excluded from a key policy area has been the Transantiago-plan (the chaotic redesign of the public transportation system in Santiago in 2007), which would clearly have benefited from it. However, the demands from civil society are increasingly oriented in favour of more social, economic, and political participation. Participation

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at all levels is associated with the very essence of a democratic regime, increasing its quality and efficiency. It is a perfectly justified demand in the light of Chile’s stable democracy and uninterrupted economic growth for more than twenty years. The ability of society and politics to deal with participation is also supported by the various social and institutional experiments and positive experiences developed in the last fifteen years in Chile.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CITIZENS’ INVOLVEMENT AND SOCIAL POLICIES IN CHILE: PATRONAGE OR PARTICIPATION? Vicente Espinoza

Introduction Formally, citizenship establishes a unitary status in which all citizens are equal in their rights and obligations.1 However, the construction of such a citizen status does not imply the immediate disappearance of social inequalities. On the contrary, a tension between social inequality and formal equality can be discerned. This tension creates a permanent dynamic of inclusion of new rights, as it gives individuals or associations the option to demand intervention by the state in defence of their interests. It is the responsibility of the state to ensure equality in social relations so that they do not create formal inequality. The boundary between juridical equality and social inequality is the result of historical processes and has no formal definition. From a sociological point of view, the concepts of participation and citizenship are far from having an unequivocal definition; they are rather constructed and reconstructed through debates about the forms in which the citizens and the state should be related and who should have which rights. The processes of participation analysed in this chapter refer to how the most disadvantaged groups mobilize their resources collectively in order to compensate for social inequalities through the exercise of their rights. Such dynamics are different from voting, which involves individual participation in the political processes—although in some instances political strategies and participation dynamics might intertwine. Membership in associations, although a requisite for participatory dynamics does not always involve the mobilization of resources

1 Instituto de Estudios Avanzados, Universidad de Santiago de Chile, vespinoz@ usach.cl. Research for this study was funded by FONDECYT 1020273–1020318 and the Ford Foundation.

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to exercise or acquire rights; therefore, it cannot be conflated with citizen participation. Participatory processes involve an active relationship between the citizens and the state with the purpose of exercising or widening certain rights that define social inclusion. Citizens’ rights comprise social, cultural and economic dimensions besides civil equality and the opportunity to elect or be elected for public office. From this viewpoint the concept of citizenship embraces, on the one hand, enabling conditions for exercising the rights that make part of the juridical order, and on the other, social groups in conditions of exclusion, discrimination, or segregation. This active relationship has communication as its key component, ranging from dissemination of information, to mechanisms of consultation, consensus building, and mandatory agreements. Consequently, citizen participation boosts democracy without replacing the mechanisms of representative democracy. This chapter seeks to reconstruct the concepts of participation and citizenship through the analysis of the discourses and relations between the relevant actors in the implementation of social policies at local level since the 1990s. More specifically, it will examine the modalities of citizen participation in the implementation of social policies in the public sector. The point of reference consists of three models that define the relation between the state and the poor population: biddable funds for the advancement of organizations of the civil society; the alleged integral strengthening of the community; and the formation of supportive networks. Until 2004, these practices were the hallmark of a public sector seeking to make them instrumental to the implementation of ‘new social policies’ especially in the area of poverty reduction. In the late 1990s, this approach lost its momentum and was no longer part of the public sector initiatives in the social sector. In 2004, the government rightly acknowledged the legitimacy crisis of the public sector and sent a bill for a new law on citizen participation to Congress.

Citizen Participation: Concepts and Approaches Since the return of democracy in 1990, social policy programmes have usually been formulated in such vague, general terms that, according to Concha and Pavez (2001: 197), ‘(e)veryone understands them in their own way, as no spaces have been created for debate on the meaning

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of the terminology used in public policies’. This lack of unambiguous definitions can only be solved by stimulating communicative interaction among the participants in these programmes, because each has its own interpretation of the policy goals. The discourses of the actors involved in participation should, therefore, be revised in a way that takes into account the viewpoints, agreements and disagreements of the participants, as well as the social networks within which these meanings operate. Indeed, the public sector often circumvents the dispute on the goals of social policies by using activity indicators. The analysis of the contexts in which ‘community interventions’ in the form of social policies takes place is enriched by the concept of ‘interface’ (Long 1999). The meanings that such interventions acquire are the result of the interaction between the different participating actors. The managers of social policies and their ‘users’ have different ideas on the meaning of the terms that characterize the programmes, as each of them defines them in reference to their own knowledge, experience, and culture. The dispute that occurs about these definitions can be partially resolved through a negotiation in which the ‘users’ apply various strategies to compensate for the lack of power balance involved in the interface. From this point of view, ‘participation’ always takes place, whether it has been taken into account in the design of the policies or not. As a consequence, the dynamics of participation in social policies invariably produces different results from the ones originally anticipated by the public sector. The interface between the actors takes place from the outset in each intervention and is the result of the need to identify the actors involved. However, identification is often difficult in interventions such as poverty reduction programmes, because it is not clear who is calling for participation. Is it the government, or a public service, the municipality, or the Chilean state? And do the people that represent these institutions define themselves as civil servants, professionals, technocrats, bureaucrats, social workers, monitors, facilitators, or otherwise? And how should we label those who are called to participate? They may be identified as the poor, beneficiaries, clients, citizens, local residents, youngsters, women, etc. These questions continue to arise and must be confronted at each stage of the implementation of the participatory policies. Furthermore, the type of identification of the participants during the implementation determines, up to a large extent, the outcomes of the process, and as a consequence, all public policies determine those roles from the outset.

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Concha et al. (2001: 187) argue that ‘The programmes already include a fixed ‘menu’ of preferred target groups in their initial design, [so that] the local level is the recipient of the programmes and will have to search for beneficiaries that match the requirements as defined in the programmes and are also interested in the services and goods offered by the programme.’ This has strong effects on the identities of the participants. Those who form part of healthcare networks, for instance, identify themselves in terms of their physical condition, such as diabetes, obesity, hypertension, physical inability, or mental illnesses. An example of this can be found in a poor neighbourhood in southern Santiago where a prominent banner announced the existence of a ‘menopause group’. The element of dispute around the categories of knowledge underlying the interface approach takes here the form of defining social identities. The programmes force the participants to reduce their identity to the aspect that constitutes the focus of the programme. Subsequently, dispute may arise on how to resolve the discrepancy between the categories originating in the professional jargon and those that have their origin in the daily practices of the population.

Participation in the Public Sector: More Nominal than Substantial During the 1990s, the people became increasingly sceptical towards the capacity of traditional institutions especially political parties and the government to fulfil social demands. Despite the importance given to citizen participation in the official discourse, genuine participation has been no priority for the consecutive governments of the Concertación. The political agents sought to align the active participation of social organizations with the goals of the government’s social agenda (Paley 2001). The social movements were left at the mercy of politicians, who were fearful that the democratic system might become ungovernable, while these movements simultaneously directed their demands to the public entities that were in charge of the implementation of the ‘new social policies’. It was a dual trend: on the one hand, it restricted the dynamics of social demand to the public sector; on the other, it encouraged participation in new social programmes, and required that the social movements themselves should implement them. De la Maza (2001) considered this participation in the strict sense as a right to vote for and support the incumbent authorities.

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In this period, social policies contained some elements of participation, but they tended to be mere instrumental in essence. Little empowerment took place given that when the programmes were first set up the influence of the recipients was very limited and participation was only envisioned at the implementation phase, especially in the form of contributions in labour or matching funds. Furthermore, significant flaws were found in the areas of programme evaluation, citizens’ monitoring and control, and diffusion of legal information (Serrano 1998; Concha et al. 2001: 188). Only very few programmes considered participation to be a goal directly associated with citizenship and having some value in itself. Since 2000, little seems to have changed. When Ricardo Lagos assumed the Presidency in 2001, he sent out instructions to all ministries and their dependent services outlining the position of the new government towards participation. These institutions subsequently launched over one hundred initiatives that showed their practical commitment to it. However, almost one quarter of these initiatives could not really qualify as participatory as, at best, they created few conditions for participation. Some departments even presented improvements to their internal management in aspects such as the coordination of municipalities or regional governments as forms of participation. Others claimed that participation equalled campaigning for the promotion of certain programmes. Furthermore, many of the initiatives consisted of projects focusing on improving contact with users. In the end, only fifty per cent of the proposals qualified as participatory. Most of them were directed towards participation in community diagnostics through consultation, but also using opinion polls, which may often be manipulated to justify strategies already defined by the policy makers (Rounce 2004). Only about ten per cent of the proposals envisioned beneficiaries being represented in the formulation, design, and implementation of public policies (Espinoza 2004). In this context, the ways in which the discourse on participation is translated in the local context becomes a relevant question. In order to answer it, I shall examine three different local policy areas, which represent different models of interaction between the citizenry and the state: grant programmes that are open for tendering (Fondos Concursables), the Chile Barrio project, and Chile Solidario.

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vicente espinoza Competing for Local Funds: Can Micro-Projects Channel Participation?

Competing for funding as an allocation mechanism for public resources has its origin in the Solidarity and Social Investment Fund (Fondo de Solidaridad e Inversión Social, FOSIS) which was founded in the early 1990s. It was part of a management strategy of a new public service that sought to deal with the problem of responding to a varied and widespread demand with a small budget. The logic of these biddable funds was to give the poor extra leverage to allow them to achieve higher levels of social integration. The mechanism was so successful that it was expanded onto other areas of social initiatives and, eventually, became synonymous with micro-projects funding and even with citizen participation. Since then, it has been broadly applied as a favoured tool in community development. The competition for local funds has brought together three key actors in community development: social organizations registered in the municipalities; non-profit development organizations; and the municipality embodied in the person of the mayor. Often, a fourth actor has been included: the local representative of the public programmes that provided the funds, acting mostly as a supervisor, but often expanding that role to that of community worker (see figure 12.1).

Implementation

Non-governmental executive

Demands

Executive organization

Grant programme

Supervision, Local mediator Mayor

Figure 12.1: The different agents involved in setting up micro projects

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The Construction of Demand: Negotiation and Strategies in the Participatory Interface The participation of the population in the bid for funding is associated with the fact that the projects are proposed by grassroots organizations.2 These express the citizens’ demands and receive financial support for them. The main justification for the financing of micro-projects is that they transfer the available resources directly to those in need without intermediaries being involved. Usually, the small projects receiving financial support fulfil their objectives and the participants feel satisfied with the results. Furthermore, the participants improve their levels of information and organizational skills. Despite the important condition that the resources should reach the poor, this still represents no guarantee of improvement in the living conditions of the target group. The format of direct financing of poverty reduction programmes has created problems for those communities that have no capability to formulate or manage projects. State officials have recognized this problem and have set up additional programmes for neighbourhoods with low levels of community organization. In this first phase, the participation issue is covered by NGOs that organize consultations in the community or implement diagnostic projects. Nevertheless, the problem remains. Only those communities that have sufficient project-formulation capabilities can compete for funds, either through their own community organizations or through some external NGO that supports them. Even more problematic is the fact that proposals are selected solely on the basis of information submitted without any field visit. Consequently, the officials who are in charge of the selection have scant if any direct knowledge of the reality on the ground and no tools to verify the information received. The selection process is dominated by the institutional requirements stipulated in the regulations of the bidding process as well as in other documentation available to the officials. This administrative jargon defines the meaning of the activities proposed by local organizations and, therefore, adjusting community activities in function of this jargon largely increases the chances of their being selected. Such discursive adjustments favour organizations who mention the ‘correct’ issues, while

2 It may also involve non-profit organizations having the sponsorship of local organizations.

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it reduces the chances for organizations that come up with innovative and challenging proposals. A paradoxical situation occurs at this point because the terms of reference of the participatory initiative are defined top-down by the institutional discourse, and genuine, independent participation from a grassroots organization does not stand a chance. Moreover, the formulated demands of these organizations do not necessarily express the will or the autonomous action of the citizens. This results in a severe inconsistency between the actual needs of the local communities and the projects that are financed. Research into the relations between households and development projects carried out in 2004 showed that local [public] resources had been conditioned to the communities’ and their leaders’ capability to make them fit into ready-made project formulations. Thus, the communities and their leaders had become skilled specialists in getting project funding (Márquez 2004). The ability to propose a successful project consists in formulating it in such a way that the demands fit the administrative parameters of the funds. Generally, the projects that receive financing consist of activities or initiatives that cover a myriad of objectives. This allows organizations to propose projects for all available local funds. For example, a theatre group may present one single project of amateur theatricals to different funds, on the grounds that this initiative is the best way to help adolescents to stay away from drugs, or to develop trust between neighbours, or to improve communication between parents and children, or to reduce the number of high-school drop-outs. This fragmentation is a key element of the system and has provoked much criticism due to lack of focus and continuity. Consequently, the community demands are made to fit the terms of the administrative requirements of the funds rather than on the basis of actual needs of the social organizations. In the local anti-drug programme PREVIENE, for instance, the team in charge drew up a list of social organizations and invited all of them to take part in the creation of a local network organization. After some training to explain the lines of action of the programme to the participants they were all encouraged to present projects to a small biddable fund. In another case, an evaluation of the Programme for Citizen Security of the Ministry of the Interior indicated that community diagnostics has to do primarily with how to apply the programme’s lines of work, which in turn

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condition the type of projects to be submitted. As Dascal et al. (2003) euphemistically state ‘[Local] projects are inducted by the central state, by means of typologies’. Furthermore, expectations are not always satisfied as the resources are insufficient to cover all the applications for funding. Small projects in local communities tend to produce segmentation rather than integration. The normal levels of distrust and neighbourhood tensions that already exist in small communities tend to multiply when one of the competing groups obtains resources or, rather, when the other does not (Corvalán et al. 2001). Selection criteria may deviate from the programme’s internal logic especially because municipalities can use their influence to ensure that the funds are granted in such a way that they do not provoke conflicts among organizations (Dascal et al. 2003). For instance, the local authorities can assign a project to each neighbouring unit, or to demands that were made in a different context. In the context of local community politics, the degree of success of a drugs control project or a crime prevention programme becomes indicative of the quality and efficiency of the local government. It appears as if resource allocation is rather based on gaining political support than on the objectives and action plans of the funding programmes. The ambivalence in the design of biddable funds lies in the fact that social organizations do not get funding to accomplish their objectives, but to implement projects that are functional to the design of large social programmes. As a result, the social organizations or community leaders are torn between their task of formulating local demands and that of implementing a project, which implies being subordinated to the interests of the state agency that finances them. Above all, what is clear is that the design of the funds does hardly allow for the autonomous functioning of social organizations. The ambiguity implicit in this design has highlighted the role of local supervisors and intermediaries, who are in the best position to manoeuvre projects to fit the objectives of the national state agency, their closeness to grassroots organizations, and their ability to address the local political interests of the mayor. The social organizations and the external NGOs also find themselves in an ambiguous position, as they seek to improve living conditions in a neighbourhood and, at the same time, must implement the projects according to the administrative requirements.

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The PREVIENE drug prevention programme calls for the creation of a network of grassroots organizations. However, the local leaders have pointed out that the programme resorted to an already existing network of local organizations, created well before the programme was implemented in the district.3 The social organizations’ understanding of prevention and of the role that social networks should play does not always fully match the goals of the policy makers. In order to give the programme an inclusive character, in principle all its components should make a contribution to the community work. However, in the organization and management of these networks, practices cluster around three principles: clients, social identity, and efficiency. As regards clients, the social organizations interpret a network in terms of utilitarian relations or clientelism. They consider the concept of ‘network’ as not very specific and merely reflecting positive expectations towards the material, symbolic, and political support that such networks can generate in order to achieve the overall objectives of the organization. A second view, especially among people with old leftist sympathies, stresses the communitarian identity of networks. It states that organizational networks coalesce with everyday relationships and that both constitute a space for the retreat and defence of traditional practices and political identities (Paley 2001). Finally, the public or municipal institutions conceive of local networks in terms of efficiency in the delivery of services. For them, they act as coordinating organisms that exist in order to prevent, for example, illicit drug consumption. This conception reflects the functional character attributed to social grass-roots organizations by public policies, which is based on the assumption that the participation of the community reduces the costs associated with other forms of delivery. Some community organizations also consider the latter view compatible with the strengthening of the

3 The research group (FONDECYT 1020273) tested the allegation of the local leaders by removing the programme coordinator from the PREVIENE network. As a result, not a single local organization was left disconnected, although on paper the coordinator managed a large number of contacts with the organizations. Thus, the coordinator’s role in the programme was not adding any value to the local network; he was only necessary to justify the funding.

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community, a goal that is always mentioned in the official rhetoric of social policy goals. Since different meanings and action logic operate within the same network, intermediaries play a central role in the local arena. The programme coordinator and the local leaders have to make working agreements that may change the initial design of the programme, because these agreements combine elements that come from the participants’ own experience or personal involvement with the official state discourse on social policies. Local leaders are the key to the reconciliation and resolution of incongruence. Several studies such as Concha et al. (2001: 211) have emphasized their role. What puts the local initiatives in motion is not the design of the programme, but rather the ways in which the local intermediaries interact with and relate to the population. The ‘latent function’ of the local intermediary consists in interpreting and making adjustments to the offer in order to produce a ‘second level design’ (ibid.). FOSIS has assigned several names to this mediating role: from supervisor to project coordinator and, finally, to local development agent. It should be noted, though, that the central role of the local intermediary is the result of the implementation structure of the programme, and therefore it forms part of the design. The ‘second level of design’ comes into life in the context of a complex ideological and political interplay between the local agents, which contributes to the reduction of the wide discrepancy between the intervention and the programme outcome. In the local implementation, the intermediary has to adjust the general design of the programme to the characteristics of the neighbourhood within the parameters set by the municipality and the public service he or she belongs to. In fact, the intermediary develops a two-way mediation between these two entities, both of which are necessary for the maintenance of the programme, even if the intermediary does not agree with their orientation. Moreover, the dynamics of the interface becomes particularly complex because the intermediary usually also has a personal agenda for community development. In the local power structure, intermediaries belong to the institutional political sphere, a situation that they seek to revert in their relationship with the grassroots level, by formulating it in terms of cooperation and support of the autonomous dynamics of the social organizations. In the end, the intermediary’s relationship with the grassroots organizations becomes paternalistic because this is the only way to maintain cohesion without the need to resolve the deep differences in approach to prevention work

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of the community organizations (Gutiérrez and Espinoza 2003). This ambiguity created by the programme intermediaries therefore, makes it possible to have three-way negotiations: first, with the grassroots organization that receives the financial support; second, with the national programme to which the intermediary can offer a model of community mobilization in function of the programme; third, with the mayor, to whom the intermediary can offer direct access to community leaders who can voice the demands of the population. In the short term, this three-way interaction allows the intermediary to have a large volume of social links, but this does not seem to promote community empowerment in the long term. Policy makers have never provided evidence about how micro-project activities can strengthen the community in the long run. Usually, the local organizations fall into the trap of a hectic implementation of activities, rather Sisyphean in character, as they have to start from scratch for every new project once or twice a year. Therefore, the bid for funds has ‘trapped’ the social organizations that were the most active in the 1980s, as well as those NGOs whose staff did not join the public sector. Grassroots organizations, even if aligned with the public policy making efforts, do not get to be much influential. Moreover, the pressure to complete the projects they have successfully bid for neutralizes any attempt of autonomous initiative, even despite their intention to develop an agenda of their own. Actually, what happens is that the public policies define collective identities according to their internal logic. In examples such as PREVIENE, the interpretations that are used by the social organizations are widely different from those that come from the policy makers, a divergence that weakens the possibilities either of them has of successful intervention or community empowerment. From the moment that a community has developed its own diagnosis—based on its knowledge and culture—of a problem that the public sector intends to resolve, an intervention can no longer be designed on the basis of efficiency alone. It is precisely this perception of participation as being merely a problem of management that threatens the efficiency and effectiveness of the programmes. Finally, the competition among organizations for public funds aggregates the community interests in market-style fashion, which often results in a zero-sum game, because the resources reserved for one organization are lost by another. In the last 15 years the social organiza-

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tions have learned to compete against each other instead of developing cooperation to face common problems. Being a local leader means above all winning in the competition for funds, rather than making a contribution to empower the community. Although the ability to bring external resources into the organization signals an efficient leadership, an allocation mechanism that favours competition over cooperation reduces the potential for collective action to a minimum. As long as the public sector uses the competition for public resources as a mechanism of citizen participation, regardless of intentions and results, the most likely outcome is the demobilization of local communities.

Integral Interventions: The Chile Barrio Programme A different approach towards social policy interventions has been followed by the ‘Chile Barrio’ programme set up in 1997 to eliminate the social and economic marginality of thousands of households that live in precarious housing conditions in poor neighbourhoods (SERVIU 1998). The mobilization and participation of the inhabitants was a key element in the implementation of the programme and an input to devise suitable solutions. Municipalities and civil society organizations were also included in the process. The density of the associative links was considered to allow the inhabitants to maintain and strengthen their community life in the neighbourhood. In its initial design, the programme sought to develop ‘integral, decentralized, and participatory interventions’ to support the target group through the coordination of sector actions. The implementation, however, failed to materialize these goals. In 2002, an evaluation committee concluded that only the infrastructural component was based on operational definitions and analysis of the products, whereas the social components were not designed in such detail to provide an operative definition of the end product (Dipres 2002). Figure 12.2 shows that the relations between the relevant actors in the context of the Chile Barrio programme are more complex than in the case of biddable funds. This is mainly due to the integration of public services, the government, and also agents of the political system. Some actors negotiate the selection of the target district, while others establish a direct relation with the settlement by inducing demands that require the coordination of public services. The participation of the population

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NGOs

Mayor Regional Government

Neighbourhood support service

Municipal workers

Local organizations

Induced demand

Chile Barrio action lines

Public services

: interactive relations between actors : negotiating relations between actors

Figure 12.2: Actors involved in the CHILE BARRIO Programme

itself consists in receiving information on alternative housing solutions, the elaboration of a common action plan, and the organization of savings initiatives in order to contribute to public housing plans. The processing of citizens’ demands in the programme is relatively limited, to a certain extent, because it is part of a public service whose main activity is housing construction. In one of the cases studied, the public officers ignored complaints and refused to assume responsibility for the problems that cropped up in the community. They argued that housing constitutes an objective element of upward social mobility from which ensuing elements of poverty reduction would automatically derive. The role of the mayor was a key factor in the implementation of the Chile Barrio programme in several municipalities. In the case of Cerro Navia the mayor of the municipality was to deal directly with the Ministry of Housing in order to incorporate the community into the process of prioritization and make sure that it would be included in the first round of the programme, and that the person in charge was an expert from the NGO Sur (Hidalgo 2000: 145). In the case of Melipilla, however, the mayor was not involved in the discussion about which popular neighbourhood would be included, but at the moment of signing an agreement with Chile Barrio she proved able to impose her conditions and assumed a central position in the decisions to be made

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on the quality of new housing (Concha et al. 2001). In the Negrete community, the mayor made a considerable effort to link the Barrio Chile programme to the local community, and played a central role in its implementation (ibid.). In these communities, the ‘local intermediary’ also played an important role through maintaining the contacts with local organizations, the municipality, and other actors involved. However, the mayor assumed final responsibility for the application of the programme in the community, supervising its implementation, mediating conflicts, and coordinating the different social services. The role of the mayor is also important in the coordination of the demands of the inhabitants of the neighbourhoods. In disputes between local inhabitants and public services, the mayor plays a crucial role in the acknowledgement of the citizens’ complaints and in reaching agreements. In one case, the mayor did not lend any support to the inhabitants of the Villa San Arturo neighbourhood, which was considered illegal by the municipality and therefore failed to get the services, goods, and rights that were granted to other neighbourhoods. Many public officers did not even know of its existence or location, nor were there maps of the location—Villa San Arturo remained invisible to the local government. When the inhabitants pacifically blocked a road in protest for their situation, they were unable to achieve results as they lacked the intermediary capacity of a mayor who could negotiate between the National Housing Service and the municipality. A contrasting case was that in another popular neighbourhood where the damage to houses caused by heavy snowfall and subsequent flooding prompted the population to protest. After consultation with municipal workers and NGOs, the necessary repairs were started, but when the construction company attempted to slow down the process, the inhabitants called upon the mayor, who was able to enforce the guarantee. In the end, the intervention of the mayor resulted not only in the houses being repaired, but also created jobs for unemployed inhabitants, who were contracted for doing the job.

Chile Solidario President Lagos committed himself to eliminate extreme poverty in Chile and announced the creation of the System of Social Security Chile Solidario in 2002. This system—benefiting 225,000 households living in extreme poverty—includes intensive psycho-social work with the

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beneficiaries. The Chile Solidario programme bears some resemblances to Chile Barrio, but incorporates a number of distinctive innovations. Interventions focus on income improvement for households living in extreme poverty, are not determined by territorial classification and remain separate from the regular social programmes. Chile Solidario has replaced integral interventions with focused policies with a notion of solidarity. This programme is less participatory than the two other ones I have described and is considered an exercise in solidarity between the integrated parts of society and those that are marginalized and less prosperous. The Puente Programme, administered by FOSIS, is the entry point to access Chile Solidario. Social workers identify the people living in extreme poverty by means of field work and act as counsellors for these households. They negotiate jointly with the targeted household the objectives to be reached, which include a commitment by both parties to do their active best to reach these targets. The social worker offers access to all the available public benefits and the members of the household commit themselves to show initiative, integrate themselves into the social networks, and make use of the options available. Chile Solidario has replaced the broad territorial objectives that Chile Barrio organized in a community with essential socio-psychological support given to a particular household. The programme tackles the hidden needs of people who are not connected to the regular assistance programmes and who do not often live in a regular and permanent household structure. The counsellors are frequently the only stable connection that these persons have and act as supporters to get financial resources, official documents, administrative shortcuts, donations provided by charity organizations, etc. The organizational structure of Chile Solidario has assigned a leading role to household counsellors, whereas Chile Barrio relies on the municipal mayor. Financial resources are still managed by the municipality and the counsellors can even be municipal officials, but the decision-making, training, and supervision of the collaborators of Chile Solidario remain the responsibility of the Puente Programme. Chile Solidario has turned out to be less bureaucratic, more direct than Chile Barrio, and, thus, more appropriate for households that are marginalized and excluded from regular governmental aid. To a certain extent, Chile Solidario’s rationale represents a return to the policies with a focus on social assistance that existed before the military regime, in which the state takes responsibility for the social

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integration of marginalized people. The largest innovation of the programme is the introduction of the ‘contracts of rights’, an apparently contradictory formulation obliging the beneficiaries to take the initiative to integrate into society as part of their commitment. Thus, solidarity becomes a corrective measure of social inequality without stigmatizing its beneficiaries.

The Proposed Law on Citizen Participation Citizen participation gained momentum during the presidency of Ricardo Lagos when arrangements for increased participation made during his election campaign were incorporated into the government’s legislative and political agenda by means of three measures. In 2000, a presidential decree provided a general outline for citizen participation in public bodies; in 2001, a citizen council aimed at strengthening civil society was set up; and in 2004 a bill regulating citizen participation and civic associations was sent to Parliament. This bill is still under discussion. Participation as conceived of by the Concertación governments is based on collaboration and mutual respect between state and citizens. The purpose of the proposed law becomes clear in the following paragraph: ‘The participatory principle results in the active intervention of civil society in designing the state’s purpose, and implies an important involvement of citizens in public decision making. It goes beyond their being mere subjects and receptively, passively, [. . .] vertically subordinated to a higher authority (message of the Presidency to the Chamber of Deputies, 4 June 2004). This reference to collaboration and mutual respect is less superficial than previous descriptions and an attempt to do something about the connotation of conflict evoked by the term ‘citizen participation’. Whenever the term ‘participation’ was used in Chile at the end of the 1950s, it referred both to passive or instrumental participation and also to an independent citizenry and active participation. The experience of the massive mobilization of marginalized groups—farmers and shantytown dwellers—at the end of the 1960s proved that it was impossible to separate the two dimensions of the term ‘participation’. The limits of full instrumental participation which include the functional integration into society indicated that there was a need for profound social

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transformations (Espinoza 1998). The confidence to attain functional integration to be found in the current model of state modernization appears sufficient to guarantee a model of far-reaching participation. The presidential decree that set the bases for the association of the state and a strong civil society and increased the legitimacy of the public policies has entailed a notion of legitimacy based on organized citizen participation rather than mere support by individual citizens. The philosophy of the proposed law, i.e. collaboration and respect between state and citizenry, strengthens civil society and legitimizes public policies. However, it could be argued that the limits of functional integration—understood as a minimum level of access to consumer goods—exposes the real problems of participation. In other words, while the social policies have attained good results in terms of the functional integration of marginalized social groups, they have not automatically resulted in increased social responsibility or civic commitment. This appears to indicate that the social policies are limited because they can only stimulate and support communal participation in which the main protagonists are undoubtedly the citizens themselves. The proposed law has encapsulated this situation in the stipulations related to freedom of association for individuals and intends to give a juridical framework to facilitate and strengthen its functioning. The proposed law envisions citizen participation as applied by an active citizenry with communitarian connotations: the ‘sense of community’ to which the proposed law refers must be understood as referring to ‘civic community’.

Participatory Networks in the Context of Local Politics This section addresses the issue of the political context for the local implementation of social policies, especially the effect of power inequalities. In 2005, some 33 organizations, considered among the best civic initiatives in Chile incorporating a model for the interface between the public sector and the grassroots level, were analysed in three localities. These initiatives expressed in practice the civil society’s orientation towards cooperation and solidarity and comprised an assorted group of grassroots organizations such as voluntary organizations supporting disadvantaged groups, community healthcare organizations, cultural associations, and economic initiatives. The selection of localities considered mayors with different political leanings: an independent mayor formerly

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member of the PPD party (left-wing, close to the Socialist Party) in the north of Chile, a Christian-Democrat mayor (from the governing PDC party) in the south of Chile, and an UDI mayor (right-wing opposition party) in Santiago de Chile. The analysis of these networks was based on the ways in which the different actors were connected in the implementation of the programmes, and showed their degree of openness to participation and/or preference for vertical hierarchy. The overall organizational network can be described as a centreperiphery model. The centre appears densely knit by strong ties; the links from the periphery to the core of the network require an intermediary, while they lack any other connection to other nodes in the periphery. The actors in the periphery do not have direct access to the centre of the network, nor are they in a position to coordinate actions with other actors. Moreover, the cluster of nodes around an intermediary seldom overlaps with another one; clusters co-exist without merging, and intermediaries do not enter into competition for access to the same group of contacts. As a matter of fact, besides the cluster of exclusive contacts, intermediaries only have links to other intermediaries or local authorities. At first sight, the network can be characterized as a typical system of patron-client relationships: a local authority, namely the mayor, at the centre of the network reaches the members of local associations through a group of middlemen (Valenzuela 1977). Usually, these middlemen are elected leaders of local organizations, whose legitimacy depends on their ability to channel resources, ranging from funds for activities to furniture, equipment, and professional support, to the association members. However, this is not a typical patron-client system, because the amount of power and resources as expressed by the institutional status does not diminish as one moves from the centre to the periphery. The intermediary has a central position, because an ordinary member of a local organization cannot gain access to local resources without his/her help. The intermediary’s network encompasses contacts other than ordinary people, which grant access to different social circles such as regional government authorities, political leaders, managers of charities, etc. These are actually power resources for the local intermediary, because the network allocates resources to these interest groups on the basis of competition rather than on mere distribution. Indeed mediation can take many forms: in the cases studied some intermediaries were true patrons, while others were representatives and even counsellors

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(Gould & Fernandez 1989). Actually, the civic quality stressed by our key informants about these initiatives refers to ability to gather and mobilize power resources in a political competition for the allocation of local resources. The core of the local network comprises some 40 people who form a dense clique of notabilities in each of the three cases analysed. This circle includes members of Parliament and their local correspondents, members of the regional or local governments, chiefs of small-scale firms, and leaders of local associations. They represent the local elite which, as qualitative research has shown, play a key role in the decision-making process when it comes to resource allocation of public spending at local level (Cagnin 2007). Members are also mutually acquainted with each others’ decisions and strategies. Formally, the discussion takes place in the municipal council, but all local leaders find a way to have a say in the process. To sum up, it may be said that the local political arena operates under the control or at least the attentive eye of a restricted group of notables. Even though democratically elected local leaders participate in this group, they do so as members of interest groups competing with other associations for local resources. In other words, the local leaders participate in decision making about local resources at the expense of collective mobilization. These are networks in which positions are distributed exclusively among people who can be considered as members of the local elite. This elite does not conform a political institution because members have not been elected and there is a lack of accountability and transparency procedures. The particular configuration of the local political network blocks the way for any collective grassroots action because the members of grassroots organizations have no direct linkages with one another to form a competitive group. The current system of political relationship leaves scant if any hope for collective mobilization to obtain resources, cooperation among local associations, let alone, democratic participation at local level.

Conclusion This chapter started from a review of the most typical mechanism of service delivery in Chilean social policies: local associations tendering for funds through project proposals. Although initially successful, the unrestricted spread of the system to any field of social policies over the

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last 15 years has left a negative balance. Competition for local funds has taught leaders to compete against each other, developing strategies to gain access to a limited amount of resources. Many times, the discourse about cooperation among organizations, solidarity, and even democratic participation is only a component of a winning strategy. As a consequence, the local associations cannot coordinate with others in the local arena. Moreover, the leaders operate severed from the association affiliates, who only expect the leader to announce when he or she has gained access to resources. Putting an end to this mechanism of resource allocation in social policies is a necessary condition to strengthen democracy. Instead of competing, the local associations should learn to collaborate, reach a consensus, and set priorities: in a nutshell, they should encourage collective mobilization for the well-being of the larger civic community. The analysis of the local politics has indicated that the local actors are not used to handling competitive mechanisms for resource allocation. This is complex political ground, in which the mayor plays a key role at every phase, from selection of the target group or neighbourhood to the actual implementation of the project. Citizen participation depends, to a large extent, on the goodwill of public bodies or the mayor, and even at its best, there are shades of a traditional patron-client system. The allocation of public funds is arranged through a network of relationships engineered by the organizational leaders participating in social policies. The density of contacts and mutual acquaintance between local leaders, authorities and notables allows referring to this group as a local elite that bears an influence on the distribution of local resources. Social policies at the local level operate in a political arena that is more akin to a competition among interest groups than to traditional patron-client relationships. As a matter of fact, patronage has not been eradicated but the local leaders have learned to use their resources to gain access to decision-making circles. Is this citizen participation in the making? Some scholars such as Durston et al. (2005) seem inclined to give an affirmative answer on the grounds that any system that differs from strict patronage would be democratic to some extent. My opinion in this respect is not so optimistic because high anti-democratic hurdles can still be found at the local level. To begin with, the leaders are experts at devising strategies to beat other organizations rather than at cooperating with them. The local elite remains invisible to the local actors and can operate without any control from other institutions or citizens. Finally, the structure of the local arena makes it difficult

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for the local leaders to mobilize grassroots organizations during the negotiation process. In short, the local political arena seems more apt at reproducing domination than it is at engendering democracy and participation at the local level. In local arenas, participation in Chile becomes a politically correct discourse trapped in a dynamic that reproduces domination. How is it possible to move from this scenario to democratic practices? A ‘minimalist’ answer seems here more advisable. The discourses that appear in the interface are likely to deceive an observer—and many times the actors themselves—if they are removed from the network where they circulate. The semantics of the interface corresponds to a negotiation about significance rather than an actual component of the political process. To put it in simple words, citizens lag behind the terms of the discourse; if they believe they are moving from mere consultation to real partnership, they are in fact lacking adequate information about the real ongoing procedure. The basis for any participatory process lies in adequate information and unbiased consultation. Needless to say, most so-called participatory processes do not comply with these minimal requirements. Only when the first two steps are solidly laid out will the citizens safely climb up the ladder. The goal of a minimal scenario for participation is to set the enabling conditions that will allow citizens to develop their own viewpoint through deliberation (Fung 2003).

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

OLD HABITS IN NEW CLOTHES, OR CLIENTELISM, PATRONAGE AND THE UNIÓN DEMÓCRATA INDEPENDIENTE Marcus Klein*

One of the more unexpected developments in Chilean politics in recent years has been the ‘impressive rise’ to prominence of the Unión Demócrata Independiente (Independent Democratic Union, UDI), the de facto ‘governmental party’ (partido oficialista)—if not in name then in spirit—of the military regime headed by General Augusto Pinochet between 1973 and 1990 (Stanley 1983; Angell 2005).1 From being a group that received slightly less than 10 per cent in the foundational elections of 1989 and with basically the same number of votes just clear of this mark in the first municipal elections three years later, the UDI turned into the strongest party in the country at the beginning of the new millennium. In the congressional elections of 2001, it obtained a little over 25 per cent of the popular vote and elected thirty-one deputies to the 120-seat lower house of parliament, overtaking the Christian Democrats (Partido Demócrata Cristiano, PDC)—the dominant party of the centre-left Concertación that has been ruling the country in the post-authoritarian era—in terms of number of votes and deputies. The Independent Democrats defended their leading position in the congressional elections four years later, even though in comparison with the previous polls they lost about three per cent (or 71,000 votes) while the PDC also narrowed the gap by regaining some of its popular

* The author would like to thank Patricio Silva and especially Juan Pablo Luna for their thoughtful and stimulating comments. The usual caveats apply. An earlier version of this article originally appeared under the title ‘The Unión Demócrata Independiente and the Poor (1983–1992): The Survival of Clientelistic Traditions in Chilean Politics’ in volume 41 (2001), pp. 301–324, of the Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas. 1 In a preliminary note, Angell also points out that this development was not foreseeable when the original version of the article, jointly authored with Benny Pollack, was published in 1990.

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support (but not its number of deputies, which the UDI, by contrast, increased by two).2 Various explanations have been put forward to account for the rise of the UDI, and many different factors come into play. Suffice it to say, one reason is its growing appeal to the sectores populares (Joignant and Navia 2003; San Francisco 2003; Barozet 2003; Klein 2004; Luna 2007). Following its success in 2001, the UDI therefore self-assuredly described itself as the new and truly ‘partido popular’. Patricio Melero Abaroa, the party’s secretary-general at the time, justified this slogan with the strong following the UDI enjoyed amongst the poorer sectors of the Chilean population. In accounting for this ‘fact’, Melero Abaroa emphasized his party’s allegedly selfless and devoted work at the local level since its foundation in late September 1983. With its ‘idealism’, emphasis on solidarity, ‘special sense of public service’, defence of ‘Western Christian Humanism’, and ‘firm adherence to the social market economy’, the deputy representing one of the less developed electoral districts of Greater Santiago since 1989 declared the UDI ‘had provided the only real alternative to the Left, which for years had only contaminated the poor with its destructive message of class struggle. Because of its creed his party also had overcome the initial reluctance of the pobladores, who had been disappointed with traditional party politics and politicians only interested in them as voters immediately before the elections. Not even the violent resistance of the ‘most radicalized Left’ against the attempts on the part of UDI militants to gain a foothold in the slum area had prevented its progress (Melero Abaroa 2002).3 Melero Abaroa’s description of events is not without its merits but, unsurprisingly, it only tells one part of the story. The significant support that the UDI gets from the poorer sectors of Chilean society is undeniable. However, it is difficult to accept that the party’s work at grassroots level would have shown any lasting impact if it had just relied on what Melero Abaroa described as its idealism and struggle against the extreme Left. Although opposition to the latter, and particularly to the militant Communist activists working in the shantytowns, for instance, may help to explain the initial support of some sectors that seem to have shared the UDI worldview and thus, by implication, would have rejected the extreme Left’s strategy of violently confronting

2

For results, cf. www.elecciones.gov.cl. Melero Abaroa is a deputy for the 16th electoral district, comprising the municipalities of Colina, Lampa, Pudahuel, Quilicura, and Tiltil. 3

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the military regime, can hardly account for the growing adherence of pobladores to the party. It certainly does not help to understand the relations between the Independent Democrats and this sizeable sector of Chilean society after the return to democracy, which coincided with the decline of the extreme Left—a result of the breakdown of the Eastern Bloc as well as of strategic mistakes of the extreme Left during the process of re-democratization (Roberts 1998). It will be argued in this article that the main reason for the success of the UDI was decidedly more profane and altogether less altruistic than the party would have wanted one to believe. At the heart of their undeniable success amongst social sectors that one normally does not associate with the Right lies the extensive network of clientelism and patronage that the Independent Democrats started to establish during the 1980s and early 1990s and consolidated in subsequent years, especially in urban areas (see Hipsher 1996; Auyero 2000). This is a fact Melero Abaroa, the representative of a party that had always underlined its rejection of traditional party politics and its commitment to solving what it termed the real problems of people, conveniently passed over. And it was the substantial involvement of UDI militants in local politics during the military regime, when many members were appointed to mayoralties, which provided the party with the unmatched opportunities to take the first steps in that direction. This article discusses the relationship between the UDI and the poor, specifically focussing on Santiago de Chile. Following an overview of the municipal policies of the authoritarian regime, which reshaped the power structure profoundly and lastingly at the local level and turned the municipalities into important instruments of its endeavours to change the face of Chilean politics and society, the article will subsequently discuss its main civilian political supporters organized in the Gremialista movement and the Independent Democratic Union, the former’s political wing. In a third step, attention will turn to the start of the work of the UDI in the poblaciones, and the rationale behind this decision. In addition, the party’s means of enlisting a following amongst the pobladores will be described. In a next step, the UDI’s struggle against the Left and its identification with the regime as well as its network of clientelism and patronage will be analysed. At the same time, it will be argued that the crisis of the extreme Left since the 1980s and the simultaneous retreat from the shantytowns of the centrist and leftist opposition forces united in the Concertación are also important to understand the success of the UDI in the post-authoritarian era, for

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it opened up new political space which it could and did occupy, not least because of its unmatched financial resources.

The Municipal Politics of the Pinochet Regime Less than a week after assuming power following the coup of 11 September 1973, and even prior to the dissolution of the National Congress and the de facto ban on political parties still existing at the time, the military junta acted at the local level. Striving for ‘a rigorous control over the local population and over community organizations’, which had reached an unparalleled degree of mobilization during Salvador Allende’s Unidad Popular (Popular Unity) administration (1970–1973), it suspended all mayors and aldermen from their posts and transferred their authority to newly designated men (and some women) (Pozo 1981; Rehren 1991). A series of decree-laws, inter alia the comprehensive administrative reform of July 1974 (which brought the first territorial re-organization of the country)4 and the Constitutional Law of Municipalities of January 1976, formalized this new, centralized and hierarchical power structure. Mayors were turned into the prolonged arm of the central government in their comunas and this, as of July 1974 effectively meant of Pinochet’s, who became de facto President at the time (Tomić and Gonzalez 1983). At the First National Congress of Mayors in 1978, the strong man of Chilean politics consequently declared in no uncertain terms that the mayor is ‘the representative of the President of the Republic at the local level’ (Rehren 1991: 224). While substantially limiting the autonomy of mayors with these decisions, various changes also greatly strengthened them vis-à-vis their communities, turning them into ‘something like ‘a little Pinochet’ in his [or her] municipality’ (Villarroel 1988: 20). Mayors, for instance, were to exercise the immediate supervision of all the institutions, offices, services, employees and workers of their municipio; they were to formulate its policies, plans, programmes, and budgets; and they also were to preside over (and actually control) the advisory organ set up by the military regime, the Local Development Council (Consejo

4 It divided the country into 13 regions, 51 provinces, and 318 communes. Seventeen more municipalities followed in 1981, all in the Metropolitan Region (Greater Santiago), bringing the total to 335.

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de Desarrollo Comunal, CODECO), the substitute for the elected local council (Pozo 1981; Tomić and Gonzalez 1983; Rehren 1991. This centralization went hand in hand with increased budgets and the assignment of new competences, moves justified by the regime as a necessary means to disarticulate brokerage networks (which had dominated local politics until September 1973) and to make municipios more efficient and responsive to the needs of the local population (Rehren 1991: 210, 218–219; Valenzuela 1977). Through various fiscal reforms, municipal budgets quadrupled between 1979 and 1983 alone, so that the share of the comunas of all public spending increased from 4 to 19 per cent during this period (Hohlberg 1985). At the same time, under the cloak of municipalización, which was an integral part of the regime’s overall neo-liberal transformation of Chile, a number of areas of responsibility previously exercised by the central government were transferred to the local level. Starting in 1980, the administration of primary and secondary education and health were little by little handed over to the municipalities. One year later, they also began to play important roles in the construction of council houses for low-income families (Tomić and González 1983). The distribution of housing and family subsidies as well as the administration of various employment schemes set up by the military regime to alleviate the rising poverty, especially amongst the pobladores, were also being turned over to the municipalities, expanding their areas of responsibility and their impact on the daily lives of poorer Chileans even more (Tironi 1990; Ffrench-Davis and Razcynski 1987; Rodríguez 1985). The Minimum Employment Programme (Programa de Empleo Mínimo, PEM) was the most significant and visible instrument. By 1976, one year after its creation, the programme, ‘which gave idled workers a nominal wage [well below the minimum wage] and free medical aid in return for paving roads, tending parks, or preparing school lunches’, had enrolled more than 210,000 men and women (Constable and Valenzuela 1993). After the second economic crash of the early 1980s, the PEM, initially only set up as a temporary programme, and the Occupational Programme for Heads of Households (Programa Ocupacional de Jefes de Hogares, POJH), the second emergency job scheme established in late 1982, employed more than half a million people. In view of the fact that in the early 1980s Chile only had an economically active population of slightly more than three and half million, the percentage of people having found work in these programmes was considerable; almost 15 per cent of the entire Chilean labour force was enrolled in

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either the PEM or the POJH (Martínez and Díaz 1996; Morales 1984; Azócar 1984). The desperation of many poor Chileans, together with the violent suppression and persecution of organizations that had traditionally controlled municipal politics—the Christian Democratic, Socialist, and Communist parties—and the individualized, discretionary, and temporary nature of the subsidies provided the ideal preconditions for a realignment of forces at the local level (Navasal 1988; O.M. 1985). With the control over areas of responsibility and programmes which affected the daily lives of people more than ever, and which had effectively transformed the municipality ‘into an important power centre’ (Huneeus 2000a), mayors in particular could attempt to establish new networks of clientelism and patronage. The situation also offered political groups loyal to the regime the opportunity to build up support and improve their position. That clientelism and patronage were practices the military regime and its civilian supporters had fiercely criticized, and identified as one of the main reasons for the inefficiency and politicization of local services prior to 1973, was less important than the actual benefits that could be gained from them. No civilian group loyal to, and supportive of, the military regime was more willing, determined and able to take advantage of these opportunities than the Gremialistas.

The Gremialistas and the Military Regime Under the spiritual guidance and undisputed political leadership of Jaime Guzmán, who, while reading law at the Catholic University of Chile in the 1960s, had founded the Movimiento Gremial in reaction to the progressive university reform of Eduardo Frei Montalva’s Christian Democrat government (1964–1970) (Brunner 1985; Cox 1985), the movement had focused its energies on local governments ever since the coup. Besides the increasingly significant General Secretariat of the Government (Secretaría General de Gobierno, which was eventually responsible for the control of the media as well as the mobilization of popular support for the military regime) and the Office of National Planning (Oficina de Planificación Nacional, ODEPLAN), the municipalities attracted the greatest number and strongest interest of Gremialistas. Many of the predominantly young men formed at the Catholic University, who had gained their first practical experience in politics while working in the Youth Secretariat, a branch of the General

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Secretariat of the Government’s Office of Social Organizations, were entrusted with the control and administration of comunas in the principal cities of the country, namely Santiago, Valparaíso, Viña del Mar, and Concepción (Huneeus 2000a; Pollack 1999). The appointment of Gremialistas to influential administrative posts in general and numerous mayoralties in particular underlined not only their significance for the military regime but also the considerable amount of trust the latter had in their loyalty. This was due to a number of factors. Their impeccable anti-Marxist reputations certainly played an important role, as did the fact that their image and reputation had not been tainted by their involvement in party politics, so reviled by the new military rulers. Lastly and most importantly, Guzmán and his devoted followers had the political expertise in short supply among Chicago Boys, the Chicago-trained economists who by 1975 had gained the upper hand over sectors within the heterogeneous governmentcoalition that advocated the gradual transformation of the economy. The Gremialistas, who discarded their original corporativist convictions and increasingly embraced the neo-liberal economic principles of the Chicago Boys, had a political project that promised both a break with Chile’s traditional political system and ruled out the repetition of the dreaded experience of the Unidad Popular (Pollack 1999; Huneeus 2000b). This vision about Chile’s new democracy—limited, protected, and authoritarian—was enshrined in the Constitution of 1980 (see Barros 2002; Sznajder 1998; Cristi 2000). With the enactment of the new charter, which signalled the start of Chile’s slow and protracted return to democracy ten years later, Guzmán and his collaborators focused their energies on organizing politically the Gremialista movement and its sympathizers. In late September 1983, at a time when the country was rocked by the massive protests against the dictatorship and the latter’s violent reactions to them, the Unión Demócrata Independiente was finally set up. The faction brought together Gremialistas, Chicago Boys, as well as other members of the military regime’s technocratic elite. Besides Guzmán, who chaired the party’s executive committee, Sergio Fernández (former Labour Minister and future Minister of the Interior of the military regime), Luis Cordero, and Pablo Longueira (both ex-collaborators of the Youth Secretariat) were, inter alia, amongst the exclusively male founding members of the organization. Reflecting the ideology of the neo-liberalized movimiento gremial, the UDI was a socially and politically extremely conservative but

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economically a very liberal party that tirelessly warned of the dangers of Communist subversion. Even though at the time of the UDI’s foundation the relations between Guzmán and Pinochet had temporarily cooled down, the Gremialistas would not vacillate in their support for the military regime or in their commitment to the new institutional framework that their leader had shaped and helped to bring about. The Independent Democratic Union was the most outspoken and dedicated supporter of Pinochet in the run-up to the plebiscite of 1988, which decided about the General’s stay in power for another eight-year term and which he eventually lost to a united opposition front. Members of the party indefatigably campaigned on behalf of the General, describing the referendum in apocalyptic terms as a decision between ‘a model of a free society’ and ‘different ranges of socialism: renewed socialism, communitarian socialism, Marxist socialism’ (Chadwick 1988; San Francisco and Soto 2003). Indeed, leaving aside some more extremist organizations on the right fringe of the political system like the National Patrol, the UDI was ‘the only unconditional political “Yes”’ on which Pinochet could rely (F.P.R. 1988). Its unwavering adherence to the general was also the main reason why the attempt to unite the dispersed forces of the Right in one party, Renovación Nacional (National Renovation, RN), foundered in the (Chilean) autumn of 1988, only fourteen months after its foundation (Vodanovic 1988; García 1998a and 1998b; Allamand 1999). However, the party was not satisfied with its role as the civilian arm of Pinochet; nor did it simply want to defend and strengthen ‘the various social modernizations’ the military regime had allegedly brought about with the dedicated collaboration of the Chicago Boys and the Gremialistas (UDI 1983). In its founding manifesto the UDI also laid claim to contributing ‘to the indispensable renovation’ of Chilean politics; it wanted to overcome the ‘classical party structures’, which were ‘for the most part dominated by rigid discipline and obsolete assemblies (trasnochados asambleísmos)’, and present ‘a new style of making politics’ (op. cit.). As against all other political parties, the UDI embodied a ‘renovated political style’ characterized by ‘direct language’ and concrete ideas, the emphasis on ‘serious reasoning’ over ‘dialectical sophistry’, and ‘organized political action’ instead of ‘electoral despotism’ and ‘personal ambitions’. In addition, ‘the responsible and technical study of problems would constitute the basis for [its] political debates and options’ (op. cit.). The Independent Democratic Union

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was, in other words, only interested in solving problems and providing solutions. Right from its establishment, therefore, the UDI presented itself as the one political force that listened to the people and promised to help them overcome their difficulties (Joignant 2002).5

The UDI’s Work in the Poblaciones Imbued with the conviction that it represented a younger generation of politicians not tainted by the vices of the pre-1973 period, one that looked to the future, the UDI set out to spread its message to the Chilean people. As a party that wanted to transcend social classes and reach sectors of the population earlier rightist organizations had ignored, the poblaciones were one of its main targets.6 The UDI initiated its activities amongst the urban poor through its youth centres as well as through ‘existing shantytown organizations, such as the Centros de Madres (Mothers’ Centres) and neighbourhood councils’. As early as mid-January 1984, less than four months after the party’s establishment, the first executive committee of the UDI was already set up in a shantytown of Greater Santiago, namely, José María Caro (Municipality of Pedro Aguirre Cerda). During the following months, the Independent Democrats succeeded in creating more slum area committees in the region, inter alia in the comunas of San Bernardo, San Miguel, La Pintana, La Granja, and Conchalí (Soto Gamboa 2001).7 By March 1985, on the occasion of the first anniversary of the Shantytown Section of the Metropolitan Region, Pablo Longueira, at the time leader of the branch, claimed that in his area of responsibility alone 76 Shantytown Committees were working, each with ‘at least 200 militants’. In addition, 68 smaller Organizing Committees were running. Overall, the UDI was present in around 70 per cent of all boroughs in Greater Santiago (Longueira 1985).

5 The origins of Joaquín Lavín’s ‘cosismo (doing things)’, in other words, can be found in the founding manifesto of the UDI. 6 Cf. the statement of Alfredo Galdámez, a poblador from Juanita Aguirre (municipality of Conchalí) and vicepresidente of the UDI poblacional at the time (Grunefeld 1986). 7 For existing shantytown organizations, see Hipsher (1996: 27). Her claim, made on the same page, that the UDI only ‘began to actively organize urban poor dwellers’ in ‘shantytown committees’ in 1988, ‘before the plebiscite on whether or not Pinochet should remain President through 1997’, has to be corrected.

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According to Longueira, the advances of the UDI amongst the urban poor, which even an opposition magazine accepted as ‘a reality in various sectors’, were due to the interplay of various factors—the party’s appeal to anti-Marxist sentiments, its identification with the regime, and its political style. The Independent Democratic Union, Longueira stated in an interview published in the UDI information bulletin, Informativo, was the only party that opposed ‘Marxism in the slum areas in an organized and valiant way’, rallying those who had suffered from Communism ‘more than anybody else.’ Moreover, he continued, ‘these broad shantytown sectors [. . .] respect the regime of the Armed Forces and see in us a movement that declares without hesitation [no tiene complejos] its loyalty to these Institutions, the postulates of 11 September and the bases of the Constitution of 1980.’ On the other hand, without elaborating in any way on what this actually meant, they purportedly appreciated the approach to politics that the UDI represented, which set it apart from other parties. The pobladores, Longueira maintained, ‘always emphasize that they see the UDI as a movement distinct from traditional politicians; that they see in the UDI something morally healthy, renewing and idealistic. That it does not promise them anything, nor is it demagogic (ni hace demagogia), but invites them to struggle together in the service of Chile and for our principles’ (ibid.).8 Statements by local UDI leaders and militants corroborate Longueira’s statements, especially as far as the party’s anti-Marxist appeal and its support of the regime were concerned, which went hand in hand. In September 1985, Ricardo Rojas, the president of the independent committee of an encampment in the población of La Victoria (Municipality of San Miguel), for instance, underlined the crucial role the Independent Democrats had played in breaking the control of Communists over his campamento. Local activists of the UDI, who he had approached, had helped to establish contacts with local authorities; they, in turn, had listened to ‘their needs’ and finally brought ‘peace’ to the camp by imprisoning the Communist militants who had forced payments from the settlers for the site they occupied and the water and electricity they consumed (Roblero 1985). Sonia Cerda, a pobladora from the shantytown of La Pincoya (Municipality of Huechuraba) declared, on the other hand, that she had joined the party because of her sympathy

8

For statement of opposition magazine, see Collyer 1985.

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for the military regime and her loathing of the Unidad Popular, which in 1988 she still associated with ‘hunger’ and ‘queues’, conditions ‘we don’t want to return to’.9 The mobilization of a little more than two thousand pobladores in support of the military regime and against the wave of popular protests that shook Chile in the mid-1980s, rallied by the UDI in La Pincoya as well as in the slum area of Juan Antonio Ríos (Municipality of Independencia) in mid-October 1985, are additional examples for the party’s appeal to anti-Marxist sentiment and consequently order; one could well see the rallies as expressions of the ‘yearning for security that in turn nourished the desire for a “firm hand” ’ (Lechner 1988: 96). On both occasions leading representatives of the UDI—Guzmán and Longueira—underlined their rejection of violence and terrorism, which they, tellingly enough, exclusively identified with Communists. Guzmán, who during his speech in La Pincoya promised that the Independent Democrats would fight Marxists ‘inch by inch’ in the poblaciones, exemplarily stated that his party was the force that unified ‘decent men and women’ who wanted to defend ‘their own security.’ The dictatorship’s brutal repression of the opposition protest movement in favour of a quicker return to democracy was dutifully ignored. Neither Guzmán nor any other member of the party who addressed the counter-demonstrations showed any sympathy for the opponents of the dictatorship, mainly youngsters from slum areas.10 The UDI’s activities in the shantytowns did not rest on the appeal to (or, if one prefers, exploitation of) these feelings alone, however. Indeed, since the protests were temporary phenomena, easing off after the mid-1980s, the party’s lasting success and above all its ability to attract people that did not share its political and ideological positions (such as anti-Marxism or the identification with the armed forces) depended on its social work (in the broadest meaning of the word), a point Longueira had not mentioned. In the borough of Pudahuel, for example, the UDI supported the establishment of small businesses (mini-empresas) producing sweaters (Hipsher 1996). In terms of more immediate help for poor and destitute families in Santiago—nearly 30,000 of which were removed from more affluent areas and resettled 9

Qué Pasa (1988) ‘Una contienda manzana a manzana’, 19 May: 31. Informativo (1985a) ‘En la Pincoya’, 10: 2; and Informativo (1985b) ‘Homenaje a victimas del terrorismo’, 10: 2. For protests, see De la Maza, G. and M. Garcés (1985). 10

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in new housing projects located in boroughs notoriously short of public funds in the mid-1980s—female militants also handed out food, presumably drawn from private resources (Díaz 1985; Portes 1989; Chateau and Pozo 1987; Morales and Rojas 1987). At the same time, and more important for its political fortunes since a greater number of people could be reached, UDI militants informed slum dwellers about the various social programmes that had been implemented by the regime. Alfredo Galdámez, president of the UDI’s Shantytown Department in the 1980s and himself a poblador from Juanita Aguirre Municipality of Conchalí), subsequently remembered that militants of the party, when going into the slum areas, ‘didn’t talk about politics’ but ‘emphasized solving social problems’, advising people about ‘how to enrol for a family subsidy, [. . .] a housing subsidy, an employment subsidy, how to benefit from the PEM and POJH programs’ (Hipsher 1996: 27). While Galdámez played down the political aspect of these activities, it is clear that strings were attached to the support the party granted and that in the end the UDI, like any other party, simply wanted to increase its following. The food, for instance, was only handed out to ‘declared anti-Marxists [. . .] who stand by the Government and who defend our [. . .] principles of freedom and democracy’ (Díaz 1985: 2). Influence was also exerted through the emergency programmes which mayors controlled—by the late 1980s, around 27 per cent of them were card-carrying members of the UDI, up from around 20 per cent a few years previous (Verdugo 1992; Hohlberg 1984.11 Granting people jobs was, as one female shantytown leader from La Victoria who opposed the regime stated in November 1985, a powerful tool that brought the party new members, or at least sympathizers. In addition, the Independent Democrats won supporters by paying water and electricity bills as well as offering plots of land, and even houses (Collyer 1985). The latter often implied the forced transfer from illegal camps to new settlements, against the bitter resistance of some dwellers; but they also did lead to a certain improvement in living conditions. Rafael Casas Cordero, a UDI militant who had assumed the leadership of the encampment committee of Raúl Silva Henríquez (Municipality of Quilicura) while the previous governing body (directiva) had been relegated to Pisagua and who had 11

As for the late 1980s, the real figure may have been even higher, because 103 mayors were listed under the heading ‘Independents’, a self-description members of the UDI used more frequently than militants of Renovación Nacional, the second party of the mainstream Right.

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subsequently collaborated in the resettlement of the pobladores to the borough of La Pintana, pointed out, for instance, that he finally had running water and sanitation facilities (Romero 1987; see Klaarhammer 1989 and Richards 1996).

The Challenge of Democracy The congressional elections of December 1989, which had been called after Pinochet’s defeat in the plebiscite one year earlier, were the first litmus tests for the activities of the Independent Democrats in the poblaciones. Whatever criteria one may apply, they passed it with unexpected bravura, receiving the second best result of all candidates in the shantytowns. Only the Christian Democrats of Patricio Aylwin, the victorious candidate of the opposition Concertación in the simultaneously held presidential elections, surpassed the men around Guzmán. In stark contrast to the other right-wing party, RN, which had its strongholds in wealthier sectors, ‘[n]early all of [the] UDI’s [. . .] parliamentarians were elected from working class districts [in Greater Santiago], such as Recoleta, San Joaquín and La Granja.’ Indeed, looking at the results of the party’s candidates in the ten least developed boroughs of the capital one can see that all of them, without exception, received shares of the vote surpassing their party’s national average—by at least 4 per cent, as in La Pintana, and almost 15 per cent, as in Pudahuel.12 This surprising achievement vindicated Guzmán’s strategy of going into the poblaciones, and it may have outweighed the fact that the PDC, who the natural leader of the UDI saw both as the great rival of his party and—because of its sense of mission—as a role model, had done even better (Guzmán 1983). It was particularly instructive that slightly more than seventy per cent of the UDI deputies elected in 1989 had been, at some point or the other, mayors during the military regime, generally in a community that after the return to democracy they represented in Congress (Joignant and Navia 2003; Morales and Bugueño 2001). They had been able, as one of them subsequently stated, ‘to establish very strong contacts with the people’, to build up a reputation as being ‘interested in helping to

12

23.

Cf. Table 13.1 for more details; for ‘working class-districts’, see Hipsher (1996):

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solve their problems’ and thereby, to gain their support.13 Amongst them were, for example, Carlos Bombal Otaegui, Mayor of the Municipality of Santiago between 1981 and 1987, and elected to the Chamber of Deputies as representative of the 22nd district (Santiago); Francisco Bartolucci Johnston, Mayor of Valparaíso between 1982 and 1987, and successful parliamentary candidate in the 13th district (Valparaíso, Juan Fernández, and Isla de Pascua); Patricio Melero Abaroa, Mayor of Pudahuel between 1985 and 1989, and victorious candidate in the 16th district (Colina, Lampa, Tiltil, Quilicura, and Pudahuel); and Jaime Orpis Bouchon, Mayor of the Municipality of San Joaquin between 1987 and 1989, and elected to the lower house of parliament in the same year for the 25th district (La Granja, San Joaquín, and Macul).14 Although only Bombal received a relative majority of votes in his district, none of his fellow colleagues, unlike Jaime Guzmán, for instance, had to rely on the peculiarities of the electoral system—which was tailored to the needs of the military regime’s civilian supporters—to be elected to the Chamber of Deputies (Siavelis and Valenzuela 1996; Siavelis 1997; Magar et al. 1998; Rahat and Szajder 1998). While at the national level the democratic era started in March 1990, when Aylwin received the presidential sash and the new administration took up its work, the municipios remained strongholds of authoritarianism, for municipal elections were not held until late June 1992. This delay was the result of the Right’s, and especially the UDI’s obstructive position as regards the democratization of local politics, an attitude that is characteristic of the Independent Democrats to this day. With the help of the institutional senators, nominated by the outgoing military regime and thus natural allies of the parties of the Right, the representatives of the UDI and RN in the upper house successfully prevented the adoption of reform measures initially advanced by the government as early as May 1990. Not until August 1991 were agreements reached, and then only after protracted negotiations and the watering down of the ‘bolder ideas’ (Bland 2004: 111; Eaton 2004; Mardones 2007). For more than two years after the change of power at the national level the overwhelming majority of mayors designated by Pinochet—around 300—were therefore able to stay in power and continue their work, strengthening the links with the population in their municipalities.

13

Jaime Orpis Bouchon quoted in Hipsher (1996): 28. See Huneeus 2000a: 374; San Francisco and Soto [Gamboa] (2003): 18; and Orpis’ website at www.senado.cl. 14

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President Aylwin only had the right to personally appoint those 15 mayors who headed municipalities that the dictatorship had deemed important because of their number of inhabitants or strategic location, and ‘about ten’ were forced to resign prior to 1992 following rulings by the Contraloría. At least 84 of the remaining ‘Pinochetista mayors’ were members of the UDI.15 Beneficial, too, for the UDI in the long run was that other parties lost their ability or interest in grassroots level politics at the time. The leftist groups united in the Popular Democratic Movement were significantly weakened. The centrist and leftist parties of the Concertación, on the other hand, had intentionally turned away from the popular sectors, arguing that the attempt to depose the military government by means of protests had been unsuccessful and that insisting on this approach would only lead to more violence. Moreover, after March 1990, they also feared that meeting the social demands of the popular sectors would derail the precarious process of re-democratization and endanger its reformist economic programme. In the end, these developments ‘resulted in distance between political parties vying for power at the national level and social movements in urban popular sectors.’ By the late 1980s and early 1990s the UDI was ‘the one party with a grassroots organizing strategy’ (Paley 2001: 103; Posner 1999; see also Boeninger 1998 and Portales 2000). As far as the government parties are concerned, not much had changed by the turn of the century. As of 2001, the Socialist Party had not even a formal ‘organization devoted to popular sector political education and has essentially abandoned its tradition of grassroots organizing’ (Posner 2004: 72). In terms of its policies, early on in the Aylwin administration the UDI tried its hand at ‘a new kind of rightwing populism’. In August 1990, for example, militants organized three illegal land seizures in which approximately 800 families took part (Oxhorn 1994). In the end, however, this seems to have been nothing more than a temporary phenomenon. While increasing its efforts to establish a solid organizational structure and presence at the local level, the party continued

15 Verdugo (1992): 18, 21, italics added. At first, there should have been sixteen municipalities—Arica, Iquique, Antofagasta, Valparaíso, Viña del Mar, Santiago, Conchalí, La Florida, Las Condes, Ñuñoa, Concepción, Talcahuano, Temuco, Puerto Montt, Coyhaique, and Punta Arenas; See Parrini, 1988 and Villarroel 1988: 21. After his defeat in the plebiscite of 1988, Pinochet ‘removed Iquique from the short list’ however. The woman chosen as alcaldesa by the city’s CODECO, Mirta Dubot, enjoyed the ‘full confidence of the old field marshal’ (see Verdugo 1992: 18).

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to focus its energies on—broadly defined—social issues, obviously seeing them as the most promising way to broaden its base of support amongst shantytown dwellers (Luna 2007). As in the borough of La Cisterna, for instance, it set up new housing committees, provided free legal aid and other material and moral support (Hipsher 1996). To a greater extent than during the Pinochet regime and in contrast to the government parties, the Independent Democrats were (and still are to this day) able and willing ‘to draw on private sector assistance’. This strategy, facilitated by their ‘superior access’ to the business community, gave (and still gives them) considerably more financial room for manoeuvre than their opponents; it put (and puts) them into a position to make more generous gifts and to solve problems and deal with issues that otherwise would have remained unsolved, especially in poorer boroughs, where public funding is still inadequate. In the case of Conchalí, for instance, money from the private sector was used to improve public schools; ‘more modest examples’ include ‘the provision of food or resources for local organizations, such as sports clubs and youth groups’ (Posner 2004; Luna 2007). The precarious financial situation of poorer municipalities, which prominent UDI members involved in the party’s grassroots activities, such as Gáldamez, openly acknowledge, does mean that the Independent Democrats support legislative initiatives that aim at the expansion of the boroughs’ financial base (Posner 2004: 73). In late 2000, Congress passed important amendments to existing laws in this respect, with the support of the RN but ‘against the continued opposition of the UDI.’ One could argue that in this case the party, whatever its rhetoric and earlier calls on the government to improve the social situation of the poor, represented solely the interests of the business sector, as the new law increased the taxes that businesses had to pay into a common fund for municipalities.16 One could also argue that the UDI simply preferred the status quo ante because it was beneficial to its own activities, since the other parties lagged behind in terms of their financial means.17 Nor does the fact that the mayors as well as other militants and party officials of the Independent Democrats, in an attempt to establish what 16 I follow here the argument of the ‘dual representational strategy’ of the UDI—the extraction of ‘economic resources (in exchange for ideological and interest representation) from their ‘vote-poor/resource-rich constituents’ to get the vote of their ‘voterich/resource-poor constituents’ on the basis of personalistic linkages and a pervasive clientelistic network in Chile’s poorest communities’—developed in Luna (2007): 2. For legislation, see Eaton (2004): 238. 17 For some examples, see Díaz Riesgo et al. (2006).

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a party statement in the mid-1990s exemplarily described as ‘the real problems’ or ‘real topics’ that ‘affect the population’, ‘often consult residents by means of plebiscites and door-to-door interviews’, mean that they are looking for the active involvement of the citizens in their communes. ‘The UDI approach’ to local politics ‘remains top-down’; ‘participatory democracy’ is not part of its vocabulary, nor does it envision, let alone advocate, ‘a genuine opening-up of the decision-making process’. This attitude, no doubt, does reflect the party’s ‘thinking of the minimal state’ (Cleuren 2007; Barozet 2004). At the same time, one may ask if it is not also indicative of a very marked desire not to lose control, which goes hand in hand with a noticeable suspicion vis-à-vis independent actions (Hipscher 1996: 30). After all, the party is known for its centralized decision making-process as well as discipline but not its internal democracy or the public discussion of conflicts, even though in recent times this image of a unified and homogenous movement got cracks because of confrontations between different currents about the way decisions are reached.

Final Remarks Whatever reservations one may have about the UDI and the policies it pursues and represents, its growth over recent years is as noteworthy as its appeal amongst poorer sectors of Chilean society. The party’s generally strong showing in the less developed boroughs of Greater Santiago in 1989 was confirmed in the municipal elections of June 1992, and indeed all other elections that took place in later years. Further research should focus on the differences between national and local elections, which in some cases have produced quite remarkably divergent results, in both absolute and relative terms. Candidate selection and national factors may well prove important in these respects. Joaquín Lavín, the former mayor of Las Condes and Santiago and presidential candidate of the UDI in both 1999/2000 and 2005, could well have positively influenced the party’s results at the national level, especially in 2001, a few months after his impressively strong showing in the contest for La Moneda.18 His overall significance for the UDI should not be overestimated however, as his declining fortunes did not go hand in hand

18 For Lavín, see Angell, A. und B. Pollack (2000); Silva, P. (2001) and Barozet (2004): 41–47.

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with a weakening of the party in the poblaciones.19 More research also has to be done to account for the fact that some of the less developed boroughs in Greater Santiago, especially Cerro Navia and La Pintana, seem to be so much less inclined to follow the national trend and vote for UDI candidates than neighbouring municipalities. Be that as it may, what is beyond dispute is that contrary to the party’s official account of events, which identifies its allegedly selfless and devoted work during the regime of Augusto Pinochet as the main reason for the strong support amongst pobladores, a more complex and not always altruistic set of factors have to be taken into consideration when accounting for this development. While the party did indeed focus on the shantytowns since its establishment, attempting to break the dominance of centrist and leftist parties over these sectors, the pobladores did not adhere to it just because of its anti-Marxism and identification with the military regime. This seems to have been the case of people who shared its world view and basic ideological convictions. More important was the social dimension of its activities, that the party gave advice concerning different subsidy programmes and above all that in many cases it could offer access to the emergency job programmes that had been created in an attempt to alleviate the rising poverty and which mayors, a considerable number of them militants of the party, controlled. One could well argue in this connection that the UDI exploited the precarious social situation of many poor Chileans. These networks of clientelism and patronage which the party was able to establish because of the privileged position it had during the military regime constitute the bases for the UDI’s electoral success in the shantytowns since 1989. That these were practices its leading representatives had harshly criticized and identified as one of the main reasons for the inefficiency of pre-1973 local politics, was less important than the actual benefits it could gain for its own political objectives. The Independent Democrats, while consistently emphasizing that they are different from other politicians, do follow certain traditions of Chileans politics. The rhetoric the UDI uses to portray and justify its policies may be different, but the strategies it employed, and still employs, are after all in many ways reminiscent of those used by various centrist and leftist political parties prior to the coup (Oxhorn 1994: 747).

19

I would like to thank Juan Pablo Luna for making this observation.

128 117 87 92 105 99 68 61 45 79 59 54 74 90

220 160 52 165 166 107 56 153 133 109 106 113 101 18

– 10,941 6,380 9,453 7,317 11,093 14,835 8,062 21,708 – 12,429 19,560 17,630 2,156 667,369

Nationwide

votes

%

votes

9.82 816,104

% 10,191 5,677 3,666 14,371 1,569 15,802 15,809 11,567 21,120 11,800 11,281 10,656 23,599 6,050

14,674 12,988 10,073 15,899 1,935 22,343 21,853 13,147 24,058 16,686 12,936 28,903 28,220 11,462

votes

% 30.25 20.61 38.10 37.20 4.11 41.68 39.41 27.48 33.70 30.07 35.91 40.77 42.62 42.04

2001 10,518 6,720 6,311 11,925 4,971 6,079 18,589 10,142 22,156 9,602 11,075 13,857 20,436 9,655

votes

% 21.42 11.04 22.03 26.68 9.80 11.22 30.56 19.96 30.26 17.09 29.80 20.06 29.07 24.16

2005

14.45 1,547,209 25.18 1,475,901 22.36

20.71 8.57 14.59 33.18 3.30 30.01 30.83 24.14 29.34 20.79 30.76 15.37 36.20 27.94

1997 votes %

12.11 837,736

17.57 – – 23.46 – – 29.25 21.02 23.15 21.39 27.99 – 25.59 29.24

1993

– 10,534 14.50 – 21.83 – 17.13 12,187 13.92 – 17.41 – 24.58 17,520 13.16 12,139 23.72 20,049 – 15,114 25.92 12,708 20.92 – 21.60 20,163 12.85 6,092

1989

Lo Espejo (28) Cerro Navia (18) Huechuraba (17) San Ramón (27) La Pintana (29) Renca (17) Pudahuel (16) La Granja (24) Recoleta (19) Pedro Aguirre Cerda (28) Independencia (19) Conchalí (17) El Bosque (27) Quilicura (16)

Municipality Electoral district

20 As in Table 13.2, the results for those 14 (out of a total of 34) municipalities of Greater Santiago are listed which obtained the lowest results in the Human Development Index (HDI) in the Metropolitan Region in 1994, 1998, and 2003, respectively. Six of these municipalities—Lo Espejo, Cerro Navia, San Ramón, La Pintana, Renca, and Pedro Aguirre Cerda—were among the bottom ten in all three years; Huechuraba and Pudahuel in 1994 and 1998; La Granja and Recoleta in 1994 and 2003; El Bosque in 1998 and in 2003; Quilicura in 1998; and Independencia and Conchalí in 2003. For 1994 and 2003, see Gobierno de Chile (2006) pp. 140–142; and for 1998, cf. PNUD (1999) p. 30.

Note: The intricacies of the binominal law make pre-election agreements between parties necessary. This means, amongst other things, that not all parties of a pact can nominate candidates in all of the country’s electoral districts. Missing results therefore indicate that no candidate of the UDI ran in the borough in this election. Source: www.elecciones.gov.cl

149 143 140 136 133 110 100 98 93 90 82 80 72 25

Human Dev. Index 1994 1998 2003

Table 13.1: Results of the UDI in Elections for Chamber of Deputies 1989–2005 (Selected Municipalities of Greater Santiago)20

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7,800 17.95 18,612 22.91 5,865 7.95 3,828 19.64

652,954 10.19

Nationwide

1(6) 3(8) 1(8) 1(6) 820,660 13.02

6,354 16.27 11,781 16.08 4,443 6.47 5,656 24.11

14.33 11.49 11.86 18.43 3.58 20.09 15.74 3.33 14.43 9.27 1(6) 2(8) –(8) 1(6)

2(8) 1(8) 1(6) 2(6) –(6) 2(8) 1(6) –(6) 1(8) –(8)

1,040,349

3,112 21,720 6,641 4,188

15.97

7.91 30.15 9.37 14.89

10,201 19.06 6,325 9.55 8,263 30.06 12,173 26.02 797 1.56 22,155 39.45 14,259 24.73 10,201 19.0624 26,293 34.51 6,115 10.27 1(6) 2(8) 1(8) 1(6)

2(6) 1(8) 2(6) 2(6) –(6) 2(6) 2(8) 1(6) 4(8) 1(8)

Municipal Elections 2000 votes % elected

18.83 27.25 17.72 15.62

19.00 12.59 33.42 15.13 9.57 37.72 21.11 15.65 33.78 11.44

1,151,703 18.81

6,512 17,446 11,347 5,108

8,738 7,186 8,790 6,243 4,345 19,329 11,242 7,198 23,062 5,881

1(6) 2(8) 2(8) 1(6)

1(6) 1(8) 3(6) 1(6) 1(6) 3(6) 2(8) 1(6) 3(8) 1(8)

Council Elections 200422 votes % elected

21 In the municipal elections of 1996, the overwhelming majority of the UDI’ candidates ran as independents. If one just listed them the electoral strength of the party would not be adequately represented. Therefore, the results of the official candidates of the UDI and those independents ascribed to the UDI by the Ministerio del Interior (Lista D) are combined. 22 In 2004, separate elections for mayors and aldermen were held for the first time. 23 Number of elected UDI candidates (total council members in Municipality). 24 Independientes Lista C.

Source: www.elecciones.gov.cl

106 113 101 18

7,673 7,648 3,263 8,662 1,826 11,332 8,410 1,754 11,081 5,627

59 54 74 90

1(8) –(8) 1(6) 2(6) –(6) 2(6) 1(6) 1(6) 1(8) –(8)

82 80 72 25

7.69 3.92 7.81 19.66 7.99 25.28 15.48 7.13 15.53 6.12

4,250 2,659 2,158 9,863 4,036 15,054 8,691 3,947 12,752 4,125

Lo Espejo Cerro Navia Huechuraba San Ramón La Pintana Renca Pudahuel La Granja Recoleta Pedro Aguirre Cerda Independencia Conchalí El Bosque Quilicura

128 117 87 92 105 99 68 61 45 79

149 143 140 136 133 110 100 98 93 90

220 160 52 165 166 107 56 153 133 109

Municipal Elections Municipal Elections 1992 199621 23 votes % elected votes % elected

Human Dev. Municipality Index 1994 1998 2003

Table 13.2: Results of the UDI in Local Elections 1992–2004 (Selected Municipalities of Greater Santiago)

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TOP-DOWN AND BOTTOM-UP DEMOCRACY IN CHILE UNDER BACHELET Patricio Navia

The arrival of Michelle Bachelet at the Presidency of the Republic represented a political sea change in Chile. Besides being the first woman President, Bachelet was also the fourth consecutive President from the Concertación, the centre-left coalition in power since the end of the Pinochet dictatorship. In addition to being a successful combination of change (first woman President) and continuity (fourth Concertación President), Bachelet also incorporated new elements to Chile’s democracy. During her first two years in office, she has striven to implement a safety net for those who are less capable of competing in a market economy. She has also sought to introduce bottom-up mechanisms of democracy, as opposed to the top-down approach that traditionally characterized the previous Concertación governments. Although the long-term effects of the initiatives aimed at strengthening participatory democracy and a ‘citizen government’ (gobierno ciudadano) are not yet known, Bachelet has successfully added a new dimension to the ongoing debate on consolidating and strengthening democracy in Chile.

Change and Continuity in Bachelet’s Presidential Election Victory Although Michelle Bachelet’s presidential election victory understandably made news around the world for she was the first woman in Chile to win the Presidency, the fact that she was elected as the candidate of the Concertación, the longest ruling coalition in the country’s history, is more revealing of political developments in Chile. Because she successfully combined a message of change (her being a woman) with a message of continuity (promising to retain the policies of her predecessor), she won the run-off election on January 15th of 2006, defeating a moderate right-of-centre candidate.

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It is very likely that had Bachelet not been a candidate of the popular Concertación coalition, her being a woman would not have been sufficient to carry the day. As the fourth consecutive Concertación President, she represents more continuity than change. Given that she promised to maintain the economic policies that made Chile the most successful economy in Latin America, her election was as much an approval of the neo-liberal model implemented by the Concertación as an endorsement of her promise to bring about more social inclusion. The Concertación has long been associated with neo-liberalism. The first Concertación President, PDC Patricio Aylwin (1990–1994) announced a ‘free market social economy’ while vowing to give neoliberalism a human face. In the following ten years, poverty in Chile was reduced from 40 per cent to 20 per cent, and GDP per capita more than doubled. Yet the policies adopted by Aylwin and Eduardo Frei (1994–2000) were squarely in tune with those promoted by the Washington Consensus. President Ricardo Lagos (2000–2006) only deepened Chile’s commitment to neo-liberalism. In addition to signing free trade agreements with the U.S. and the European Union, Lagos adopted a conservative fiscal policy, with a structural fiscal surplus of 1 per cent of the GDP into the national budget. Even in 2005, an election year, and despite soaring copper prices, the Lagos administration showed remarkable fiscal restraint. Yet, earmarked social programmes aimed at promoting access to health and education, and infrastructural development helped to transform Chile. Bachelet’s rise to power is closely associated with the Lagos government and the success of the Concertación’s neo-liberal economic policies. First appointed Minister of Health in 2000, she was one of five women to form part of Lagos’s first cabinet. She received wide press attention soon after Lagos’ inauguration when she was given a 90-day limit to end lines in public health clinics. After failing to fulfil her impossible assignment, she offered to resign, an act of honesty that made her very popular. Although her accomplishments as Minister of Health for the two years of her portfolio were questioned by conservatives, she became one of the most popular ministers in Lagos’ cabinet (Insunza and Ortega 2005). In January of 2002—following a midterm parliamentary election— Bachelet was appointed Minister of Defence. Though trained as a paediatrician, her personal interests led her to develop a parallel career as a defence expert. The daughter of an Air Force General who served under Allende, Bachelet was arrested and tortured after the military coup of

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 317 1973. Her father died while held by the military and her mother was arrested and tortured. Shortly afterwards, Bachelet and her mother left for exile in East Germany. In the early 1980s she returned to Chile, where she completed her medical education. When Pinochet left power in 1990, her interests in defence issues led her to take classes in military academies, including a one-year stint at the Inter American Defense College in Washington D.C. (Insunza and Ortega 2005; Navia 2006). As a woman, and as a victim of human rights violations, the symbolic value of Bachelet’s appointment as Minister of Defence cannot be overstated. Her ability to personify the national desire for reconciliation made her a popular minister in Lagos’s cabinet. Although the thought of having a woman as presidential candidate had been floated in the Concertación when Foreign Affairs Minister Soledad Alvear, a Christian Democrat, emerged as a leading presidential contender, to say that the idea of putting forward Bachelet—a divorcee, mother of three, Socialist, agnostic and former political exile—as the Concertación standard bearer was novel would be an understatement. As Lagos’s term came to an end, Bachelet’s popularity continued to grow. By late 2003, she was the most popular Concertación presidential hopeful. In September of 2004, Lagos reorganized his cabinet and, given their presidential intentions, accepted Bachelet and Alvear’s resignations. They campaigned heavily for Concertación municipal candidates and contributed to a strong victory by the government coalition in October. Soon thereafter, Bachelet was proclaimed presidential candidate by the PS, PPD and PRSD. Because Alvear was nominated by the PDC (the largest party in the Concertación) in January of 2005, presidential primaries were scheduled for July 31st. In June, seeing Bachelet’s poll numbers grow, Alvear withdrew from the race and threw her support to Bachelet. For the first time in its history, the Concertación had a woman as its presidential candidate (Navia 2006; Siavelis 2006). Bachelet had emerged as candidate because of her standing in polls. She was not the early favourite of the leadership of her Socialist Party. In fact, she did not even belong to the Socialist Party elite. She was a second-level militant who did not occupy positions of power in the Aylwin or Frei administrations. She was an outsider to the Concertación elites that had ruled the country since the end of the Pinochet dictatorship. Her rise to power took place despite the declared preferences of many of those members of the Concertación elite who had publicly expressed their preference for Soledad Alvear. But as the outsider, Bachelet quickly captured the sympathy of Concertación adherents who

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were growing tired of the same closed-knit elite that had governed Chile since 1990. Her strength and electoral appeal resulted from the fact that she was not a member of the Concertación elite. As an outsider, she easily represented those who had been left out. Hers was a candidacy of social inclusion for she represented the inclusion of those who had not been a part of the ruling Concertación elite. Because of the economic success and political stability of the Concertación 16-year old government, because conservative parties were too closely identified with Pinochet’s authoritarian legacy, and because of Lagos’s superb performance, the Concertación won the presidency in 2005. With more than 51 per cent of the vote, the centre-left coalition secured not only its twelfth consecutive electoral victory, but a majority in the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate as well. Bachelet obtained 46 per cent in the first round, and went on to obtain 53.5 per cent in the runoff. But Bachelet’s victory can also be explained by her ability to attract voters who perceived her as bringing about a much needed change. Due to the fact that she campaigned as an outsider—with the guarantee that she would still govern with the Concertación—she did not suffer from the low reputation that political parties have in Chile. She was accepted by the Concertación parties and was proclaimed as their candidate. But Bachelet was no political party insider nor could she be seen as the preferred candidate of the party elites. In fact, she strongly campaigned on introducing more bottom-up mechanisms of democracy to complement the existing top-down approach that had been championed by the three previous Concertación governments. In part because she was not a typical Socialist candidate, Bachelet’s victory was especially sweet for the Left. She attracted voters who had historically been reluctant to support leftist candidates. Men have traditionally supported candidates of the centre-left more strongly than have women. In all elections since 1990, conservative parties have captured a larger share of the female vote than has the Concertación. In 1999, Lagos became President with 54.3 per cent of the vote among men and 48.7 per cent among women voters. In 2005, Bachelet captured 53.3 per cent among women and 53.7 per cent among men.

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 319 Bachelet’s Safety Net Initiative and her Unexpected Problems in Office The central focus of her campaign was the strengthening of a social safety net and the promotion of a more participatory approach to democracy to complement Chile’s buoyant economy. In promising an overhaul to the existing safety net provisions, Bachelet sought to combine her desire to keep the fundamentals of the neo-liberal economic model of Chile and introduce instruments that would allow the government to play a more active role as regulator and to strengthen its ability to foster redistribution. But she also promised to incorporate people into the policy making process. Not only did she want to strengthen the safety net, she also wanted to do so by incorporating individuals into the design and implementation process. The reform to the private pension funds system—one of her signature campaign promises—allowed her to communicate her two objectives, the safety net and the idea of effective popular participation in the policymaking process. In promising to reform the regulatory framework for private pension fund companies that collect the mandatory monthly contributions of all employees, Bachelet signalled her commitment to a strong and efficient regulatory State. She also promised to increase the minimum guaranteed pensions provided by the State to all those with insufficient funds in their private saving accounts. A strong ‘solidarity’ component would be added to a system based primarily on personal retirement savings accounts. Yet, the pension system reform was not just a matter of what to do. Bachelet was also concerned with how to do it. She wanted to achieve those objectives incorporating people into the policy-making process. Thus, she promised that, if elected, her pension reform initiative would be first submitted to a committee comprised of experts and representatives from the civil society so that the final reform would incorporate her basic requirements but also other suggestions resulting from a process in which the people would be actively involved in designing the new policies. In addition to the pension funds reform, Bachelet’s policy initiatives included a pre-school reform that would increase coverage and subsidize low income families, a set of reforms to foster more innovation and entrepreneurship and improvements in the quality of life in urban areas. The four points of her platform sought to construct a more

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humane environment and to promote a wider conception of human development. A safety net was needed to provide basic guarantees to all Chileans. A social market economy, like the one championed by the Concertación, needed an adequate safety net to give meaning to the claim that Chile’s neoliberalism had a human face under the Concertación. And in building that new safety net, Bachelet wanted to incorporate the people. By promoting more bottom-up mechanisms of participation, she sought to produce more social inclusion and more popular participation in the design and implementation phases of public policy. Consistent with that approach, Bachelet also made participatory democracy a priority. Participation was not just a means to achieving better ends (as in the pension reform initiative): it was also an end in itself. During the campaign, she talked extensively about promoting more participation and strengthening civil society. As a symbol of her commitment to inclusion and to bring about more bottom-up mechanisms of democracy, Bachelet promised that her government would introduce gender parity in top governmental posts, and promised new faces in key positions. By stressing the fact that her presidential bid was the result of her popularity among the people and not the product of political party bargaining, Bachelet made it clear that she wanted to increase popular participation and reduce the influence of political party elites in her government. To be sure, during the campaign, Bachelet’s central message was the strengthening of the social safety net. After sixteen years of successful economic policies, Bachelet shifted the focus to building a net to help those who fall behind and those who, having left poverty, fear falling back into it if and when they lose their jobs, become ill or grow old. But she also discussed the need to deepen democracy and promote inclusion. As Bachelet centred her campaign on building a strong safety net, some criticized her for not focusing enough attention on economic growth. Moderate rightwing candidate Sebastián Piñera, seeking to court centrist voters, made economic growth central to his campaign. But because the country’s economy was expanding rapidly in 2005 and unemployment was decreasing, Bachelet and the other rightwing candidate, Joaquín Lavín, successfully shifted the focus away from economic growth into building an adequate safety net of education, housing, infrastructure, pensions and health services. More than any other proposals, Bachelet’s more popular social sector promises were

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 321 a profound reform to the private pension system and the expansion of pre-school education to low income families. After her victory, Bachelet renewed her promise to build a safety net and more directly outlined her four thematic areas of priorities: pension reforms, pre-school education, innovation and entrepreneurship and better quality of life in cities. Unfortunately, during her two first years in office, three events made it difficult for Bachelet to keep her focus on building a safety net and weakened her push to introduce more bottom-up mechanisms of democratic participation. First, the low 4.4 per cent economic growth that Chile experienced in 2006 forced Bachelet to shift her focus back on the economy. Sustainable distribution and reductions in inequality can only occur when the economy grows at a healthy rate, so Bachelet was hard pressed to implement policies that would boost economic growth. Her finance minister Andrés Velasco outlined a special package of reforms on July 19, 2006. The ‘Chile Competes’ initiative sought to promote economic growth by streamlining the tax system, facilitating new business ventures and promoting employment. Towards the end of 2006, the economy began to grow again at healthier rates. That made it easier for Bachelet to stop talking about boosting economic growth and instead refocus on constructing an appropriate safety net for all Chileans. Yet, the argument that people prefer having job opportunities rather than access to participation helped to weaken Bachelet’s emphasis on participatory democracy initiatives. The second event that forced Bachelet out of her original agenda was a surprising student movement that stunned the country in May and June of 2006. Secondary students—many of whom were actually born under Concertación governments—started protesting against what they claimed was the commoditization of education in Chile. A voucher system that allows parents to send their children to public or private schools was implemented under the Pinochet regime. During the Concertación governments, the system was partially reformed, but the basic premise that parents can choose the schools where they send their children was not modified. In addition, subsidized private schools can place additional charges to educate children. As a result, the educational system in Chile is highly segregated by parents’ income. A minority of children go to fully private schools. Many others attend subsidized schools where parents are also required to make monthly contributions. A majority go to free public schools or subsidized private schools that require no additional contribution. Overall, the quality of

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education children receive in Chile does not fare well when compared to industrialized and Southeast Asian countries. In May of 2006, several secondary school student unions from public and subsidized schools began mobilizing to demand that the government repeal the educational legislation adopted by the Pinochet dictatorship shortly before ceding power to the first Concertación administration. The movement caught on and after a few weeks, most secondary schools had joined the strike and the whole country was immersed in a debate about the quality of education, unequal access to education and the role the public and the private sector ought to have in the national educational system. Because those students had lived their entire educational experiences under Concertación governments, the protests were widely seen as an unequivocal rejection of the Concertación’s educational policies. Students complained, and public opinion seemed to agree, that the successive Concertación governments had failed to give most Chilean students the education they needed to succeed in life. As a reaction to the protests, Bachelet appointed an 80-plus member commission to make recommendations about educational reform and, for the rest of the year, education surely replaced pensions and the safety net as the main political and social concern in the country. The educational reform committee issued its report in December of 2006 and the government sent a controversial legislative initiative aimed at modifying some of the pillars of the educational system in Chile in April of 2007. An immediate debate over the merits of the government’s proposal ensued. Among the critics, the government’s decision to limit educational vouchers to non-for-profit schools was most widely opposed. Although the final version of the new bill was negotiated in Congress with Concertación and rightwing opposition legislators, the debate over educational quality continued to capture public attention well into 2007. The student protests constituted a severe blow to Bachelet’s promotion of participatory democracy. Students took to the streets to voice their demands. The traditional political elites associated that demand for participation with disorder and chaos. Bachelet was accused of not having what it takes to govern the country. Her leadership skills and her authority were questioned. Granted, the way the government reacted to the protests and her administration’s inability to control the public agenda helped to fuel the arguments that participation was inevitably

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 323 associated with chaos and lawlessness. Thus, as a result of the student protests, Bachelet ended up dropping the call for more participatory democracy from her speeches and public messages The secondary students had participated in a way that scared the traditional elites and the student protests had generated chaos (which resulted in millions of children missing several weeks’ worth of classes) and, consequently, the student protests halted most other popular participation initiatives previously announced. The third event that temporarily derailed Bachelet’s effort to focus on building an adequate safety net and promoting participation was the lamentable implementation of the Transantiago public transportation reform. Designed to overhaul the complex, polluting and unfriendly transportation system operating in the capital city of Santiago, the Transantiago was a cornerstone of former President Lagos’s grand view for a new country for the bicentennial in 2010. When she took office, Bachelet inherited the Transantiago which was originally scheduled to be implemented in late 2005. Yet, as there were design and implementation issues, the implementation of the Transantiago was moved to early 2007. Although there are still debates as to what actually happened, when Transantiago was officially launched on February of 2007, public transportation in Santiago collapsed. Fortunately, February is the favourite vacation month in the summer. Yet, in addition to millions of Chileans, President Bachelet was also enjoying her summer vacation when public transportation collapsed due to an insufficient number of buses in the streets, ill-conceived new bus routes, a standardized one fee for all trips (including subway and bus transfers) that overcrowded the subway system and a non-working smartcard payment system for bus fares. Almost everything that could have gone wrong with the new system did. Although the government was quick to announce measures to cope with the catastrophic new public transportation system, the chaos continued for several weeks and months. Many of the critics of the government insisted that the administration had pretty much ignored users when designing and implementing Transantiago. Although the government claimed that it had consulted with mayors and the community, the Transantiago was widely, and correctly, viewed as a failed public policy that had ignored the input of users. For a government that claimed to promote participation and community involvement, the Transantiago failure was decisive evidence that a top-down approach

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to government and to public policies continued to be the defining characteristic of the Concertación coalition. After a cabinet reshuffle and a significant drop in presidential approval, Bachelet spent most of the first half of 2007 dealing with the aftermath of the disastrous implementation of Transantiago. Transantiago also weakened Bachelet’s claim that she wanted to strengthen popular participation. The new transportation system was adopted with minimal input from users. Granted, the initial design under President Lagos pretty much ignored the input of residents of Santiago and users of public transportation. But when Bachelet took office, she failed to take advantage of the fact that Transantiago was being implemented to materialize her promise of more democratic participation. At least in theory, Transantiago offered a perfect opportunity for Bachelet to try out a more bottom-up approach to policy making. Yet, her administration forged ahead with the same top-down approach to new public policies that had been championed under previous administrations. As Bachelet did not use Transantiago to introduce more bottom-up mechanisms of democratic participation and to allow input from individuals into the policy making process, the dramatic failure of Transantiago in early 2007 signalled that, despite her rhetoric, she had no clear plan to transform her goal of promoting participatory democracy into a reality. After the initial failure, Bachelet reshuffled her cabinet in March of 2007, appointing a new Transport Minister. The apt René Cortázar, an MIT trained economist, was assigned the mission of making Transantiago work. Yet, Cortázar does not count the promotion of participatory democracy among his priorities. Thus, in appointing Cortázar, Bachelet signalled that she favoured a top-down approach to solving the Transantiago mess rather than a sensible bottom-up approach that could incorporate participatory input from users into getting to redesign the bus routes, finding ways for private operators to comply with their contracts and for users to pay the required fares to make the system work. The Cortázar ministerial appointment was celebrated by many as a guarantee that, in due time, Transantiago would work. But it was also a signal that, when faced with a huge and urgent public policy challenge, Bachelet stuck to the traditional Concertación top-down approach to solving problems rather than to her promised new approach to politics of bottom-up participatory mechanisms.

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 325 As a result of Transantiago, during 2007, the government was reluctant to adopt or implement new public policy initiatives fearing that they would go as patently wrong as Transantiago had. Because the students’ protests had forced to redefine the focus of her educational reform from pre-school to secondary education and because the failure of Transantiago constituted a dramatic setback in her promise to bring about better quality of life in urban areas, Bachelet’s four priorities were damaged by the events of 2006 and 2007. Moreover, both the students’ protests and Transantiago weakened the government’s commitment to participatory democracy and showed, especially Transantiago, that despite her intention, Bachelet had no clear plan to promote and implement more mechanisms of participatory democracy. In addition, a number of small corruption scandals contributed to the perception that the Bachelet administration had lost control. As Figure 14.1 (see page 326) shows, Bachelet’s approval ratings were adversely affected by the students’ protests in May 2006 and by the continuous problems with the implementation of Transantiago. Already in July of 2007, her disapproval ratings were higher than her approval numbers. Only in late 2007 did Bachelet’s approval surpass her disapproval ratings. Most observers associate her popularity problems to her government’s reaction to the students’ protests and to the costly political fallout of Transantiago. Yet, the decline of Bachelet’s approval ratings can also be associated with her desire to distance herself from traditional politics. She has repeatedly stated that, as a woman, she brings in a new way to do politics (‘una nueva forma de hacer política’). At least two different explanations can be put forth to account for the relationship between Bachelet’s new approach to politics and her weak approval ratings. First, one could argue that precisely because Bachelet does not conform to the expected behaviour of a President—presumably strong and resolute, as President Lagos—the electorate punishes her deviant behaviour. Assuming the electorate has a prior expectation of what presidents should do and look like, Bachelet’s weak approval ratings can be explained by her decision to introduce a ‘different way’ of doing politics. A second, equally powerful argument can also be made. The problems Bachelet has experienced in approval ratings can be explained by the way traditional parties have reacted to her popular new way of doing politics. Because she was so successful electorally, traditional parties fear that their own power will

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70 60 50 40 30 20

Approves

Disapproves

DK/NA

Sep-07 Oct-07 Nov-07 Dec-07 Jan-08

Jul-07 Aug-07

0

Mar-06 Apr-06 May-06 Jun-06 Jul-06 Aug-06 Sep-06 Oct-06 Nov-06 Dec-06 Jan-07 Feb-07 Mar-07 Apr-07 May-07 Jun-07

10

Neither

Source: compiled by author with data from Adimark polls.

Figure 14.1. President Bachelet’s approval ratings, 2006–2008

be undermined if Bachelet succeeds in rejuvenating and reforming traditional politics in Chile. Thus, it is not the electorate that rejects Bachelet (they already voted for her), but the sabotage by the elites of existing political parties that causes Bachelet’s troubles. This is not the place to identify which of the two explanations is more appropriate. But the fact that two opposite stories can be invoked to explain the same phenomenon sheds some light about the relationship that can be identified between Bachelet’s fall in popularity and the fate of her participatory democracy initiatives. It can be argued that because she embraced participatory democracy initiatives, Bachelet has seen her popularity decline. Yet, one can just as equally make the argument that Bachelet’s popularity has fallen because political parties have sabotaged her participatory democracy initiatives.

Bachelet’s Bottom-Up Democracy Initiatives During the campaign, Bachelet promised to adopt a number of institutional reforms to promote bottom-up mechanisms of democracy. Historically, the Concertación governments have privileged a top-down approach to democracy. The threatening presence of General Pinochet, the former dictator who remained head of the army until 1998, derailed efforts at promoting more citizen participation during the Aylwin and

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 327 Frei administrations. Because Lagos had to deal with the slow judicial process that affected Pinochet after his return to Chile in 2000, initiatives aimed at promoting citizenship participation and replacing the top-down approach to democracy with a more bottom-up conception of popular participation were mostly absent during the 2000–2006 Lagos administration. Yet, because of her own personal history and partially because her own rise to power can be associated with a demand to make politics and governance more inclusive, Bachelet wanted to introduce reforms that would complement her own election as the first woman President with more inclusive politics. Hers would be the government of the people, or as she called it, gobierno de ciudadanos (a citizens’ government). During the 2005 campaign, as a non-career politician and a physician who had not spent her life working her way up through the political party structure, she could credibly make participatory democracy a central theme of her platform. Running a ‘citizens’ campaign’, it turned out, was one of her strong selling points. She claimed that her good standing in polls, rather than having found favour with party elites, was the reason for her candidacy. When she was appointed minister, she declared that she had not intended to end up as the Concertación candidate. Her campaign sought to promote a bottom-up, non-technocratic approach. ‘Just as medical treatments will not work if you fail to engage patients, the policies the Concertación governments implement will work better if you promote participation, inclusion and diversity’, she once said during the campaign. In her government programme, titled ‘I am with you’ (Estoy Contigo) issued in October of 2005 (Bachelet 2005), Bachelet outlined some of the ideas she sought to introduce to make democracy more participatory. In a section titled ‘Quality of democracy’, the document stated that ‘we will promote a reform to introduce citizens’ legislative initiatives in all those areas that are not the exclusive legislative initiative of the President like those that affect taxes or international treaties. Thus, a significant group of citizens will be able to put on the Congress’s agenda topics of their interest. Citizens will have the same legislative prerogatives as their representatives, deputies and senators’ (p. 74). To be sure, although many liked the idea that citizens be allowed to introduce legislation, the Constitution currently gives the President sole power to introduce legislation that implies government spending (Siavelis 2000; Baldez and Carey 1999). The Constitution also allows

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the Executive to control the legislative agenda. Many have called for reforms that will strengthen the Legislative branch of government and weaken the Executive to reduce the excessive power of the President that characterizes Chilean democracy (Fontaine et al. 2007; Walker 2006; Linz et al. 1990) Thus, introducing mechanisms for popular legislative initiative would empower citizens while sidestepping Congress, a measure that would probably be counterproductive. Bachelet’s interest in promoting participation was also evident in the document’s discussion on the quality of public policies. The document indicated that ‘We will establish formal processes of citizen participation as a requisite for all new regional public investment projects.’ (p. 79). Probably, as I discuss below, the implementation of Transantiago constituted a heavy blow to Bachelet’s initial promise of implementing public policies with—and not ignoring—the people. In a section titled ‘Democracy at the home’s door’, the Bachelet Government Programme promised to ‘develop mechanisms of participatory budgets that allow for citizens to express their voice and exert influence over spending priorities’ (p. 82). The idea of promoting participation and associating democracy with higher levels of participation ran through the entire document. In the introductory section, the assumption that democracy entails participation was succinctly summarized, ‘Chileans . . . want to have more regional and local identity, more decentralization of power, authorities that are close to them and more participation. None of these occur automatically in a globalized market economy. We must correct that model’ (p. 8). Although participation and democracy were directly associated to each other throughout the document, the Bachelet Government Programme had few and scattered references to improving representative democracy. Several times, representation was discussed together with gender quotas for legislative elections and with increasing the number of women in government positions. The remaining times, representation was mentioned when discussing the electoral system and proposing ideas to reform it. It would be fair to conclude that the Government Programme proposed by Bachelet had a stronger focus on improving and deepening participatory democracy than on improving the quality of representative democracy. Naturally, one does not need to see the promotion of representative versus participatory democracy as contradictory or mutually exclusive goals. But given the widely agreed upon shortcomings of representa-

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 329 tive democracy in Chile—which include the distortions of the electoral system (Siavelis 2005; Navia 2005), insufficient decentralization efforts and lack of transparency and accountability—the stronger focus on participatory democracy cannot be ignored. Bachelet was indeed more interested in promoting participatory democracy than in improving representative democracy. Given Chile’s story of strong top-bottom practices in the transition to democracy and during the first three Concertación governments, Bachelet’s shift of focus was welcomed by many. Her idea of promoting participatory democracy strengthened during the campaign. As Bachelet herself represented a demand for more inclusion and an endorsement of bottom-up democratic practices, she seemed determined to strengthen her commitment to increasing participatory democracy after her election. In her first speech after being sworn in, Bachelet stated in the town of Casablanca, near Santiago, that ‘I want government officials to be transparent about our actions, but I also want my administration to govern without hiding from the people. I want them to consult with the people. I believe citizens have a lot to contribute with to help us make the right decisions. For that reason, I have already indicated that we will promulgate a series of initiatives promoting citizen participation in issues that they consider important’ (Michelle Bachelet, ‘Intervención en acto ciudadano, Casablanca’ March 11, 2006). In her salutatory speech from the La Moneda palace, Bachelet repeated the idea of a citizen government. Tellingly, she did not mention political parties or the Concertación coalition. Although she did make reference to her three predecessors from the Concertación coalition, she failed to mention the coalition that brought her to power and the parties that she would need to work with to govern effectively. A few weeks earlier, in appointing her first cabinet, Bachelet had also irritated political parties by ignoring them in making her most important ministerial appointments. Because she kept her promise of gender parity and proved good on her promise to bring in new faces—and leave out former ministers of previous Concertación governments—the four parties that comprise the Concertación coalition expressed their discontent with being ignored. As a result, when pushing for a citizen’s government, Bachelet inevitably confronted that new concept with the old government by political parties that had come to characterize the previous Concertación administrations.

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The day after her inauguration, Bachelet further elaborated on her idea of the society she wanted to promote. In a cultural event organized to celebrate her inauguration, Bachelet read a speech outlining her views: ‘In my government, the way we relate to each other will be central. We do not want individualism, we do not want indifference. We want comradeship, we want solidarity, we want one big community’ (Michelle Bachelet, ‘Participación en el acto cultural Canta América Canta, March 12, 2006). A few days later, in a ceremony honouring human rights violations victims, Bachelet referred to her government as ‘a citizen and democratic government’ (Michelle Bachelet, ‘Inaguración del monumento ‘Un lugar para la memoria: Nattino-Parada-Guerrero’, March 29, 2007). Yet, the idea of a citizens’ government was not widely popular within her administration. In fact, upon taking office, Bachelet issued a detailed list of 36 measures she promised to accomplish during her 100 first days in office. None of those measures had any references to participatory democracy or citizen’s democracy. In fact, the two measures related to improving the quality of democracy were squarely placed within the context of representative democracy: a change to the binominal electoral system and automatic registration for all eligible voters (Bachelet 2006). Nonetheless, in her public speeches as President, Bachelet insisted with the idea of participatory and citizens’ democracy. In her first annual report before Congress on May 21, 2006, Bachelet stressed the point of a citizens’ democracy: ‘Because this is the government of and for citizens.’ (Michelle Bachelet, ‘Cuenta Pública Ante el Congreso Pleno’, May 21, 2006). During her second annual report to Congress, on May 21, 2007, Bachelet again expressed her commitment to participatory democracy: ‘Decentralization, regions and municipalities are a fundamental part of our aspiration to have a more participatory and citizens’ democracy’ (Michelle Bachelet, ‘Cuenta Pública Ante el Congreso Pleno’, May 21, 2007). But, unfortunately for her—and perhaps because the idea of promoting participatory democracy was not widely shared within her government—Bachelet did not have a clear plan to introduce bottomup democratic mechanisms. Although during the campaign she did express a preference for mechanisms like referenda and plebiscites, her government did not follow through on such ideas by sending legislative proposals to Congress because they would require constitutional

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 331 reforms, which in turn depended on getting support from the opposition to obtain the necessary super majorities to be promulgated. As the Concertación and those within the government did not all agree in how more participation should be promoted, Bachelet often encountered resistance when improvising ideas as to how to bring about more participatory democracy. For example, when Bachelet suggested, in mid 2006, that there should be a plebiscite to decide the fate of the electoral law left in place by the authoritarian government (Navia 2005; Siavelis 2002), she was widely criticized from all sides for undermining ongoing negotiations between political parties to introduce electoral law changes through Congress. Bachelet continued to speak of citizens’ government during her first weeks in office. Because she had drawn initial support in polls rather than among party ranks, it would seem understandable that she sought to position herself above party politics. Yet, when she failed to win the presidential election in the first round, she had to rely on the Concertación and the four parties that comprised that coalition to secure a runoff victory. Thus, her decision to ignore the parties after her election put her back on the same track she had favoured during the campaign before the first round vote. Bachelet had secured the presidential nomination because people, not party elites, favoured her. Hers would then be a government by the people, not by the parties. Unfortunately for her, she found her commitment to the idea seriously challenged when students took to the streets in May and June of 2006. They demanded improvements in the educational system and an end to unequal access to education. With many students from well-todo schools joining the protests, they began to assume the character of a nation-wide movement for educational reform. The government was slow to react and lost control of the situation. Streets were filled for days with students, and others, protesting against inequality in education but eventually also complaining, ironically, against the government’s slow response. Because Bachelet represented a coalition that had been in power since 1990, her government could not easily blame previous administrations for the shortcomings in education. Eventually, Bachelet was forced to fire several ministers, including the Minister of the Interior, the most important post in Chile’s cabinet. Her first cabinet reshuffle, occurring only four months after she took office, pretty much buried the idea of participatory democracy.

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The students’ protests forced Bachelet to redefine what it meant by citizens’ government and by popular participation. In fact, shortly after the protests, the government abandoned the rhetoric in favour of more popular participation. In fact, in her first cabinet reshuffle, Bachelet appointed Belisario Velasco as his new Interior Minister. Velasco had served as Undersecretary of Interior under the Aylwin and Frei administrations and had earned a reputation as a public security expert, an advocate of law and order within the Concertación administrations. His appointment was widely interpreted as a sign that promoting popular participation should no longer be associated with tolerating street demonstrations. The students’ protests in 2006 turned public opinion against the idea of promoting popular participation. To be sure, when Bachelet spoke of popular participation, she had a different form of participation in mind. Yet, her critics found it easy to associate popular participation with protests, destruction and lawlessness. Inevitably, the commendable objective of strengthening civil society was associated with a soft hand that would bring about street demonstrations and would eventually end up undermining democracy. Because Bachelet had spoken about participatory democracy, the students’ demonstrations opened up a window for debate on contrasting definitions of democracy. Inevitably, by contrasting participatory and representative democracy, the idea that the former can be complementary with—and a necessary supplement for—the latter was undermined. To be sure, successful democracies are essentially representative democracies. Even though it might sound appealing, participatory democracy without representative mechanisms is impracticable in modern times. It would be foolish to suggest that participatory democracy can replace representative democracy. When we vote, at least conceptually, we are all equal. When we participate, inequality is the norm. Some people have more financial resources (and can thus make their voices be heard more loudly), others have more time (and can thus march in the streets). Yet others can throw rocks or make noise. Not surprisingly, students tend to have more success and more impact in street marches, whereas the elderly are probably better at organizing their peers to turn out on election-day. Pregnant women and single mothers are less likely to find the time to organize a street demonstration. By definition, participation is inevitably unequal. We all participate according to the tools and resources we all have.

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 333 Thus, replacing representative democracy with participatory democracy would seem contradictory with the ideal of promoting equality. To address the problems of representative democracy, it would make more sense to elect authorities that will govern to defend our interests rather than attempt to govern among all of us. Yet, securing that authorities will defend our interests, fulfil their promises and govern transparently is not an easy task. For that reason, establishing mechanisms of accountability becomes a crucial requirement for a representative democracy to work well. Indeed, good accountability mechanisms will produce much better results than seeking to introduce elements of more participation. Just as consumers want to have cell phones that work without having to learn the technical details and the regulatory frameworks that facilitate competition among companies, citizens need democracy to function without needing to go out to the streets with signs—or rocks—to make their demands known. This is not to say that participation is not necessary. But participation should not replace mechanisms of accountability that can make representative democracy work better. Participation is useful, but should not be seen as replacing representation. For example, learning about medicine is undoubtedly useful. Yet, nobody would suggest that participatory medicine should replace doctors and hospitals. True, when patients take part in their treatment, their health is much more likely to improve than when they are passive receptors. Yet, patient participation should not be conceived as replacing the expertise of physicians. Something similar happens with democracy. When public opinion shows interest and there is a strong and active civil society, democracy works better. Accountability and transparency can only exist when there is a civil society that will hold politicians accountable and that will make good use of the information accessible through transparency initiatives. Clearly, as Bachelet’s rise to power and sensible message correctly identified, representative democracy was not working well in Chile. Lack of competition, insufficient transparency and lack of accountability had unquestionably undermined that country’s representative democracy. The lack of competition between political parties in Chile is the main drawback of the binominal electoral system adopted during the transition to democracy in 1989. As a result, in a large majority of districts, the Concertación and the rightwing Alianza end up splitting the two seats in Senatorial and Chamber of Deputies districts. Voters know that, regardless of their preferences, in more than 95 per cent of all

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districts, the Concertación will get one congressional seat and the other seat will go to the Alianza. In addition, the large number of Chileans who do not bother to register to vote and the lack of transparency on the financing of campaigns are also evidence of deep-rooted problems with representative democracy (Engel and Navia 2006). The shortcomings and insufficiencies of representative democracy in Chile have been widely discussed (Engel and Navia 2006; Valenzuela 2006; Portales 2000; Huneeus 2006). Precisely because they are well known, the election of Bachelet constituted an excellent opportunity to bring about changes that would reduce its excessive dependence on top-down approaches and instead introduce more mechanisms of participation, bottom-up democracy. The fact that Bachelet campaigned on a platform of inclusion and that her election symbolized social inclusion more than any other previous Concertación victory led many to believe that the opportunity to strengthen democracy through more participatory instruments had come. During the campaign, women would regularly wear presidential sashes in Bachelet’s rallies. Symbolizing social inclusion, those sashes sent the message that power would now be shared among men and women, but also that power would be shared among those who traditionally held it and those who had not. Bachelet’s commitment to introducing mechanisms of more participatory democracy seemed to have weakened after the 2006 students’ protests. She struggled to send signals that she was a President in control. As Figure 14.1 above shows, Bachelet’s approval ratings suffered as a result of the protests. After she reshuffled her cabinet and appointed as Interior Minister a man long associated with public security, her approval ratings increased again over 50 per cent in late 2006. When she abandoned the idea of participatory democracy and adopted a more traditional Concertación top-down approach to government, her approval increased. Partially, this was because the Concertación parties felt uneasy about Bachelet’s initiative to bring about more popular participation. When Bachelet abandoned that initiative, the Concertación parties also began to collaborate more with her government. Bachelet’s symbolic departure from participatory democracy initiatives was also clear in her approach to gender parity. During the campaign, she committed herself to honouring gender parity in her cabinet (10 of the 20 cabinet ministers she first appointed were women). In part, that initiative was first championed by President Lagos when he appointed five women to his first 16-member cabinet in 2000. Bachelet

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 335 was among those women appointed. Yet, as President, Bachelet went further in adopting initiatives to promote gender parity, and promised to introduce legislation to provide for gender quotas in Congress. When she reshuffled her cabinet for the second time in early 2007, Bachelet was forced to abandon this principle. In that new 22-member cabinet, there were only nine women. Yet, she successfully introduced the issue of gender equality as a permanent item in the public agenda. Although the cabinet was no longer evenly divided among men and women, it will be impossible for Chile to go back to those early 1990s years when there was only one woman in a 22-member cabinet. Lagos incorporated more women to higher posts, but Bachelet’s commitment to gender equity will undoubtedly give women a greater role in future Chilean politics. Bachelet had also promised to bring about a renewal in the Concertación leadership. She promised during her campaign that nobody would have seconds (‘nadie se repite el plato’). When she appointed her first cabinet, only two among the 20 ministers had served as ministers in previous governments. Her first and second cabinet reshuffles forced her to bring back to power some of the old Concertación leaders. In mid 2007, 6 of the 22 ministers had occupied important posts in previous Concertación governments. Yet, Bachelet continued to forge ahead with the promotion of new faces in government.

Conclusion Although Bachelet’s legacy will continue to be defined until the end of her administration, her focus on building a safety net and her promotion of participatory democracy will provide the two bars her government will be measured against. The success of her safety net reforms will depend largely on the growth rate of the economy and on the government’s ability to broker deals with opposition leaders in Congress. So far, some important reforms, including most items on the pension reform package, have already been passed and will begin to be implemented before Bachelet leaves office. Although it was not her intention, Transantiago and the students’ protests—with the subsequent educational reform—will also help to define Bachelet’s legacy. Because it was such a big failure when it was first implemented, Transantiago will always be associated with the

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worst of the Bachelet administration. Similarly, the students’ protests will be considered a low point of her administration as well. Because the protests led to a cabinet reshuffle and because the government was admittedly slow to react to the movement, the legacy of the students’ protests will be associated with a lack of ability on the part of Bachelet’s government. Because the student movement and Transantiago are so closely related to the idea of participatory democracy, the legacy of Bachelet’s government on promoting participation will be at best a mixed record. The students’ protests constituted an outburst of participation, but not in the shape and form Bachelet had envisioned and promised. The students’ protests did not help to shape policy through a normal policy-making process. Instead, the movement constituted an eruption of discontent with the policies championed by the Concertación governments. Thus, rather than being seen as supportive of Bachelet, the movement sent the signal that all Concertación governments embraced the same topdown approach to democracy. Despite her rhetoric of promotion of more participation, the Bachelet government was seen much more as the continuity of a Concertación top-down tradition in the way it reacted to the protests. Transantiago produced a more lasting damage to the idea of participatory democracy. Because citizens were ignored in the design and implementation process—and continued to be ignored in the corrective policies after its initial debacle—Transantiago put to the test the real commitment of the Bachelet administration to its promise of more participatory initiatives. In addition, because the government is not clear as to what it means when it calls for more participatory democracy, it is unlikely that institutional changes that promote participatory democracy will be introduced. Gender parity will probably not come back to the forefront in the time remaining of Bachelet’s term, but the position of women in society will be significantly stronger after Bachelet completes her four-year term. The fate of renewal within the Concertación will depend on the success of her government. If Bachelet improves her approval rating and the government has more successes than failures, the ‘renewal of faces’ may become a permanent feature of Chilean politics. Yet, the long term fate of participatory democracy does not depend entirely on the success of the Bachelet government. Bachelet became the Concertación candidate and won because there was a demand for

top-down and bottom-up democracy under bachelet 337 more participation. It is not that Bachelet invented the idea of participatory democracy and imposed it on an electorate that was satisfied with the old top-down approach promoted by the Concertación. Bachelet embodied the demand for more participation. True, her government did not succeed in creating mechanisms of more participation and in legitimizing the concept before political parties and traditional elites. But that failure will only create a bigger demand for participation in years to come. In promising to implement more mechanisms of popular participation, Bachelet responded to an existing demand of the Chilean electorate. Her electoral message was successful because it filled a vacuum created by the Concertación’s long term preference for top-down democracy and elitist politics. The students’ protests and Transantiago tested Bachelet’s commitment to popular participation and showed her government’s lack of a coherent plan to incorporate sustainable participation into Chile’s democracy. As a result, although she promised more bottom-up mechanisms of democracy and sought to strengthen popular participation, there was insufficient progress in reversing the traditional top-down approach to politics that has characterized Chile’s democracy under the Concertación governments. Although the Concertación will probably be tempted to shift the attention away from participation as it prepares for the 2009 election, the electorate will likely continue to demand more avenues for participation and more effective and meaningful bottom-up mechanisms to strengthen Chile’s democracy. If it learns from Bachelet’s shortfalls, the Concertación will be able to introduce more participatory mechanisms to complement—and eventually replace—the traditional top-down approach to politics that characterized the first two years of post-Pinochet democracy in Chile.

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Rebecca N. Abers is Professor at the Institute of Political Science, University of Brasília. Her current research involves the expansion of participatory decision-making arenas throughout Brazil’s political system and especially in environmental and water politics. She is the author of Inventing Local Democracy: Grassroots Politics in Brazil (Lynne Rienner, 2000) and of various articles on civic participation in the participatory budget, river basin committees and other bodies. Gianpaolo Baiocchi is Associate Professor in International Studies at the Watson Institute for International Studies, Brown University. He is the author of Militants and Citizens: Local Democracy on a Global Stage in Porto Alegre (Stanford University Press, 2005) and the editor of Radicals in Power: Experiments in Urban Democracy in Brazil (Zed Press, 2003). Adolfo Castillo Díaz is Director of the Corporación Libertades Ciudadanas at Santiago de Chile. He is author of ‘Sociedad civil, ciudadanía y los límites de la participación en el Chile actual’ (Secretaría General de Gobierno, 2001) and co-author with Hugo Villavicencio of Hacia una democracia deliberativa: La experiencia del presupuesto participativo de San Joaquín 2004 (Ediciones el Tercer Actor, 2005). Herwig Cleuren has been Associate Professor of Modern Latin American History, Department of Latin American Studies, Leiden University. He is the author of Paving the road for forest destruction: Key actors and driving forces of tropical deforestation in Brazil, Ecuador and Cameroon (CNWS, 2001) and ‘Local Democracy and Participation in Post-Authoritarian Chile’ (European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 83, 2007). Gonzalo Delamaza is Lecturer and Researcher at the Universidad de Los Lagos, and Director of the Programme ‘Ciudadanía y Gestión Pública’ at Santiago de Chile. His current research interests are civil society and politics in Latin America, and social policies. He is author of Tan Lejos Tan Cerca. Sociedad Civil y Estado en Chile (LOM, 1995) and ‘Enabling Environments for Philanthropy and Civil Society: The

362

list of contributors

Chilean Case’ in C. Sanborn and F. Portocarrero (eds) Philanthropy and Social Change in Latin America (Harvard, 2005). Vicente Espinoza is Professor at the Universidad de Santiago de Chile (USACH), Coordinator of the Doctoral Specialization in Social and Political Studies, and Researcher at the Institute for Advanced Studies (IDEA). He is the author of ‘De la política social a la participación en un nuevo contrato de ciudadanía’ (Revista Política 43, 2004) and ‘La movilidad ocupacional en el Cono Sur: Oportunidades y desigualdad social’ (Revista de Sociología 20, 2006). Joe Foweraker is Director of the School of Interdisciplinary Area Studies and Professor of Latin American Politics at the University of Oxford. His current research addresses the relationships between oligarchic and democratic politics in the political systems of Latin America today. He is co-author of Governing Latin America (Polity Press, 2004) and editor of the Encyclopaedia of Democratic Thought (Routledge, 2006). Marcus Klein is a freelance editor and part-time lecturer based in Bonn, Germany. He is the author of Our Brazil Will Awake! The Acção Integralista Brasileira and the Failed Quest for a Fascist Order in the 1930s (CEDLA, 2004), La matanza del Seguro Obrero (5 de septiembre de 1938) (Globo Editores, 2008) as well as articles published in, e.g., the Journal of Latin American Studies, The Americas, and Historia (Santiago). Kees Koonings is Associate Professor of Development Studies at the Department of Anthropology, Utrecht University. His current research focuses on urban violence and social exclusion in Latin America. He is co-editor with Dirk Kruijt of Armed Actors: Organised Violence and State Failure in Latin America (Zed Books, 2005) and Fractured Cities: Social Exclusion, Urban Violence and Contested Spaces in Latin America (Zed Books, 2007). Adalmir Marquetti is Professor of Economics at the Departamento de Economia, Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio Grande do Sul. His current research interests are economic growth, Brazilian economy and democracy. He is author of ‘Analyzing historical and regional patterns of technical change from a classical-Marxian perspective’ (Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization, 52:2, 2003) and co-editor with

list of contributors

363

G. Campos and R. Pires of Democracia Participativa e Redistribuição (Xamã, 2008). Patricio Navia is Adjunct Assistant Professor at the Center of Latin American Studies, New York University, and Professor of Political Science at the Instituto de Ciencias Sociales, Universidad Diego Portales, Santiago de Chile. He is author of Las Grandes Alamedas: El Chile Post Pinochet (Random House Mondadori, 2004) and co-author with Eduardo Engel of Que gane el más mejor: Mérito y competencia en el Chile de hoy (Editorial Debate, 2006). William R. Nylen is Professor of Political Science at Stetson University. He has published numerous chapters and articles on the Brazilian Workers’ Party (PT) and Brazilian political economy. He is the author of ‘The Workers Party in Rural Brazil’ (NACLA Report on the Americas, 29, 1995) Participatory Democracy Versus Elitist Democracy: Lessons from Brazil (Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). Paul W. Posner is Associate Professor in the Department of Government and International Relations at Clark University, Worcester, Massachusetts. His current research assesses the impact of labour market restructuring and social welfare reform capacity and propensity for collective action among Latin America’s middle and lower classes. He is author of ‘Development and Collective Action in Chile’s Neoliberal Democracy’ (Political Power and Social Theory, 2007) and State, Market and Democracy in Chile (Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). Patricio Silva is Professor of Modern Latin American History, Department of Latin American Studies, Leiden University. His current research focuses on the technocratic phenomenon in Chile. He is author of In the Name of Reason: Technocrats and Politics in Chile (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008) and co-editor with Miguel A. Centeno of The Politics of Expertise in Latin America (Macmillan, 1998). Brian Wampler is an associate professor in the Political Science Department at Boise State University. He recently published Participatory Budgeting in Brazil: Cooperation, Contestation, and Accountability (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007). He published articles on participatory democracy in Comparative Politics (2004 and 2008) and Studies in Comparative International Development.

INDEX

Accountability, 12, 80–83, 85, 333 participation and, 51, 80 Alianza por Chile, 7, 12, 266, 333–334 Allende, Salvador, 8, 298, 316 housing policy of, 62–63 Aylwin, Patricio, 57, 307, 316, 326, 332 local politics under, 308–309 Bachelet, Michelle approval rates, 324–326 as a candidate, 315, 317–318 as a political outsider, 317–318 cadres renovation and, 320 gender parity in the cabinet, 320, 334, 336 ‘gobierno ciudadano’, 9, 22, 315, 318–319, 327, 329 government priorities, 320–321 government reversals, 322–327, 332, 334–335 new political style, 270, 325, 335 participation under, 264–265, 268, 326–330, 334–337 political career, 316–317 reform committees, 266–268, 322 safety net schemes, 315, 319–320 Belo Horizonte Regional Administration Office, 175 Brazil clientelism in, 15, 19, 29, 32, 40, 49, 66, 177 Constitution of 1988, 36, 180 decentralization in, 40, 68, 74, 77, 104–105, 207, 213 democratic transition, 34–35 federal transferences, 107 federalism, 32, 49, 73 mayors power, 79 municipal councils, 67 municipal autonomy, 15, 67–68 political elitism, 196 popular councils, 129 social inequalities, 99 taxes, 66 welfare services, 29 Brizola, Leonel, 136

‘Catholic University of Chile’, 300 Chávez, Hugo, 204 Chile centralism in, 15, 20, 38, 40, 49, 73, 227 centros de madres, 303 citizens as consumers, 9–10 competition-based funds, 20 Consejo de Desarrollo Comunal, 299–300, 309 Consejo Económico Social, 56–57, 72–73, 239, 262 Constitution of 1980, 6, 10 36, 301, 304, 327–328 decentralization, 61–64, 262 demobilization, 12, 15, 20, 36, 53, 65 dissatisfaction with democracy, 229, 252, 254, 270, 333–334 electoral system, 7, 330 fears for participation and populism, 12, 266 fiscal decentralization, 54, 60–61 Fondo de Solidaridad e Inversión Social, 39, 278, 283, 288 Fondo para el Fortalecimiento de la Sociedad Civil, 268 governability, 262, 266, 270 human right violations, 6, 317, 330 individualism, 9–10 laws of municipalities, 55, 57, 239, 298 municipal electoral system, 54–55 municipalities, 39, 227, 260 municipalization of social services, 61, 63–64, 256, 299 negotiated transition, 53, 250 Oficina de Planificación Nacional, 300 party system, 34, 50 poverty reduction, 11, 20, 227 Programa de Empleo Mínimo, 299, 306 Programa Ocupacional de Jefes de Hogares, 299, 306 Proyecto de Ley de Participación Ciudadana, 249, 289, 290 public agencies, 20

366

index

‘Puente Programme’, 288 state-society relations, 20, 227, 255, 260, 269 technocracy, 20, 41, 73 Chile Barrio, 21, 277, 288 key actors, 286 mayor’s role, 287, 288 Chile Solidario, 21, 277, 287 key actors, 288 pre-1973 social policies and, 288 structure of the programme, 288 CIDADE, 215 Technical support to participants, 160–161 Citizenship, Concept of, 234–235, 273 New citizenship, 253 Rights and, 273–274 Concertación de Partidos por la Democracia, 7–8, 10, 12, 15, 266, 295, 297 approach to participation, 72, 249–250, 265, 270, 276, 289, 318, 323–324, 326, 329, 334–336 approval rates, 235 Bachelet and, 315, 317, 320, 325, 329–331 educational policy, 265, 321–322 housing policy, 62–63 leftist parties and local politics, 309 local politics and, 54 macroeconomic policies preponderance and, 72 municipal policies and, 57 Pinochet legacy and, 73 poverty reduction and, 316 social movements and, 250 ‘Conselho de Orçamento Participativo do Porto Alegre’, 210–216, 218, 221 councillors, 214 delegates, 214–215 Democracy bystanders democracies, 229 consociative democracy, 254 Dahl’s pluralist theory, 232 delegative democracies, 2 deliberative democracy, 230–236, 247–248 participatory democracy, 168, 173, 183, 230, 332 representative democracy, 230, 332 Schumpeter’s democratic theory, 232, 250

Da Silva, Luiz Inácio Lula, 173 Dutra, Olivio, 87, 180 Fogaça, José, 205, 218–219 participatory Budget under, 221 Frei Montalva, Eduardo, 57, 300 housing policy, 62–63 Frei Ruiz-Tagle, Eduardo, 316, 327, 332 Genro, Tarso, 134, 209–210, 219 Goulart, João, 8 ‘Governança Local Solidária’ government approach, 219–220 Gremialismo, 7 The Pinochet regime and, 301 anti-Marxism, 301 municipalities and, 301 Inter-American Development Bank, 68, 214, 268 International Monetary Fund, 35 Lagos, Ricardo, 264, 316, 327 anti-poverty programme, 287 government’s performance, 318 participation and, 263, 277, 289 Latin America democracy and authoritarianism in, 2 institutional weakness in, 3 neoliberalism in, 1 poverty in, 2 transition to democracy in, 1–2, 47, 205 Latin American left ‘pink tide’, 203–204 new left agenda, 3, 18, 78, 203–204, 222, 224 transition and, 250 Lavín, Joaquín, 320 ‘cosismo’ and, 303 political career, 311 National Housing Service (Chile) negotiation with municipalities, 287 NGOs in Brazil, 37–39, 42–43 in Chile, 37–40, 228, 264, 283, 286–287 democratic transition and, 34 governments and, 27–28, 44 in Porto Alegre, 220 international agencies and, 27, 36

index social movements and, 15, 29, 31–32, 35 transference of state tasks to, 4, 14–15, 40–41, 43–44 ‘Office of the Comptroller General’, 3, 12 Participation, 234–236 clientelism and, 252 competition for funds and, 292–293 concept, 51, 270–271, 273 cooptation and, 252 decision-making and, 11 democratic transition, 172 empowerment and, 140, 143 exclusion and, 142–144 implementation problems and, 144 in Chile, lack of, 5–6, 59, 269, 292–294 inequality and, 144–145 lack of transparency and, 11 local oligarchies and, 11, 292–293 public administration and, 247–248 public policies and, 142–143, 236 quality of, 231 social capital and, 140, 235–236, 246 socio-political context and, 50, 229 state accountability towards citizens and, 140–146 state control and, 139 state performance and, 11 state-society synergy and, 139–140, 145–146 Participatory Budget, 205 accountability, 82–83, 85–90, 92, 94–96, 180, 198, 201, 230 as a PT’s ‘mode of governing’, 181, 186, 188–192 asymmetry of resources, 146–147, 152 bureaucracy and, 84, 86, 176–177 citizens, militants and, 119, 124, 131–132 clientelistic leaders and, 245–246 co-governance in, 77, 82–83, 86, 237, 248, 217 decentralization and, 40–41 culture of clientelism and, 187 delegates, 175–176, 183, 191, 193 efficiency and, 103, 194, 201, 214, 223 empowerment and, 168–174 good governance, transparency and, 17, 84, 174, 177, 201, 214, 223, 237

367

in Belém, 100 in Belo Horizonte, 79, 166–171, 176, 182–185, 187, 189, 191, 201 in Betim, 166–171, 176–177, 181–184, 186–187, 189, 201 in Chile, 240, 257 in Porto Alegre 3, 16–17, 42, 50, 69–71, 79, 83, 86–90, 93, 95–96, 100, 103–110, 114, 135–137, 139, 146–163, 166–167, 176, 181, 183, 185, 194, 208–224 in Recife, 16, 78, 83, 90–93, 95–96, 100 in San Joaquín, 240–242, 244–248 in São Paulo, 16, 78, 83, 95–96, 100 instrumentalization of civil society, 134 legislative bodies and, 178–181, 197 legitimacy and, 17, 97 manipulation and, 192 mayors and, 16, 77, 84–85, 88, 97 municipal councils and, 90–91, 96, 177–178, 181, 197 negative effects, 18 non-elite activism and, 172–173, 197 participation level, 181–188, 198 partisanization and, 188–192, 199–200 political parties role and, 124, 132 political representation and, 174 redistributive effects of, 99–100, 103 representative democracy and, 184 social antagonism and, 18 social capital and, 237 stages, 243 state-society relations and, 16, 78, 83–85, 96, 230 types of citizen’s control and, 147–148, 152 Partido Comunista de Chile, 6, 56 activity in local arena, 54, 296 Partido Demócrata Cristiano, 55, 56, 291, 295, 317 as an electoral party, 74 local politics and, 72, 74 party renovation, 59 Partido Democrático Trabalhista, 85, 87, 90, 208 social leaders in Porto Alegre, 127–129 Partido dos Trabalhadores, 5–8, 69, 103, 178, 204–205, 207 administrations in Porto Alegre, 42, 52, 70–71, 85, 86, 88–90, 93–95, 100, 104–106, 108, 111, 112–113,

368

index

115, 128–129, 132, 134–137, 146, 152, 180, 185, 210, 212, 218–219, 220 administration in São Paulo, 93–95 ‘basismo’, 72 corruption scandal, 173, 219 democratic transition and, 34 fiscal reform in Porto Alegre and, 209 militants’ involvement in Porto Alegre, 133–134 participation and, 9, 15–18, 50, 52, 66, 68–69, 74, 165–166, 183, 190–192, 199–201 redistributive policies in Porto Alegre and, 208 social leaders in Porto Alegre, 127–128 social movements and, 132 Partido Popular Socialista, 219 Partido por la Democracia, 55, 56, 291, 317 party renovation, 59 Partido Radical Social Demócrata, 55, 56, 317 Partido Socialista, 55, 56, 291, 317 as an electoral party, 74 at local politics, 52, 72, 300, 309 party renovation, 59 Perverse confluence, 4, 36, 252 Pinochet, Augusto, 60, 265, 303, 326, 327 1988 referendum and, 307 administrative reforms, 255, 298 educational policy, 321 housing policy, 62–63 municipal policies, 41, 57, 297–300 neoliberal reforms, 6, 8, 19, 33 repression under, 9 right wing and, 7 spatial segregation under, 54 ‘Partido do Movimento Democrático Brasileiro’, 66, 94 participatory budget and, 90 Political Parties types of linkages with society, 52 weak civil society and, 47 Pont, Raúl, 209, 218–219 Porto Alegre, 42, 102, 205, 216 as a distinct case, 119, 136 changes in state-society relations in, 223 city assembly, 150 civic organizations, 116, 123, 125–128, 135

clientelism in, 214 Coordinating Body for Community Relations, 211, 215 DMAE, 112, 155–157 fiscal crisis, 104, 111 fiscal policy reform, 87, 106, 209 GAPLAN, 150–152, 157, 211–212 ‘Lei Orgânica Municipal’, 218 ‘Municipal Budget Council’, 147–152, 158, 160 municipal control over projects, 152–158 municipal council, 96, 212, 214, 218 municipal officials’ wages, 106 political culture, 123 popular councils, 104, 128–131 Pre-PT state-society relations in, 135 ‘Programa de Investimento Social’, 107, 212, 221 public schools, 112–113 public services data, 111–112 redistributive policies, 108–113, 114, 208, 213 regional assemblies, 107 regional budget forums, 122, 149, 152, 158, 162 regional administrative centres, 215, 221 regional participatory budget coordinators, 215, 221 social differences, 115 ‘Transportation Forum’, 150 Popular Alliance in Porto Alegre, 213, 218 Recife clientelism in, 91 Rio Grande do Sul, 102, 205 political forces, 219–220 San Joaquín, 21 caravan of priorities, 244–245 local organizations, 247 socio-economic index, 240 Sarney, José, 66 Social Cohesion, 255 neoliberalism and, 253 Social Movements, 291 accountability and, 77, 81, 96–97 adoption of NGO style, 38 agenda and organizations in Chile, 228, 257 civic configurations and practices, 120–121

index class-based organizations, 30 clientelism and, 14–15, 282 demands, 31–32, 43–44 implementation of social policies and, 281 in Porto Alegre, 209, 212, 214 labour movement, 30, 263, 266 lack of autonomy, 279–280, 284 Mapuche movement, 263 new actors, 30, 257 new spaces for mobilization, 17, 173, 177, 206 participatory budget and, 83–85, 91 95 parties and, 34 secondary students movement in Chile, 264–266, 322, 336 state and, 29, 43 state-civil society regimes, 120 struggle against authoritarianism and, 30, 33–34 university students movement in Chile, 263 urbanization and, 30, 43 Social Policies and programmes actors identities and, 284 actors involved, 273, 276–278 competition among organizations and demobilization, 285 focalization, 254–255 in Chile, 11–12, 20–21,260–261, 269, 275, 283–284, 290–294 local implementation, 283, 290–291 negotiation between actors, 282–284 segmentation, 65, 73 social capital and, 256

369

state-society interface, 260, 275–276, 290, 294 State autonomy, 48, 49, 252 neoliberalism and, 255 participatory spaces and, 251 reform, 40, 249 Structural adjustment programmes, 48, 251 ‘União das Associações de Moradores de Porto Alegre’, 136, 211 Unión Demócrata Independiente, 7–8, 55–56, 291, 297 ‘Chicago Boys’ and, 302 clientelism and, 22, 297, 306, 309–312 Gremialistas and, 301 ideology, 296, 301 local politics, 60, 72, 308–309, 311 municipalities administrations, 21–22 new style of doing politics, 302, 311 organizational features, 311 Pinochet and, 295, 302 popular sectors and, 295–296, 303–308, 311 rightwing populism and, 309 Unidad Popular, 8–9, 22, 53, 298, 301 memories of participation during, 9, 22 United States affirmative democracy, 104 Vargas, Getúlio, 28 World Bank, 4