POLIS: Disruption

U N I V E R S I T Y O F T O R O N T O U N D E R G R A D U A T E J O U R N A L O F P O L I T I C A L S C I E N C E

POLIS

DISRUPTION

Ira Chandershekar Dear readers, I am once again thrilled to be working with the University of Toronto Association of Political Science Students (UTAPSS) to release edition 8.2 of POLIS. For the first time in UTAPSS history, we successfully published two journals by the end of the school term: Unity and Disruption. Publishing this journal would not have been made possible without an incredibly talented and hard-working masthead. I would like to especially thank both Ciara McGarry and Grace Yang for their tireless work in ensuring the successful release of this journal. Most importantly, we would like to thank the Arts and Science Students Union for funding the print version of this journal!

This journal seeks to investigate disruptive trends in the field of political science, and it analyzes new, unprecedented policies that are challenging our current understanding of governance.

Throughout this journal, readers will get the opportunity to learn more about unique topics that range from policies pertaining to African traditional healing practices to Brazilian nationalism. We really hope you enjoy the read!

Sincerely,

Ira Chandershekar

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TABLE OF CONTENTS 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Ethnicity in Genocide Studies Fabiola Cruz Li

Putin Can Only Blame Himself for the Russian Economy Ibrahim Kaher

State-Formation: Revisionist Historical Accuracy or Traditionalist Grand Narrative?

Tourang Movahedi

African Traditional Healing and Albinism Hiyabel Samuel

Rally Around the Flag: A Comparison Between the Chinese Communist Resolutions on Party History Wu Yang

No Collective Action: How Economic Interests Disrupt Bottom-Up Democratization in Russia Pengyu Chen

Poland’s Rule of Law Deterioration Gregor Hrelja

Songs of Protest and Popular Nationalism in Dictatorship-Era Brazil Carolina Morum de Sant’Anna Xavier 3

Masthead Managing Editor: Grace Yang

Editors: Sena Gladza Aditi Upadhaya Kunal Dadlani Isabella Remy

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POLIS

Undergraduate Political Science Journal

2023

Ethnicity in Genocide Studies

FABIOLA CRUZ LI 5

In examining the causes of genocide, many scholars have turned towards ethnicity to gain a better understanding. Typical explanations have drawn from deep ethnic hatreds and elite manipulation of ethnicity, among others. Nevertheless, how useful is “ethnicity” to the understanding of genocide? I will argue that contrary to public discourse, ethnicity is of little use to the study of genocide because it cannot anticipate the onset of genocide, nor does it always explain the cause of violence from below. However, ethnicity can tell us how it can be employed by the state to instigate violence from above. I will focus on the case study of the United Nations-recognized Rwandan genocide which involved the organized murder of Tutsis with the intent to destroy this group. I will focus on Rwanda because the genocide occurred relatively recently, and there is ample research and testimony on this topic.

associated with or thought to be associated with descent such as traits inherited genetically, through culture or history, and throughout one’s lifetime (Chandra 2006, 400). Ethnicity is a subset of these descent-based attributes that is further defined by the following, a) it is impersonal as it is an imagined community, b) it constitutes a section of the population instead of the entire nation, c) it is shared with siblings and d) it is transmitted either through birth or genetically (Chandra 2006, 400). I defined ethnicity as such for a practical reason: while this definition does not include all of the categories political scientists in the literature identify as ethnic, it captures the majority (Chandra 2006, 402). Thus, Chandra clarifies the term “ethnicity” and its cognates, providing a foundation for evaluating ethnicity’s role in genocide.

Ethnicity is of little use to the study of genocide since it does not reveal the outbreak of violence.

The primordial school of thought emphasizes the “ancient hatreds” argument, which posits that centuries-old differences between ethnic groups drive violence (Jean 2006, 2). In this view, the Rwandan genocide of 1994, in which 800,000 Tutsi were murdered across three months (Human Rights Watch, 2006), was caused by deep-seated hatreds between the Hutu and Tutsi. However, if the genocide took place due to these so-called ethnic hatreds, which stemmed from the colonial era, why did it take place precisely in April of 1994? Why not earlier or later? Therefore, ethnicity alone does not determine when genocidal violence will unfold.

While Harff argues that ethnic and religious cleavages can increase the likelihood of genocide, this is only true when an ethnic minority is in power (2003, 67). This was not the case in Rwanda since, in the years preceding the genocide, a Hutu elite ruled a country with a Hutu majority. If such cleavages did increase the likelihood of genocide, Harff’s findings still do not reveal when violence will begin. Thus, ethnicity, if used as the only lens through which genocide is examined, risks disregarding several other factors at play.

This essay will proceed as follows. First, I will provide a working definition of genocide and ethnicity based on research by experts in the field. Second, I will elaborate on how ethnicity does not reveal the onset of genocide. Third, I will analyze how ethnicity does not always explain why violence begins from the bottom up. Fourth, I will explore how the state can employ ethnicity to incite violence. Lastly, I will discuss my paper’s limitations while proposing new research areas. Overall, I aim to add new dimensions to the often-assumed one-way causal relationship between ethnicity and genocide.

Drawing from experts in the field, I will define genocide as an organized attempt supporting the extermination of any targeted group. Such groups can be formed along ethnic, racial, religious, socioeconomic and/or political lines. However, this list is not exhaustive. I define a group as any collectivity with more than one individual where members share at least one trait and/or have a unifying relationship. I constructed this working definition of genocide by combining the existing definitions used by authors I have cited in this paper to account for the different meanings of the term. My sources include but are not limited to organizations such as the United Nations and scholars like Scott Straus, Lee Ann Fujii, Barbara Harff, Peter Uvin and Aliza Luft.

Instead, as some scholars suggest, we must consider the role of elements other than ethnicity in the onset of violence. Using data from 145 communes in Rwanda, Omar McDoom argues that two significant factors that determine when and

Kanchan Chandra provides a useful framework for understanding the term “ethnicity”. Chandra describes descent-based attributes as characteristics

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where violence will take place are elite control and social segregation (2014, 34). The outbreak of violence will be delayed or wholly averted in areas where extremist elite control is weak and social integration of ethnic groups is high (McDoom 2014, 34). While some may argue that the social integration of ethnic groups is inherently related to ethnicity and thus the latter determines the onset of violence, ethnicity alone does not dictate when violence will take place. In other words, McDoom finds that strong connections across members of different ethnicities delayed violence, not that ethnicity itself was a contributing factor. As such, ethnicity is of limited use to those who wish to understand when genocidal violence will erupt.

Further, ethnicity does not always explain violence on the ground. In Rwanda, low-level perpetrators did not cite ethnicity as a reason for participating in the genocide. After interviewing these perpetrators, Scott Straus found little evidence that ethnic hatreds were widespread amongst the population (2006, 122). For instance, 98.9% of Hutu respondents admitted that before 1994, they would have allowed their children to marry a Tutsi (Straus 2006, 128), 86.5% said they had positive relations with their Tutsi neighbours and 94.1% did not believe Rwanda was a country only for Hutus (Straus 2006, 129; 130). Instead, Straus finds that the perpetrators partook in the genocide due to two significant factors: intra-Hutu coercion, and anger and fear (2006, 122). Other motivations included obedience, material gain, and copying other perpetrators (Straus 2006, 136). Thus, these findings counter the claims that ethnic hatreds drove the masses to participate in the killing of Tutsis.

Additional research in this field supports Straus’ findings. Other scholars have cited looting and fitting in with the crowd as motivators for low-level perpetrators (Hatzfeld 2005, 218; McDoom 2020, 132). Regular Rwandan citizens did not partake in the genocide because they hated Tutsis or believed that Tutsis did not belong to Rwanda. While it is true that interviewees may have attempted to minimize their responsibility by citing coercion and fear, Straus accounts for this. He expects that those claiming coercion were the least violent (2006, 140).

Conversely, he predicts that those who cited warrelated fear exhibited the most violence (Straus 2006, 140). Via regression analysis, Straus finds this to be true (2006, 141).

Although this does not completely eliminate fabrication, this finding suggests that the narratives are consistent. As such, we can be confident in them to a large degree.

In everyday Rwandan life, ethnicity was fluid instead of an unchanging monolith. For instance, Straus finds that 68.8% of low-level perpetrators reported having a Tutsi family member. While many Joiners – defined as lowest level participants – did indeed murder Tutsi, many also chose to save Tutsi family members and even strangers (Fujii 2009, 126). Olivier – an active Joiner – admits to having pointed a Tutsi boy towards safety when the former was alone (Fujii 2008, 594). Olivier’s ethnicity was fluid since he stopped being a militant Hutu, even if this was only momentarily. While there is a possibility that group dynamics had an effect, Olivier – a Hutu – still consciously decided to save a Tutsi. Supposing that ethnic hatred drove violence amongst low-level perpetrators, why would some of them choose to spare or even save Tutsi lives?

Additionally, moderate Hutus who refused to participate in the killings or were discovered hiding Tutsis were murdered (Luft 2015, 55). The persecution of Hutus by fellow Hutus questions the validity of the argument that ethnic hatreds explained violence on the ground. Thus, the fluid nature of ethnicity shows that ethnicity does not tell us why violence occurs from below.

By no means am I implying that ethnicity serves no purpose in the study of genocide. Instead, ethnicity helps us understand genocide in specific ways: Ethnicity can tell us how it can be used by the state to instigate violence from above. Lee Ann Fujii explains the concept of “state-sponsored ethnicities,” which, instead of tapping into individuals’ deep-seated ethnic hatreds, acted as a script for violence (2009, 104). As their name suggests, state-sponsored ethnicities refer to an idea of ethnicity that the extremist Hutu-led government pushed (2009, 104). This idea entailed thinking of the Tutsi as the enemy that had to be destroyed (Des Forges 1999, 141). To follow this script, perpetrators made claims about their identities and employed violence to act on such claims (Fujii 2009, 123). However, similar to an actor in a play, individuals were not required to believe the script to enact it (Fujii 2009, 104).

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For instance, part of the performance could have entailed killers celebrating murder. By applying Rogers Brubaker’s idea of how members of a group often act in ways they expect the group to behave (2002, 176), this could be interpreted as perpetrators pretending to celebrate the murders because they believed it was expected of them. This corroborates Fujii’s claims on how state-sponsored ethnicities functioned as a script.

On the whole, this paper does have some limitations when applied to other case studies. I initially argued that ethnicity does not always explain violence from below. Nils B. Weidmann posits an ethnic competition logic when examining violence during the Bosnian Civil War from a micro perspective or “from below” (2011, 1184).

Weidmann explains that ethnic groups compete for power and resources (2011, 1184). Consequently, they fear being disadvantaged by other groups, making people more likely to be mobilized by political entrepreneurs (Weidmann 2011, 1184).

However, Weidmann finds that this microexplanation only applies to 15% of municipalities (2011, 1188). Thus, my assertions are still applicable to most municipalities in Bosnia.

The idea of state-sponsored ethnicities suggests that the government manipulated ethnicity to advance its interests. This is evident from the long history of the struggle for power between Hutu elites and the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF). Years before the genocide, Hutu elites believed their power and privileges were threatened due to increasing domestic political opposition since the 1980s, the RPF invasion in 1990 and the ensuing civil war, alongside the internationally-backed power-sharing agreement with the RPF of 1993 (Uvin 2001, 81). Fearing the RPF’s increased power, Hutu elites manipulated ethnic divisions for political gain. They portrayed all Tutsis as the enemy and painted them as infiltrators from the RPF to eliminate those perceived as potential political opponents (Des Forges 1999, 5). This suggests that ethnicity was manipulated by elites to achieve their goals, complicating the relationship between ethnicity and genocide.

In examining the highly contested genocide against Vietnamese people by the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia in the 1970s, some academics argue that the persecution of Vietnamese and mixed-race Vietnamese by the Khmer Rouge only started after the outbreak of war between Cambodia and Vietnam (Thun and Keo 2021, 336). Thus, some may posit that the onset of the genocide was determined, even if partially, by ethnicity. However, the consensus in the field is that the war and the genocide of Vietnamese started at approximately the same time (Kiernan 2021, 346). In light of this information, some authors argue that the war was not a cause of the genocide; instead, the war was a part of the genocide (Kiernan 2021, 346). Thus, ethnicity did not determine the onset of the genocide.

Violence was highly organized and actively facilitated by the state. For instance, government buses and military trucks often brought members of the Interahamwe – the Hutu paramilitary – to sites where they murdered Tutsi victims (Totten and Ubaldo 2011, 119). As well, survivors recall military personnel accompanying the Interahamwe (Totten and Ubaldo 2011, 121). It is clear that elites first manipulated ethnicity and subsequently facilitated the killings as a strategy to maintain power. In other words, Hutu elites framed the conflict along ethnic lines when in reality, the reason for the violence was to eliminate political opposition. Some may argue that the ideas of statesponsored ethnicities and the manipulation by elites clash with responsibility at the individual level.

However, such is not always the case since, even if influenced, perpetrators ultimately choose to participate in the violence. Thus, individuals can have agency while still being influenced by the state.

Therefore, the state can employ ethnicity to instigate violence from above.

In conclusion, ethnicity is of limited use to the study of genocide because it does not reveal the onset of genocide, nor does it always explain violence from below. However, ethnicity can tell us how it can be employed by the state to instigate violence from above. I ascertained this by focusing on the Rwandan genocide.

More specifically, I problematized ethnicity’s potential role when determining the timing of genocide, examined testimony from low-level perpetrators regarding their motivations, and analyzed how elites manipulated ethnicity, so perpetrators followed a script. However, scholars should not wholly discard the study of ethnicity to understand genocide more deeply. Instead, they must be mindful of how ethnicity truly matters in genocide studies. It plays a

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Kiernan, Ben. 2021. “The Pol Pot Regime’s Simultaneous War Against Vietnam and Genocide of Cambodia’s Ethnic Vietnamese Minority.” Critical Asian Studies 53 (3): 342–58.

complicated role, amongst several other factors, which I have attempted to provide insight on.

Future avenues of research could examine how ethnicity interacts with other factors often associated with genocidal violence, such as regime type, war, deep social cleavages, and economic crisis. Another aspect involves investigating the applicability of the arguments put forward in this paper with instances of genocide apart from the cases of Rwanda, the Balkans, and Cambodia. Lastly, this paper has mostly drawn from perpetrators’ instead of victims’ perspectives. Additional research can be done with survivors’ testimonies, and these findings could further shape our understanding of what ethnicity can or cannot tell us about genocide.

Luft, Aliza. 2015. “Toward a Dynamic Theory of Action at the Micro Level of Genocide: Killing, Desistance, and Saving in 1994 Rwanda.” Sociological Theory 33 (2): 148–72.

McDoom, Omar Shahabudin. 2014. “Predicting Violence Within Genocide: A Model of Elite Competition and Ethnic Segregation from Rwanda.” Political Geography 42: 34–45.

McDoom, Omar Shahabudin. 2020. “Radicalization as Cause and Consequence of Violence in Genocides and Mass Killings.” Violence: An International Journal 1 (1): 123–43.

Melson, Robert. 2011. “Critique of Current Genocide Studies.”

Genocide Studies and Prevention 6 (3): 279–86.

Thun, Theara, and Duong Keo. 2021. “Ethnic Vietnamese and the Khmer Rouge: The Genocide and Race Debate.” Critical Asian Studies 53 (3): 325–41.

Bibliography Brubaker, Rogers. 2002. “Ethnicity Without Groups.” European Journal of Sociology. 43 (2): 163–89.

Totten, Samuel, and Rafiki Ubaldo. 2011. We Cannot Forget: Interviews with Survivors of the 1994 Genocide in Rwanda.

Piscataway: Rutgers University Press.

Chandra, Kanchan. 2006. “What Is Ethnic Identity and Does It Matter?” Annual Review of Political Science 9 (1): 397–424.

Straus, Scott. 2001. “Contested Meanings and Conflicting Imperatives: A Conceptual Analysis of Genocide.” Journal of Genocide Research 3 (3): 349–75.

Des Forges, Alison Liebhafsky. 1999. “Leave None to Tell the Story”: Genocide in Rwanda. New York: Human Rights Watch.

Fujii, Lee Ann. 2008. “The Power of Local Ties: Popular Participation in the Rwandan Genocide.” Security Studies 17 (3): 568–97.

Straus, Scott. 2006. The Order of Genocide: Race, Power, and War in Rwanda. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Fujii, Lee Ann. 2009. Killing Neighbors: Webs of Violence in Rwanda. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Uvin, Peter. 2001. “Reading the Rwandan Genocide.”

International Studies Review 3 (3): 75–99.

Harff, Barbara. 2003. “No Lessons Learned from the Holocaust? Assessing Risks of Genocide and Political Mass Murder Since 1955.” The American Political Science Review 97 (1):57–73.

Weidmann, Nils B. 2011. “Violence ‘from Above’ or ‘from Below’? The Role of Ethnicity in Bosnia’s Civil War.” The Journal of Politics 73 (4): 1178–90.

Hatzfeld, Jean, and Linda Coverdale. 2015. Machete Season: The Killers in Rwanda Speak: Report. Translated by Linda Coverdale. New York: Picador.

Human Rights Watch. 2006. The Rwandan Genocide: How It Was Prepared. https://www.hrw.org/legacy/backgrounder/africa/rwanda0406/rw anda0406.pdf.

Jean, Moise. 2007. “The Rwandan Genocide: The True Motivations for Mass Killings.” Emory Endeavors in World History 1: 1-11. http://history.emory.edu/home/documents/endeavors/volume1/ Moises.pdf.

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Putin Can Only Blame Himself for the Russian Economy

Ibrahim Kaher 10

This essay will present various arguments that describe Russia’s state capitalism – when the “commanding heights” of the economy are controlled by the state (Taylor 2018, 119) – and centralized crony capitalism – when “economic-political networks” influence the business-state relationship to such a degree that “state connections matter more than market forces” (84) – as the results of predetermined historical legacies. I will then dispute these arguments and present my own view, that some aspects of Vladimir Putin’s world outlook manifested to the detriment of other aspects. Therefore, state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism was not the only possible outcome of Putin’s world outlook nor were they a predetermined result of the historical legacies created by communism and the Boris Yeltsin administration.

Russia’s state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism can be seen as the result of communist modernization and Yeltsin’s privatization. The great costs to restructure Russia’s economic infrastructure and make Russian industry globally competitive come from the big industrial cities created by Soviet planning in Siberia, the Urals, and the Far East. This great cost prohibits private ownership, as their geography raises the cost of production, undermining their competitiveness. Thus, post-Soviet Russia inherited “the world’s largest ever assemblage of obsolete equipment” (Taylor 2018, 110-111). Instead, it is much cheaper to maintain uncompetitive state ownership.

Furthermore, addressing cronyism requires confronting the large corporations and prominent oligarchs who benefited from cronyism under Yeltsin. Yet, the great political risks this confrontation entails prohibits such undertakings.

These corporations and oligarchs are intimately tied to “a form of crony capitalism” that was “established in Russia in the 1990s” (112) via the 1995 “loans for shares” deal. “[S]ome of the crown jewels of the Russian economy” were given to “a small group of well-connected oligarchs,” forming “the basis of some of Russia’s largest corporations” (109). Therefore, maintaining the status quo is a much more politically secure option.

These historical legacies do not operate in this way.

The companies that were privatized found great 1. Centralized crony capitalism refers specifically to how these networks in Russia “became more centralized and based on loyalty to the state and Putin himself” (84).

success meaning the costs of production they faced must not have prohibited private ownership, contradicting the communist modernization argument. During the 1995 loans for shares deal, oligarchs became principal owners of mineral and oil firms like Yukos, Norilsk Nickel, and Sibneft (Åslund 2019, 24). These oligarchs should have found the costs of production too high to succeed in the global market, yet according to economist Andrei Shleifer and political scientist Daniel Treisman, “[b]etween 1996 and 2001, the reported pre-tax profits of Yukos, Sibneft, and Norilsk Nickel rose in real terms by 36, 10, and 5 times, respectively” (24). Since this predated the 2003 oil boom (Åslund 2019, 28; Taylor 2018, 108) and since oil production rose “an astounding 50 percent from 1999 to 2004” (Åslund 2019, 27-28), an increase in demand or a downsizing of operations cannot explain this rise in profits. The communist modernization argument maintains that natural resource industries suffer raised costs of production that prohibit private ownership. A large aspect of contemporary Russian state capitalism is state ownership over the oil industry (Taylor 2018, 115), so if the communist modernization argument refused to explain state ownership over the oil industry, it could not explain contemporary state capitalism either.

Whatever opposition Putin might have faced from oligarchs cannot explain the “new dimension of crony capitalism” (Åslund 2019, 32) he actively created, contradicting the argument that confronting oligarchs is politically risky. “Putin spearheaded a swift stripping of assets” (Åslund 2019, 32) to make his friends billionaires (Taylor 2018, 121). According to Boris Nemtsov and Vladimir Milov, “the total value of assets removed from Gazprom and placed into the private hands of Putin’s friends from 2004 to 2007 [are] about $60 billion” (Åslund 2019, 32).

Being powerless against cronyism and being participatory in cronyism are very different things.

Therefore, Russian state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism are better explained as the deliberate manifestation of the aspects of Putin’s world outlook related to control such as imposed consensus and managed democracy.

State capitalism and centralized crony capitalism are reasonable extensions of Putin’s aspiration

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for managed democracy – de facto control over whatever party is in power – since Putin is ensured de facto control over the oligarchs driving politics. Putin believes that ideally “the people who control real politics must stay the same,” with “a periodic rotation of an elite group” that do not “aspire to destroy each other.” To avoid destroying each other, “we [President Putin and his allies] must be both here and there, that is, controlling both parties” (Pavlovsky 2014, 58-59). This form of managed democracy contextualizes Putin’s confidence in “maximum oneness of state and business” (Pavlovsky 2014, 57) – the oligarchs, whoever they are, must pay fealty to him.

Putin aims to leave the elite no choice but unconditional subordination so that Putin remains the dominant actor – a tactic known as imposed consensus. State capitalism and centralized crony capitalism are reasonable methods for achieving this imposed consensus. By leaving the elite “no choice of strategic behavior other than unconditional subordination,” Putin “become[s] a dominant actor not only de jure but also de facto” (Gel’man 2015, 7374). To build this imposed consensus, Putin “reasserted control over … major state-controlled companies … while the prosecutors and the police were able to target anyone” (80). Putin also “promoted his long-standing friends and followers to top positions … located or established secure and unimportant niches for precarious and unreliable ‘fellow travelers,’ and isolated potential rivals” (75).

Therefore, state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism are strategies to replace fickle elites with trusted allies through whatever means necessary, leaving the rest with no choice but subordination.

The manifestation of the aspects of Putin’s world outlook related to control come at the detriment of other aspects of Putin’s world outlook, specifically his aspiration for “capitalist predators on our side” (Pavlovsky 2014, 56). The collapse of the Soviet Union taught Putin and his advisers like Gleb Pavlovsky that Russia should emulate western capitalism to achieve the revanche they were looking for. The term revanche here means “the resurrection of the great state in which we had lived” (Pavlovsky 2014, 56; Taylor 2018, 34) “in a historical sense” (Pavlovsky 2014, 57). It is this aspiration for greatness in contrast to the

dissolution of the Soviet Union that caused Putin to abandon communism to “be bigger and better capitalists than the capitalists” (57) and to “give the capitalist predators on our side a chance to develop and devour the capitalist predators on theirs” (Pavlovsky 2014, 59; Taylor 2018, 113).

Putin’s aspiration for capitalist predators collides with Putin’s aspiration for control. Achieving state capitalism undermines the property rights required to develop capitalist predators while centralized crony capitalism directly opposes the meritocracy alluded to by Gleb Pavlovsky. By targeting “[p]erceived violators of the rules of the game” with the “legal and coercive power of the state,” the property rights of all Russian entrepreneurs are undermined (Taylor 2018, 107; Gans-Morse 2012, 278-279). As a result, “the small capitalists that are essential for developing contemporary market capitalism” are “caught in a web spun by state lawyers and guns preying on the small capitalists” (Taylor 2018, 124; Gans-Morse 2012, 280-297; Hendley 2018, 112-113). “[I]n 2002 Putin denounced ‘unjustified administrative pressure’ on entrepreneurs” (Taylor 2018, 126), so Putin must have quickly realized that the state predation and cronyism he later indulged in would exacerbate this problem.

The way Gleb Pavlovsky describes capitalist predators as developing and devouring one another seems most consistent with a meritocratic system.

For example, the state may award the most productive businesses assets of those businesses that do not meet some minimum productivity standards. This does not look like the rent-seeking cronyism that Putin and his friends indulge in at the expense of Russian business. Putin must have ultimately let go of his aspiration for capitalist predators in favour of control. The recent dogmatic adherence to conservative fiscal and monetary policy (Åslund 2019, 36) “hoping that world energy prices will rebound” (Taylor 2018, 128) supports this.

Putin’s aspiration for control was informed by historical legacies such as the collapse of the Soviet Union (Åslund 2019, 36), Putin’s role as vice-mayor 2. See Gans-Morse 2012 for some of the cases in which perceived violators were faced with state coercion (i.e.: The Khodorkovskiy affair), and how this left a shadow that “hangs over all major businesses” (279).

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in St. Petersburg (Taylor 2018, 122), and Yeltsin’s 1993 attack on Parliament (Pavlovsky 2014, 62-63).

However, Putin’s aspiration for capitalist predators is arguably equally as important and equally as informed by historical legacies, thereby making the development of state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism one of the multiple possible outcomes of Putin’s world outlook.

Furthermore, the idea of capitalist predators is intimately tied to Putin’s perception of revanche and the fall of the Soviet Union. Had Putin developed liberal market capitalism and secured property rights, perhaps to a degree comparable to Eastern Europe, one could make an equally compelling case that historical legacies predetermined this. The collapse of the Soviet Union left a deep imprint on Putin and the Russian elite, teaching them the importance of liberal market capitalism for the sake of revanche, and failing to do so would lead to “another Belovezhsky Accord, after which Russia would no longer exist” (Pavlovsky 2014, 56). Thus, it would be improper to argue that ideas informed by historical legacies predetermined the trajectory of the Russian economy. Instead, legacies that inform ideas supporting state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism equally inform ideas supporting liberal market capitalism and secure property rights.

Key crossroads where different paths could have been chosen illustrates these different possible outcomes. For example, the 2000-2003 liberal reforms were an opportunity to steer the Russian economy in a more liberal direction. While Russia probably cannot become a second Singapore, this is not the same as being forced into state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism. As Taylor (2018) writes: “[F]rom 2000 to 2004, Putin’s economic course arguably was trending in the direction of stronger formal market institutions, with the state assuming its role as the neutral arbitrator of the economic rules of the game” (108, 114). This led Veteran Kremlinologist Lilia Shevtsova to assess Putin as “a statist and a Westernizer” (Åslund 2019, 26-27). This era presents an interesting alternate history where the regime 3. See Gans-Morse 2012 and Hendley 2018 for some of the strategies and schemes that law enforcement and judicial officials use to prey upon small businesses, such as the practice of “illegal corporate raiding (reyderstvo)” to seize a firm’s assets by bribing a corrupt judge (Gans-Morse 2012, 281282).

4. i.e.: The state capitalism that created massive South Korean conglomerates like Samsung, Hyundai, LG, etc.

economic liberalization indispensable to regime stability. Gel’man (2015) explains why Russia probably could not succeed in authoritarian modernization (109-112), but this does not make economic liberalization prohibitive in its entirety, only that the extent it could be achieved may be limited. Nor does it make state capitalism and crony capitalism the only remaining option. While the 2003 arrest of Mikhail Khodorkovsky spelled the end of Putin’s liberalization (Taylor 2018, 108), it could have been a warning that demonstrated Putin’s credibility when he said “stay out of politics and I will not revise the results of privatization” (Åslund 2019, 26; Taylor 2018, 117). If the oligarchs respected this warning, Putin could then pursue further economic liberalization.

It should be clear then that the historical legacies created by communism and the Yeltsin administration did not predetermine the creation of state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism.

Rather, state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism owe their manifestation to the aspects of Putin’s world outlook on control that were detrimental to other aspects of Putin’s world outlook like his aspiration for capitalist predators. It is these different aspects of Putin’s world outlook that makes state capitalism and centralized crony capitalism one of multiple possible outcomes.

5. Åslund argues “The collapse of the Soviet Union and the financial crash of 1998 left a deep imprint on Putin and the Russian elite, teaching them the importance of macroeconomic stability for the sake of political stability” (Åslund 2019, 36).

6. I repeat Åslund verbatim except I replace “macroeconomic stability" with "liberal market capitalism" and “political stability” with “revanche” to demonstrate that while Åslund's argument is compelling, one can't take this to a deterministic end.

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Bibliography AÅslund, Anders. 2019. Russia’s Crony Capitalism: The Path from Market Economy to Kleptocracy. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Gans-Morse, Jordan. 2012. “Threats to Property Rights in Russia: From Private Coercion to State Aggression.” Post-Soviet Affairs 28 (3): 263-295. DOI: https://doi.org/10.2747/1060-586X.28.3.263.

Gel’man, Vladimir. 2015. Authoritarian Russia: Analyzing Post-Soviet Regime Changes.

Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press.

Hendley, Kathryn. 2018. “Chapter 8. Assessing The Rule of Law in Russia.” In Developments in Russian Politics 9, edited by Richard Sakwa, Henry E. Hale, and Stephen White, 108-118. London: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. ProQuest Ebrary.

Pavlovsky, Gleb. 2014. “Putin’s World Outlook.” Interview by Tom Parfitt. New Left Review 88 (July-August): 54-66.

Taylor, Brian D. 2018. The Code of Putinism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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State-Formation: Revisionist Historical Accuracy or Traditionalist Grand Narrative?

Tourang Movahedi 15

The defining characteristics of modern states today, namely bureaucratic organizations and the monopolization of violence, is ever-present in our daily lives. Without any historical context, it would be easy to assume that nation-states have always been this way; however, it is clear that the process of European nation-state formation took many years. While the traditional explanation of European state formation is conventionally accepted, this paper argues that the revisionist explanation, oft-overlooked, is more accurate. Unlike the traditional approach, the revisionist approach does not overgeneralize, thus better accounting for the cases of state formation in France, Denmark and Sweden. This paper will first provide context about the main differences between the traditional and revisionist approaches to statebuilding. Then, this paper will analyze the definition of absolutism and how it is operationalized by the two approaches, demonstrating that the revisionist approach is better suited to historical evidence.

Similarly, this paper will then compare and contrast the two approaches' understanding of ruler-estate relations, demonstrating that the revisionist approach best accounts for nuances. Finally, this paper will conclude by attempting to address a major shortcoming of the revisionist approach: its implied timeline for nation-state formation.

employed by Henshall is the most convincing. For traditionalists, absolutism in Europe was "the first mature embodiment of the modern state" (Poggi 1978, 62). This is because the transition to absolutism is identified as the point at which the monarch eliminated all local rivals for power thus monopolizing the use of violence (Tilly 1985, 174).

For example, Poggi highlights the inactivity of the French Estate General between 1614-1789 and Louis XIV's establishment of territory-wide regulations as indicators of the French state's absolute authority and the weakness of local nobles (1978, 68-72). Moreover, traditionalists claim that a key proponent of absolutist rule, and subsequently nation-state formation, was the utilization of Roman law (Weber 2004, 51). Traditionalists argue that as Roman law acquired validity, European leaders subsequently had a tool for "articulating and sanctioning their will" (Poggi 1978, 74).

However, the entire traditionalist argument relies on a flawed definition of absolutism and a misguided analysis of history. Henshall reveals that the definition used by traditionalists is grossly inaccurate as it is a misappropriated definition used by later English authors to promote English exceptionalism (1996, 26-33). This is because, in reality, the type of absolutism that traditionalists refer to was perceived by 17th-century European polities as a despotic brand of absolutism employed by the Ottoman and Russian empires (Henshall 1996, 31). In reality, most European states were only absolutists in the sense that they only had authority within their jurisdiction while still requiring cooperation with local powers on issues outside of their prerogative (Henshall 1996, 52).

The revisionist approach has three main fundamental differences compared to the traditional perspective.

First, while traditionalists such as Weber state that the formation of state bureaucracy in Europe has been ongoing for "over half a millennium" (Weber 2004, 44), revisionists contend that no such bureaucratization existed until the 18th century. Secondly, revisionists emphasize that the centralization of power and the rise of absolutism did not necessitate the domination of the elite (Friedeburg and Morrill 2017, 7). Lastly, revisionism employs a very different definition of absolutism and subsequently underscores the role of absolutism in state formation more convincingly than traditionalists. These three major differences can be identified as originating from a fundamental difference in historical interpretation. While the traditional approach promotes a historical grand narrative, revisionists place greater emphasis on historical outliers and misinterpretation (Wickham 2016, 1-2).

The concept of absolutism is central to both theories of state-building, yet the definition

Traditionalists may argue that the original definition of the word is not important, as it is uncontested that European states began to increasingly centralize their powers over time, thus increasing their absolute authority. However, this argument also rests on an inaccurate understanding of power. Absolutism was not a linear development, but rather cyclical in nature (Henshall 1996, 35). For example, Louis XIV's establishment of territory-wide regulations can be perceived not as newfound centralized power but rather as recovering authority which was lost by preceding French monarchs (Henshall 1996, 35-36).

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Moreover, while traditionalists emphasize the inactivity of the French Estate General after 1614, they ignore that this body rarely met before 1614, thus weakening their French absolutism narrative (Henshall 1996, 51). Similarly, Downing emphasizes that the emergence of Roman law did not enhance what traditionalists identify as absolutism (1989, 227). In fact, legal experts during this period were very concerned about the distortion of Roman law and thus obstructed monarchs from manipulating the laws to their advantage (Downing 1989, 227). Therefore, it is clear that the traditionalist understanding and narrative regarding absolutism rests on a faulty definitional and historical basis.

whereby the monarch would grant the local nobility offices, privileges and favours in return for their financial support (Friedeburg and Morril 2017, 7).

Therefore, as monarchs across Europe started to create new institutions and bureaucracies, "local lords were rarely the victims of absolute monarchy: they were its beneficiaries" (Henshall 1996, 38). It is important to note that while the traditionalist narratives fail to account for any mutual cooperative relations, the revisionist approach does concede that ultimately the estates served to legitimize the ruler's authority over them (Henshall 1996, 51).

Therefore, rulers became more powerful through cooperation and concessions, not coercion (Friedeburg and Morrill 2017, 9).

For traditionalists, the rise in absolutism and state monopoly of the use of force entailed the domination of the noble elite by the state (Weber 2004, 38). For example, Tilly states that it was in the best interest of the monarch to eliminate local rivals as it could financially benefit greatly by acting as a 'racketeer' in the realm of security (1985, 171). Furthermore, Poggi goes as far as suggesting that the weakening of the estates was inevitable due to external and internal factors (1978, 61-62). Externally, as the monarch became increasingly absolutist, it took power away from nobles. Internally, Poggi underscores that trends such as commercialization resulted in the nobility becoming relatively poorer as merchants got richer (1978, 66). Thus, the state would gain power at the expense of the estates.

A traditionalist might point to the examples of Denmark and Sweden, states that relinquished elective monarchy and adopted absolutism, as examples of states which do not fit the revisionist approach.

However, analysis by Frost demonstrates that a resurgence of power into the hands of the monarch did not entail the monopolization of power as described by traditionalists (2015, 391). In Denmark, while a council-dependent elective monarchy was abandoned in 1665, the King was dependent on the nobility, not state bureaucracy (Frost 2015, 403).

Moreover, despite the implementation of a tax state, the system was "based on opportunities for service provided to reconfigured elite" (Frost 2015, 403), thus not diminishing the power of the local elite, as the traditional narrative would predict. Likewise, in Sweden despite King Gustav Adolph's royal prerogative being much more significant than Danish Kings, he still had to secure the support of the clergy, nobles and burghers (Frost 2015, 403404; 404). These cases demonstrate that the revisionist understanding of absolutism and rulerestate relations is a more suitable approach than traditionalism (Henshall 1996, 31).

However, the revisionist approach, which delves into much greater historical specificity, paints a very different picture of state-noble relations. Henshall, Friedeburg and Morrill underline a primarily cooperative relationship between the rulers and estates. This is because recent historical analysis has demonstrated that the much-coveted taxation bureaucracy stressed by traditionalists was not sufficient for the rulers to build armies (Friedeburg and Morrill 2017, 3). Thus, as war-making expanded, so did the ruler's dependence on nobilities for loans.

Moreover, the cases of France and Spain highlight the inaccuracy of the Weberian narrative, which claims that bureaucratization undermined the power of the local nobility (Friedeburg and Morrill 2017, 6-7). In both Spain and France, increased bureaucratization was achieved through a system of "coentrepreneurship"

Traditionalists such as Tilly argue that one can see the process of state monopolization of violence as early as the 16th century in England and the 1620s in France (1985, 174). However, revisionists indicate that such historical evidence of state formation is not present even in the 1700s (Henshall 1996, 37). This raises the following questions: what ultimately triggered the massive bureaucratization

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had become ever so apparent by the late 1800s? How and why did state formation and professionalization suddenly become prevalent in less than a decade?

These are questions that the revisionists largely fail to answer, as their focus has been on establishing that traditionalist nation-state formation was not present in the 16th and 17th centuries.

bureaucracy and the monopolization of power, which are hallmarks of all modern states, occurred in such a short period. While revisionism successfully challenges the notion that nation-state formation has been a "half a millennium" long process (Weber 2004, 44), future research should focus on explaining the rapid development of nation-states during the 19th and 20th centuries.

Perhaps the answer lies within Weber's "Politics as a Vocation." When examining the political organization of Britain and German states, Weber identifies the "caucus" system of Britain as the chief difference (2004, 65). In essence, Weber argues that the democratization of the franchise post-1868 resulted in the diminishment of the 'notables' political power as the masses were given new political rights (2004, 6566). Moreover, given the need to appease and garner the vote of thousands of new people, the state now operating in a "caucus" system is forced to create new electoral organizations in every district of the state, which, in turn, requires thousands of paid officials to operate this political “machine.” These new hires were necessary as the notables of each district were no longer sufficient for garnering the votes of the masses (Weber 2004, 65). Thus, relatively recent democratization and the expansion of the right to vote may account for the rapid transformation of states.

Bibliography Downing, Brian M. 1989. “Medieval Origins of Constitutional Government in the West.” Theory and Society 18 (2): 213–247.

Frost, Robert. 2015. “Monarchy in Northern and Eastern Europe.” The Oxford Handbook of Early Modern European History, 1350-1750, edited by Hamish Scott. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Henshall, Nicholas. 1996. “Early Modern Absolutism 15501700: Political Reality or Propaganda?” Der Absolutismus - Ein Mythos?: Strukturwandel Monarchischer Herrschaft in WestUnd Mitteleuropa (Ca. 1550-1700). Böhlau, Köln, 25–53.

McElroy, Brendan. 2022. “Weeks 2 and 3 - State, Democracy, and Medieval Legacies.” University of Toronto, Lecture.

McElroy, Brendan. 2022. “Week 4 - Absolutism?” University of Toronto, Lecture.

Similarly, Tilly underscores the creation of a statesubordinate police force as the final consolidation of power by the state (1985, 174). While Tilly does not state this as a pivotal and necessary step in nationstate formation, perhaps the creation of police bureaucracy in the 19th and 20th centuries were more crucial in centralizing state power than originally deemed by both approaches. Despite Weber and Tilly representing the traditionalist understanding of state formation, their analysis of police and political bureaucracy in the 1800s may support the timeline of nation-state formation promoted by revisionist thinkers.

Poggi, Gianfranco. 1978. “The Absolutist System of Rule.”

The Development of the Modern State: A Sociological Introduction. Stanford: Stanford University Press: 60–85.

Tilly, Charles, et al. 1985. “War Making and State Making as Organized Crime.” Bringing the State Back In. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Von Friedeburg, Robert, and John Morrill. 2017. “Introduction: Monarchy Transformed – Princes and Their Elites in Early Modern Western Europe.” Monarchy Transformed: Princes and their Elites in Early Modern Western Europe, edited by Robert Von Friedeburg and John Morril, 1–14. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Weber, Max. 2004. “POLITICS AS A VOCATION.” The Vocation Lectures: "Science as a Vocation, "Politics as a Vocation", edited by David S. Owen and Tracy B. Strong, translated by Rodney Livingstone, 32–94. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company

In conclusion, this paper has highlighted three main differences between the traditional and revisionist understanding of state-building. By analyzing these differences, it becomes clear that the revisionist approach is less tied down by the need to emphasize a grand narrative and is a more focused and historically nuanced approach.

However, despite its strengths, this approach does not identify how the rapid development of state

Wickham, Chris. 2016. Medieval Europe. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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POLIS

Undergraduate Political Science Journal

2023

African Traditional Healing and Albinism

HIYABEL SAMUEL 19

Introduction The forms within which traditional healing or ‘witchcraft’ have been practiced in the contemporary era in Africa seem to evolve periodically; needless to say, this transformation has inherently posed a threat to the traditions attached to such practices. Although there is not much evidence that ties the practice of traditional healing with violence against persons with albinism (PWA), the latter’s stigmatization, and thus, the frame of thought that justified said violence finds its origin in cross-culturally orthodox beliefs that have been long-established in Africa. Some scholars write that state intervention is the only way to resolve violence against PWA. African governments create and implement policies to reduce traditional healing practices and promote institutional medical practices instead. Other writers express that this matter’s resolution depends on re-establishing African perceptions of morality. Despite the efforts made in response to violence against PWAs, in an attempt to regulate traditional healing practices, governmental/state intervention alone cannot effectively dismantle conventions and customs that have persisted for centuries. Instead, stigmas and myths surrounding PWA must be subverted: a restructuring of civil society’s current knowledge production system can redefine African ontological perceptions of PWA. Coinciding with this bottom-up strategy, a displacement of the Global North’s perceptions of traditional healing must transpire to overturn the hierarchies that affect African policy based on false and external perceptions that refuse to change, thus stunting continental growth/development.

Notwithstanding the external chronicles of PWA in the continent, conventional African thinking also played its role in the ever-growing misconceptions of Albinism.

Kromberg defines a ‘stigmatized person’ as an individual deemed abnormal: a subaltern of their society (Kromberg 2018, 181). It is no secret that PWA are physically distinct from their hyperpigmented counterparts, effectively making their physical ‘otherness’ result in their almost subhuman perception. Imafidon discusses the notion of alterity and how, in the context of Albinism in Africa, “conceptual otherness” is the primary explanation for PWA’s exclusion and marginalization (Imafidon 2017, 165). In the line of thinking that stigma naturally stems from fear and lack of understanding, the reasoning behind any form of stigmatization is to exclude anything that may “threaten [a society’s] existence” (Imafidon 2017, 166). This ontology alienates PWA and displaces their sense of self, especially regarding their sense of belonging.

Kromberg examines the role of in-group and outgroup dynamics, writing that members of a society build a sense of self, based on a social reference they find satisfying. Building on this notion, if we understand that PWA were once regarded as monsters, it is reasonable to claim African ontology contributed to stigma whereby Albinism is socially disapproved. Their discussion concludes that if PWA “are denied the opportunity to join a community group, it will be difficult for them to find a system for self-reference, create a place in society and build a social identity” (Kromberg 2018, 185).

By limiting their opportunity to establish a place in society, the frequency of interaction between PWA and other members of society depletes. In line with the view that “stigma [...] is understood through interaction,” the combination of PWA’s historic stigmatization and, thus, minimal interaction with society resulted in the production of incomplete perceptions of the condition itself (Kromberg 2018, 182). This is precisely what has facilitated the development of myths on PWA and why they fail to be recognized as human beings.

Priming the Contemporary Discussion 1. A brief history and ethnography of Albinism in Africa Perceptions surrounding Albinism in Africa have changed drastically over the many centuries that missionaries and explorers recorded PWA in African societies (Kromberg and Manga 2018, 2). On the one hand, social writers like De La Croix (1688) recorded that PWA were “regarded as monsters,” while on the other––two centuries later––science-based writers like Livingstone found that PWA had sun-sensitive skin that caused them to develop a blistered appearance in the case of prolonged exposure (Kromberg and Manga 2018, 7).

2. Myth Development and its Ties to Traditional Healing

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The myths and stereotypes surrounding PWA are exceptionally diverse, a phenomenon best demonstrated by the shift in the cross-continental perceptions of PWA. In Ghana, those with the condition are regarded as individuals “under divine protection” (Kromberg 2018, 194), while in Tanzania, PWA are viewed as devils (Imafidon 2017, 167).

Whether these beliefs fostered positive (West African) or negative (East African) perceptions, all the PWA stigmas have a phantasmagorical element. One particularly curious myth that Kromberg mentions pertains to death. Due to the rarity of witnessing the passing of a PWA––unless inflicted at birth––this myth holds that PWA do not experience death (Kromberg 2018, 195). This myth tenably made them eligible to have their mortality and humanity questioned.

A connection between the death myth and the justifications behind violence against them is established by assessing anthropological explanations for the death myth itself. Writers of this camp argue that because white has historically been the colour of various objects (like beads, hides, and tails), traditional healers used to communicate with ancestral spirits, PWA having white skin indicated they were spirits themselves and could not die (Kromberg 2018, 195). It can also be reasoned that the natural death of PWAs is rarely observed due to societal stigma. If a PWA developed cancer due to their vulnerable hypopigmented skin, it is not an absurd assumption that they would withdraw from society due to shame.

As previously discussed, PWA lack the opportunity to develop a self-concept in society and feel out of place from birth. Made to feel even more ‘abnormal’ by their society’s standards, a PWA with skin cancer would isolate and experience an unobserved death (Kromberg 2018, 195). Coinciding with the more phantasmagorical elements, this reasoned origin of the myth indicates that traditional African ontology encourages this myth to date.

The rejection of PWA and their continued alterity has deviated perceptions of the condition and impeded the development of a proper understanding of Albinism.

Instead, the belief that human death is absent from a PWA’s experience has acted to set the grounds upon which violence against PWA has been ethically justified. Since PWA possess a subaltern status and are thus not deemed part of the community––per

African ontological thinking––their mere existence threatens the community’s existence (perhaps why infanticide was normalized) (Kromberg 2018, 194).

Consequently, their targeted killing is justified as their death benefits those who truly belong in the community. To this effect, PWA only holds objective value; in this respect, the death myth is the vital misconception that facilitated PWA killings under the guise that their body parts could bring about good fortune and wealth to its bearer (Brocco 2016, 230).

Traditional Healing and Albinism: The Case of Tanzania In Mwanza, Tanzania, traditional healing amalgamates various methods and practices.

Divination, for instance, heavily involves spirits and the metaphysical domain (Nichols-Belo 2018, 724).

It stands out as a rudimentary and, thus, notable practice because it speaks to the core process behind knowledge production in traditional healing.

The practice conducts interviews between spirits and healers via the healers’ possession and allows them to inquire about treatments for their client’s conditions. In this sense, much of their knowledge acquisition is said to occur “in the wake of affliction” (Nichols-Belo 2018, 725). That is to say that conjured spiritual possession incites healers to develop claircognizance concerning medicine and healing practices. Unlike biomedicine, traditional healers rely on tacit knowledge, authorizing them a particular sway over the beliefs of many local communities––with their “relationship to spirits [being what] lends authority and legitimacy to [their practice] (Nichols-Belo 2018, 725). This almost divine and unquestionable power over knowledge production not only encouraged the pre-existing stigmas that fostered PWA’s persecution but also created a new avenue of interaction––they became prey. The development of said avenue for interaction is demonstrated by the Tanzanian term ‘Dili’ (deal), a term of reference to the black-market trading of PWA’s body parts (Brocco 2016, 230).

The growing prevalence of this deprecating phrase co-occurred with the increasing rate of targeted killings of PWA in North-western Tanzania by ‘traditional doctors’ who would “use their bones and blood to make amulets, which [they] claimed

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Nevertheless, considering the 'authority' granted to traditional healers under their connection to the corporeal realm, the TM&AMA's prohibition of divination actively denounces “spirit-driven knowledge.” Moreover, it invalidates the knowledge production systems that have had generational significance to the function of local communities (Nichols-Belo 2018, 727). Therefore, while the adoption of the seemingly promising TM&AMA appeared to include customary practices that were also internationally accepted, traditional healing, as a separate entity, will consistently be chosen over biomedicine “because [the people] perceive [its practitioners] to have insights over and above” that of formally trained doctors (Flint 2020, 595).

brought their wearers luck and wealth” (Brocco 2016, 230). The measure of power traditional healing myths have had throughout history and in the contemporary era has remained relatively high. A significant turning point apropos of the power held by traditional healing in Africa is the continent’s transition away from the colonial period. Partnered with the augmented international consciousness––particularly concerning crimes against humanity––government intervention carried out by new African states played a fundamental role in restricting the dominance of traditional healing. With a focused look on Tanzania, this section will: examine how effective the government’s policies were in response to the increased killings of PWA and propose strategies to resolving the matter.

Fast-forward to 2009, Tanzanian “witchdoctors” made it on various international media outlets concerning the murders of 50 PWA in the preceding 14 months, tethering the killings to traditional healing (Nichols-Belo 2018, 722). As a result, Tanzanian government intervention grew immensely, setting sights on the 'sanitization' of the knowledge production systems behind traditional healing and “encourag[ing] healers to wear 'white uniforms' and obtain formal training” (Nichols-Belo 2018, 723). The 'sanitization' was manifested through an extreme policy shift: traditional healing was banned entirely, and the government kept healers under surveillance (Nichols-Belo 2018, 723). With the fear of getting their certificates suspended, traditional healers altogether ceased to practice (Brocco 2016, 230). The Tanzanian government was lauded for its policies' progress in stopping PWA's active persecution and killings (Imafidon 2017, 174).

1. Evaluating Government Intervention As Tanzania began to undergo democratization and the inevitable institutionalization required, the government formalized a way in which traditional healing and biomedicine could coexist (Nichols-Belo 2018, 726). With the establishment of the Institute of Traditional Medicine (ITM) in 1974 and Tanzania's adoption of the Traditional and Alternative Medicines Act (TM&AMA) in 2002, the government successfully combined two systems of medicine. This arrangement of medical pluralism (Flint 2020, 595) was arguably measured as a success, as it produced a clear definition of traditional healing and required the licensing and registration of its practitioners (NicholsBelo 2018, 726). For a time, this helped regulate the authority of traditional healers as they were made to function as monitored government agents. With a professional code of conduct in place, traditional healers, despite the previous freedoms they may have had in their practices, were now being made to carry out their practice within the confines of the government's regulations (Nichols-Belo 2018, 726).

Although said policies lowered the frequency of these killings, what ensued in the wake of COVID19 is a testament to how these stigmas attribute power to traditional healers and demonstrate why an attack on knowledge production systems is detrimental. According to a report released in July 2021 by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), the killings of PWA increased dramatically during the global pandemic, with many individuals who experienced severe poverty resorting to witchcraft.

Holding a belief thought to be a past conviction, these individuals killed PWA, believing it to incite

However, Tanzania's attempts at liberalization with the government's adoption of the Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) drastically redistributed power back into the hands of traditional healers. In accommodation to the SAPs, healthcare costs increased, and thus “the number of [unregistered] traditional healers practicing in Tanzania” increased to cater to the poverty-stricken communities (Nichols-Belo 2018, 727).

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quick wealth and fortune (Witchcraft 2021). The report also revealed that most of the victims were children.

Such occurrences show that despite the reported “progress [made] on many fronts,” moments of desperation revitalized the frequency of crimes against PWA (Witchcraft 2021). Demonstrating how deeply entrenched these stigmas are, what transpired during the pandemic indicates that governmental coercion, especially when it is just a reflection of Western pressures, cannot override centuries-old ontology (Brocco 2016, 230).

Furthermore, it limits the roles that these healers take on. Regarding the ‘witchcraft’ connotation, this simplification misses critical practices like herbalism, which does not involve the spiritual/supernatural domain. The second term ‘doctor’ furthers these limiting elements, as it disregards the existence of diviners and faith healers; the choice to use this term speaks to “the [confined] medical practice as [...] understood [by] the Global North” (Flint 2020, 597).

Upon Britain's acquisition of Tanganyika, the 1922 Witchcraft Ordinance was passed to prohibit the practice of ‘witchcraft;’ at the time, defined as any practice that involved the summoning or use of supernatural power to inflict harm. Although the decree initially only legalized punishment for baleful actions, specific measures were taken as relations between the native population and the emerging colonial mandate grew turbulent (Flint 2020, 600). The “instruments clause” was appointed in 1928, acting to broaden the scope of arrest to “many typical divination and healing practices used by traditional healers” (Nichols-Belo 2018, 726). Having played a key role in reconstructing British aggression for their ‘civilizing mission,’ the clause conveys the earliest means by which traditional healing was discredited (Flint 2020, 600). With the Witchcraft Ordinance framing traditional healing as a primitive practice, the adjunction of the clause evidences Fanon’s belief that the perception of biomedicine’s superiority is nothing more than a method of Western subjugation (Flint 2020, 596).

The use of the term ‘African witchdoctors,’ as a result, has painted an incomplete and false picture of traditional African healing. While it may seem non-threatening, the prevalence of this term over time has come to shape not only international perceptions of the continent's traditional healing practices, but these erroneous views have tenably come to shape the developmental policies African governments implement. It must be acknowledged that Western perceptions tend to––in this case significantly–– “reinforce international power hierarchies” (Flint 2020, 595) that can destabilize African civil societies. Recall the murder of the 50 PWA discussed in the section above. At the time this had made the international news, Tanzanian Prime Minister Mizengo Pinda had said verbatim that “witchdoctors are big liars,” to which he followed up with measures the state would be taking (Nichols-Belo 2018, 722). His use of the term demonstrated that the seeds of biomedical superiority colonialism planted became sources of shame. The Tanzanian government's attempt to incorporate biomedicine via discounting the legitimacy of divination is rooted in the intrinsic shame that the civil society was still ‘primitive.’

The colonial order’s interactions with traditional healing designate one avenue through which the Global North arguably pressured Tanzania’s conservative policies. The other is recognized in the West’s perpetuation of ‘the African Witchdoctor’ trope (Flint 2020, 595). The harmful element of this term is that it severely limits and oversimplifies the practices involved in traditional African healing (Flint 2020, 597). ‘African Witchdoctor’ is first and foremost demeaning; the arrangement of the individual terms ‘witch’ and ‘doctor’ to create the oxymoron ‘witchdoctor’ denotes that traditional healing is illegitimate, coinciding with the discrediting efforts made under colonialism.

The extreme policy shift that banned all traditional healing was a Neo-colonial manifestation. The existence of this shift substantiates the intrinsic and extrinsic role played by the Global North in in determining African policy but also proves it to be a detriment to state-society relations. The Tanzanian government's denial of spirit-driven knowledge's legitimacy created a disconnect between the government and society as the former effectively discredited the gravity of their reality: their knowledge production. In this respect, I claim the rise in PWA killings during COVID resulted from the shortage of licensed and practicing traditional healers who feared arrest due to the strict ban.

2. The Top-Down Strategy: Uprooting Tanzania’s Source of Shame

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The uproar and desperation to acquire good fortune can reasonably find its root in the lack of accessibility to individuals who could have healed them via noninvasive practices like herbalism. Moreover, those who sought spiritual healing via divination, for instance, may have been able to receive the help they needed without their desperation for good health, driving them to murder a PWA. Either way, government intervention is not enough to dismantle stigma as it restricts communication between the state and society. As the state continues to act in appeasement of the Global North, social divide and unrest are sure to happen more frequently. These perceptions must be uprooted entirely, gain scrutiny, and carry out a public correction. One way to ensure this is by entirely erasing the ‘African Witchdoctor’ trope from popular culture (Flint 2020, 598). If media perceptions are regulated, then the trope will lack recognition in the West and, by extension, the international community. This could facilitate Tanzania’s detachment from its intrinsic shame and help rebuild the global image of traditional African healing in an accurate and holistic light.

Considering this, if traditional African ontology values humaneness and protects community members, accepting PWA sensibly becomes a matter of proving their mortality. For a successful reintegration, local communities must first believe PWA are human. Secondly, they are humans with a condition that should afford them protection: they must prove their humanity and vulnerability. `This bottom-up strategy requires local communities to understand the condition accurately; this consequently and conveniently negates the death myth. Perhaps incentivized education camps at the local level can be headed by urban-raised PWA: individuals who had the opportunity to develop a healthy sense of self. This effort would be of direct aid to younger PWA, providing them with the opportunity to accurately learn about the condition and recognize that dismantling the stigma is vital to reducing the capacity for society to inflict young PWA with a self-hating identity. They could be accompanied by licensed doctors who explain the biological reasoning behind PWA's hypopigmentation and demonstrate that it is simply a genetic disorder that causes PWA more health issues than the average hyperpigmented African (Brocco 2016, 229). By demonstrating to people of these communities that PWA are individuals who bleed the same as them; if anything, they are at a higher risk of dying than they are. Only then would PWA's status as subhuman be overturned, and thus their mortality proved.

3. The Bottom-Up Strategy: Reintegrating PWA into the African Community Imafidon employs Horowitz's definitions of ethical and moral points of view, explaining that the former concerns unchanging conventional conduct and the latter transcends convention and “evaluates the rational adequacy of particular systems of conduct instead” (Imafidon 2017, 170). The case he makes in connection to perceptions of PWA is that there needs to be a shift from the ethical point of view to the moral one, effectively communicating that African civil society must adopt a dynamic moral system to permit the acceptance of PWA. Although Imafidon makes a compelling argument that this leap is possible, he admits that the shift's success is determined by “all hands [being] on deck” (Imafidon 2017, 173).

Upon assessing the practicality of a complete shift in frames of thinking, an argument can be made to support another approach to enacting the acceptance of PWA. Even though the ethical view is rooted in traditional African ontology, accepting PWA is not binarily inhibited by conventional conduct. We can first claim that African ethics believes in protecting the community. Made on the basis that protection for the community was a reason behind PWA's exclusion, this claim is valid.

Accompanied by the evidence of their humanity explicitly, it could also be encouraged that pastors teach Albinism as a condition that incites vulnerability to illness brought on by God's will. This would result in Albinism being deemed a ‘normal’ condition because it happens per what is natural, i.e., God’s will. This affords PWA the chance to “develop a [positive] selfidentity [...] and counterbalance stigmatizing behaviours” that once served to justify their killing (Brocco 2016, 240). Convinced of the belief that PWA are vulnerable community members, the once persecuted subaltern individuals whose killings were ethically warranted would no longer stand to reason.

Just as these African communities emphasize the protection and care of vulnerable members like the elderly, if successful, these treatments will be extended to members of society with the condition.

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Conclusion

Bibliography

This paper first built a foundational understanding of the inception of stigmas and myths regarding PWA and how the entrenchment of these stigmas came to develop an entanglement with traditional healing in Africa. Upon establishing this, the case of Tanzania was taken up, in which an evaluation of government intervention concerning the increase in PWA killings followed. Despite any progress, government intervention alone, in the face of stigmas that existed long before the state was even conceived, will not be effective in halting PWA persecution. The way government intervention transpired in Tanzania was ineffective because it destabilized the knowledge production system of not only the traditional practices that justify violence against PWA but all forms of traditional healing, which this paper reveals is a neomanifestation of colonial thinking. Thus, this paper proposes a strategy that combines a top-down and bottom-up approach to provide the context in which government policies can be sustainably effective. The top-down strategy calls for the scrutinization of the Global North’s perception of traditional healing in Africa as it has undeniably placed pressure on the Tanzanian government, which in turn caused turmoil on the societal level. The strategy pushes for the end of perpetuating false tropes and images of its practitioners on an international scale. The bottomdown strategy involves an education process whereby the reintegration of PWA is carried out in a way that still respects customary boundaries and does not cause too much discomfort to their perceptions of reality. This method can ensure that outbursts like the COVID-19 murders will not happen again. These two approaches would conceivably allow the Tanzanian government to pass effective and sustainable policies, for the pressures of false external perceptions are absent from their decision-making: allowing them to actively ensure that they are not completely discounting the conventional knowledge production system, only the aspects that serve to justify the killings of PWA.

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Flint, Adrian. 2020. "'African Witchdoctors' and Popular Culture: Global Hierarchies and the Reinforcement of the Colonial World Order." Journal of Contemporary African Studies 38 (4): 594-609.

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Kromberg, Jennifer. 2018. "Psychosocial and Cultural Aspects of Albinism." In Albinism in Africa: Historical, Geographic, Medical, Genetic, and Psychosocial Aspects, edited by Jennifer Kromberg and Prashiela Manga, 171-201.

San Diego: Elsevier Science.

Kromberg, Jennifer, and Prashiela Manga. 2018.

"Introduction and Historical Background." In Albinism in Africa: Historical, Geographic, Medical, Genetic, and Psychosocial Aspects, edited by Jennifer Kromberg and Prashiela Manga, 1-25. San Diego: Elsevier Science.

Nichols-Belo, Amy. 2018. "'Witchdoctors' in White Coats: Politics and Healing Knowledge in Tanzania." Medical Anthropology 37 (8): 722-36.

United Nations Office of the High Commissioner. 2021.

“Witchcraft Killings of People with Albinism Rose During Pandemic.” United Nations Office of the High Commissioner. https://www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews. aspx?NewsID=27346&LangID=E.

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Rally Around the Flag: A Comparison Between the Chinese Communist Resolutions on Party History

Wu Yang 26

The Chinese Communist Party’s relationship with history, while not necessarily unique relative to the national myths often imagined in other countries, is defined more by the Party’s insistent micromanagement of the historical narrative which, in turn, defines its rule over China. The passage of “historical resolutions” over the years by the Party’s Central Committee symbolizes this pursuit of an orthodox historical narrative. Apart from establishing a nationally recognized Party history that justifies Party rule, these historical resolutions are also a mechanism for enforcing unity within the Party, usually by affirming the Party’s present leadership or making appeals towards past authority with which the present leadership can be connected to. Any possible differences or distinctions, meanwhile, are explained as rectifications or innovations in political practice. In doing so, the Party claims an unbroken and congruous line of continuity, maintaining the integrity of a Party centre around which Party members unite at all instances.

On November 16, 2021, the East Asian Institute at the National University of Singapore published a commentary article: “China’s Third Historical Resolution: A Preview.” Authored by Director Bert Hofman, the article attempts to analyze the significance of China’s third historical resolution, passed days earlier at the Sixth Plenum of the Central Committee of the 19th Party Congress. Hofman has very helpfully done much of the work in tracing the historical purpose and function of such resolutions, the first being issued in April of 1945 under Mao Zedong and the second in June of 1981 under Deng Xiaoping.

He noted they “settled important ideological conflicts within the Communist Party” (Hofman 2021, 1).

Indeed, readings of the earlier resolutions show that the bulk of each resolution’s material is devoted to criticizing ideological ‘deviations’ and ‘mistakes’ from within the Party. This criticism then acts as a segue towards the other purpose of such resolutions, which is the affirmation of the present leadership’s ideological position. In the first resolution, there are frequent mentions of the “correct line represented by Comrade Mao Tse-Tung” as opposed to the errors of Chen Duxiu, Zhang Guotao and Wang Ming among others. In the second resolution, much ink is spilled on criticism of the Cultural Revolution, cults of personalities, and the Gang of Four. In turn, both Mao

and Deng were validated by the passing of these historical resolutions.

Hofman makes a few observations on the third historical resolution passed under Xi Jinping’s leadership. He first notes that the length of time discussed is much longer now: an entire century as opposed to a few decades of Party history. He also believes that, unlike both earlier resolutions, there are “no obvious ideological issues to be settled,” and even describes it as “a rather tame affair” (Hofman 2021, 2-3). Instead, Hofman suggests that the significance of the third historical resolution goes beyond its supposed ideological importance, but rather in the mere fact that it was passed under Xi. He writes, “This elevates Xi to the same level as Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping, and sets the stage for Xi himself and his version of socialism to be around for a long time to come” (Hofman 2021, 4). However, Hofman at the time of writing did not have access to the full resolution as passed by the Central Committee, and could only rely on a published communique which he presumes “previews the main contents of the resolution” (Hofman 2021, 3). While this is certainly an acceptable presumption, Hofman was regardless unable to analyze the source directly. Now that the full text is available, a comparison of the third resolution with its predecessors is possible, though not all aspects will be covered here. By beginning with three distinctions, however, Hofman’s preliminary analysis can be complemented.

Each historical resolution traditionally begins with an account of Party history. The first two do so, however, at the expense of national history. The first resolution begins directly from the Party’s founding in 1921 and only made general references to the Chinese struggle “against their enemies, imperialism and feudalism” (Mao 1965, 177). This is slightly expanded upon by the second resolution, which describes the Xinhai Revolution led by Sun Yat-Sen as “bringing to an end over 2,000 years of feudal monarchical rule,” although it failed to rectify the “semi-colonial and semi-feudal nature of Chinese society” (CCP 1981). Glossing over prerevolutionary China by defining it in terms of its monarchist system can be interpreted in the following manner, in which the Party in Mao’s time saw itself as a progressive force seeking to

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emancipate the Chinese people from a backwards political system, and in Deng’s time upholding the tradition of modernizing China. Thus, it made sense to draw little attention to the past, except to criticize it, and hence readers will see the Party’s wording of their goal as, “national salvation.” (Mao 1965, 193).

Compare this with the third resolution, which speaks not of salvation but of “national rejuvenation.” It also declares that “with a history stretching back more than 5,000 years, the Chinese nation is a great and ancient nation that has fostered a splendid civilization and made indelible contributions to the progress of human civilization” (Nikkei Asia 2021). China’s semicolonialism and semi-feudalism is blamed on “the aggression of Western powers and the corruption of feudal rulers,” who presumably betrayed the Chinese people by selling out to the imperialists following the First Opium War, thus beginning a period of humiliation for China (Nikkei Asia 2021). Although it quickly echoes the second resolution by rephrasing the inadequacy of the Xinhai Revolution, there is a clear shift in emphasis. All three resolutions acknowledged hardships in modern Chinese history, but the notions of ‘salvation’ and ‘rejuvenation’ hold differing meanings. The former simply implies the imperative to bring China out of its predicament, to rescue it from its present situation into a better one.

The latter adds another layer of meaning in implying that China not only needs to be brought out of its circumstances, but that it used to be great and must therefore be made great again. The Party is no stranger to Chinese nationalism, but this harkening back to a bygone, better times must be recognised as a significant development, as the Party seeks to legitimate itself not only in an ideological sense but in a historical sense as well.

There are also shifts in foreign policy orientation.

The second resolution more or less retained a revolutionary tone, pledging to “oppose imperialism, hegemonism, colonialism and racism, and safeguard world peace” (CCP 1981). Even though it references Panchsheel, or the Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence, as the basis for diplomatic, economic, and cultural exchange, the resolution nonetheless stresses the necessity to uphold proletarian internationalism and support the “liberation of oppressed nations, the national construction of newly independent countries and the

just struggles of the peoples everywhere” (CCP 1981). In other words, the Party maintained a theoretical commitment to the internationalist struggle. Such language is absent or at least heavily toned down by 2021. Gone is the emphasis on national liberation and class struggle, replaced instead by a more conventional narrative of developing friendly relations and deepening friendly cooperation, as well as stressing China’s active participation in international relations.

The resolution was careful enough to leave the fundamentals of Chinese foreign policy untouched, persistently opposing “hegemonism and power politics” and seeking to “safeguard the interests of developing countries” (Nikkei Asia 2021). However, the meaning has clearly shifted. The roots of Chinese opposition to hegemony stem from hostility towards the United States and the USSR when both states exercised disproportionate influence over the international system.

This suspicion was summarized in Mao’s Three Worlds Theory, differing from the Western model by placing both superpowers in the same category and criticizing them for engaging in imperialist behaviour. In Xi’s time though, China is undisputedly America’s counterpart in Asia and the USSR had long ceased to exist. American unilateralism may remain alive and well for the foreseeable future, but the resolution ignores issues with Chinese unilateralism, such as the South China Sea disputes. Now that few socialist regimes remain, China has shifted its rhetoric away from revolutionary support for the global proletariat in favour of traditional diplomacy. In other words, China no longer seeks to promote revolution, but regime stability. To “safeguard the interests of developing countries,” really means maintaining stability in those countries as opposed to pushing for proletarian emancipation, a policy working to China’s benefit by cementing support within the international system Finally, the third resolution is unique in its affirmation of Xi’s guiding ideology, “Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era.” (Nikkei Asia 2021) An entire section is dedicated to its discussion, a feature not seen since the first resolution. Deng Xiaoping Theory, which would only be added to the Party constitution

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1997, did not appear anywhere in the second resolution, and that resolution maintained Mao Zedong Thought as the Party’s “valuable spiritual asset” even as it criticized his excesses during the Cultural Revolution (CCP 1981). Deng himself receives relatively little attention in the resolution, a reflection of his emphasis on collective leadership and fear of another Mao-like figure dominating the Party. The third resolution brushes away these concerns. It does state that the Party must “uphold Marxism-Leninism, Mao Zedong Thought, Deng Xiaoping Theory, the Theory of Three Represents, and the Scientific Outlook on Development,” thereby linking up all previous Chinese leaders who have their ideologies entrenched in the Party constitution, but the spotlight remains on Xi (Nikkei Asia 2021). A consistent phrasing throughout the resolution describes, “the Central Committee with Comrade Xi Jinping at its core,” making it clear that Xi’s position within the Party is greatly elevated (Nikkei Asia 2021).

This is further evidenced by a review of each resolution’s conclusion, all of which include a call for Party unity. The first resolution reads, “Today, with unprecedented unanimity the whole Party recognizes the correctness of Comrade Mao Tse-Tung’s line and with unprecedented political consciousness rallies under his banner” (Mao 1965, 220). This sentiment is more or less carried through to 1981, where that resolution implores, “This session calls upon the whole Party… to act under the great banner of Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought, closely rally around the Central Committee of the Party…”

(CCP 1981). The third resolution, however, seems to sidestep this in its own conclusion, “The Central Committee calls upon the entire Party… to rally more closely around the Central Committee with Comrade Xi Jinping at its core, to fully implement Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era…” (Nikkei Asia 2021). This omission of Mao, whose significance in Party history has consistently been upheld, is far from an attempt to diminish his standing. What it does accomplish, however, is entrench Xi’s already solid position at the Party leadership. In some sense, then, Hofman’s assessment that Xi is essentially equated to the stature of Mao and Deng is well-founded.

The title of the third resolution hints at these distinctions with Hofman noting that it reflects

a concern with “achievements” and “experience” rather than “questions” (Hofman 2021, 3). To add to his commentary, both Mao and Deng’s resolutions emphasized the need to resolve certain questions of Party history, which is unsurprising given their respective historical contexts. Mao had just about concluded the Yan’an Rectification Campaign while Deng oversaw the end of the Cultural Revolution, both turbulent periods that necessitated the consolidation of authority over the Party. Evidently, Xi did not see the need to do the same. While all three resolutions are in some way reflections of the paramount leader’s authority, Xi’s case remains unique in that unlike Mao and Deng, his period of leadership was not characterized by political uncertainty, giving his resolution significance in its affirmation of the de facto reality that does not exist in the previous two, even to the point of sounding celebratory. This moment of stability enabled the third resolution to present an affirming and positive message of unity between the Party and the people in striving for national rejuvenation, as opposed to the previous two whose calls for unity were more partisan and fractured.

Nevertheless, he has not neglected to connect the third resolution to its predecessors. In stating that “their basic points and conclusions remain valid to this day”, a line of continuity and hence ideological legitimacy is established between Xi, Mao, and Deng (Nikkei Asia 2021).

However, through comparing the texts themselves, various differences reveal themselves, such as in the fields of historical narrative, foreign policy orientation, or even personal affirmation.

Respectively, China is embracing a nationalist bent by co-opting imperial history into its own, more likely to behave like a traditional great power as opposed to a revolutionary one, and is witnessing once again the concentration of power in the personalistic rule. The successful passage of this third resolution is the culmination of shifting political trends in China over the past few decades, with the resolution itself symbolizing the shift’s completion.

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Bibliography Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party. 1981. “Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party since the Founding of the People’s Republic of China.” Translation from the Beijing Review 24 (27): 10-39. History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive. https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/121344.

Nikkei Asia. n.d. “Full Text of the Chinese Communist Party’s New Resolution on History.” Accessed June 18, 2022. https://asia.nikkei.com/Politics/Full-text-of-theChinese-Communist-Party-s-new-resolution-on-history.

Hofman, Bert. 2021. “China’s Third Historical Resolution: A Preview.” EAI Commentary 41.(November). https://research.nus.edu.sg/eai/wpcontent/uploads/sites/2/2021/11/EAIC41-20211116-1.pdf.

Mao, Zedong. 1965. “Appendix: Resolutions on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party.” In Selected Works of Mao Tse-Tung: Volume III, First Edition, 177–225. Beijing: Foreign Languages Press. http://www.marx2mao.com/PDFs/MaoSW3.pdf.

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No Collective Action: How Economic Interests Disrupt Bottom-Up Democratization in Russia

Pengyu Chen 31

Analyzing the state-society dynamic and the economic and class interests of the middle class and labour workers in contemporary Russia is crucial for understanding the regime’s durability and the prospect of democratization. Accordingly, this essay will address the possibility of democratization from the bottom through mass mobilization against the incumbent regime. I argue that democratization from below, through collective action, is unlikely due to competing political demands and the social and demographic differences between the middle class in urban cities and labour workers in industrial cities.

Further, I argue that the incumbent regime will not cede its monopolistic control of political power—even in times of economic crisis when social protests will intensify—which further impedes the emergence of any viable political alternative to the incumbent party.

The Russian middle class and labour workers are unable to initiate a political change toward meaningful democracy by coming together and forming a coherent and united democratic movement. Two principal reasons explain why the two groups do not unite to demand democracy. First, individuals will likely not participate in a protest movement that could harm their economic interests. Second, the regime’s monopolistic control over legal, political, and coercive power changes individuals’ behaviour and calculation by raising the cost and reducing the benefits of political protests. The inherent economic and class differences between the two groups give rise to different political outlooks and social demands, shaping their interests, behaviour, and calculation in the face of an increasingly authoritarian Russia.

Residents and labour workers of cities with a population of 20-50 thousand to 250 thousand people make up 25-30 percent of the Russian population (Zubarevich 2013, 75). This segment of society is not an agent of democratic change because they are economically dependent on the state and politically conservative. Many of these industrial cities were created during the Soviet era of industrialization to extract natural resources instead of generating efficient economic growth for market competition (Zubarevich 2013, 73-75). As such, unlike larger cities that were deindustrialized and transformed into urban centres of the post-industrial economy, these cities are susceptible to economic risks and are dependent on federal transfer funds to maintain employment

rates (Zubarevich 2013, 70-71, 75-76). Furthermore, the major industries in these cities are becoming less competitive in the global market and increasingly inefficient at generating economic growth (Zubarevich 2013, 70-71, 75-76; Crowley 2016, 415). Therefore, with a few exceptions, these cities and their residents are vulnerable to economic downturns (Zubarevich 2013, 75-76). Moreover, most workers and residents have low mobility and skill levels (Zubarevich 2013, 75-77). Thus, they are not economically competitive in today’s service industries and have low or no entrepreneurial agency due to poorly developed or non-existent small businesses (Zubarevich 2013, 76). Therefore, they are less capable of moving to bigger cities and generating more income. In turn, these economic constraints further entrench the class’ structure and incentives. For this reason, this segment of society will naturally have a vested interest in the social and political stability of the current regime that is supporting their livelihood.

Moreover, in their study of veteran organizations, a critical section of Russian civil society that represents the social interests of diverse groups in both federal cities and industrial cities—from military and labour veterans to pensioners to people with disabilities—Meri Kulmala and Anna Tarasenko show that when veteran organizations represent their constituencies’ concerns to the parliament, large-scale civil disobedience that takes their concerns and grievances to the street is neither a preference nor a common tactic (Kulmala and Tarasenko 2016, 144, 149). Preferring an in-system approach, the leaders of these organizations serve as mediating agents that establish a rapport between their constituency and the state (Kulmala and Tarasenko 2016, 149-151). Many leaders have previously worked with the government and held official posts, and some of these figures were able to exploit their influence within the political system to gain access to financial resources (Kulmala and Tarasenko 2016, 158). One leading member of the Veterans’ Council in Karelia, for example, was the former Minister of Construction of the Republic of Karelia. This member noted that his previous experience in the government was crucial in attracting additional funds for his veteran organizations (Kulmala and Tarasenko 2016, 157).

Prominent figures in these veteran organizations

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with government relations would naturally refrain from challenging the state actor and would work with them to sustain their existing resource exchange. In addition, in returning the favour of the state’s resources and benefits for their constituency, veteran organizations help the state by providing political support and constituency information for incumbent politicians (Kulmala and Tarasenko 2016, 158-159).

Therefore, veteran organizations, pensioners, residents, and workers of industrial cities are not inherently antithetical to the regime and can often help strengthen its resilience.

The middle class, by contrast, according to both classical and recent modernization theory, is a pivotal agent of political change and democratization.

According to classical modernization theory, endogenous socioeconomic development will change society’s class structure, producing a class of people with higher education and greater tolerance of liberalism, a market-based economy, religious secularism, and democracy (Rosenfeld 2021, 13-14).

Whereas the recent modernization theory highlights the critical role of value changes as society develops socioeconomically and argues that social values of tolerance and self-expression, respect for the law, and democracy are crucial to the formation of a social base for effective democracy (Rosenfeld 2021, 14).

The Russian middle class is a sizable subset of the inhabitants of Russia’s large urban centres.

Inhabitants of cities with a population size between 500,000 to over one million make up one-third of the country’s population (Zubarevich 2013, 70-71). The Russian middle class comprises urban residents with high living and educational standards and easy access to the internet (Zubarevich 2013, 70-71). This social group’s recent activism seems to confirm the two modernization theories. In Russia, the middle class is often at the forefront of political contention, the most notable of which in recent times was the 2011-12 protest cycle against Putin and his United Russia’s fraudulent parliamentary electoral success (Robertson 2018, 86-89). While people of all ages and classes participated, it was mainly the urban middle class that was at the centre of this anti-regime protest cycle. The 2017-18 anti-corruption protests and the recent antiwar protests against the government in large cities, such as Moscow and St. Petersburg, where most of the middle class live, all seem to corroborate

modernization theories (Zubarevich 2013, 70-75; Matthews 2022). Indeed, as Russia’s civil society and the middle class grew exponentially after the country recovered from the economic crisis of the 1990s, Putin became increasingly sensitive to contention politics as a part of Russia’s political landscape (Robertson 2018, 86-89).

However, in her book The Autocratic Middle Class, Bryn Rosenfeld provides a more complex picture of the Russian middle class that challenges these two modernization theories. The Russian middle class, Rosenfeld suggests, is not a coherent economic group that naturally upholds democratic values and aspirations (Rosenfeld 2021, 2-3). Instead, the middle class is divided by their source of income.

Rosenfeld argues that an independent, entrepreneurial middle class is differentiated from a state-dependent middle class. The latter is a creation of economic growth that results from statist economic policies, and they hold positions in the lucrative white-collar public-sector jobs and are thus much dependent on the state (Rosenfeld 2021, 34). This economic structure turns the statedependent middle class into a conservative political force that contributes to regime durability. For example, Rosenfeld notes that the state-dependent middle class is illiberal and loyal to the regime, and had they participated in the 2011-12 protest cycle, “up to ninety thousand additional protesters would have taken to the streets” (Rosenfeld 2021, 33).

Therefore, this difference in economic and political interest impedes the Russian middle class from forming a broad democratic coalition.

Another demographic characteristic of the Russian middle class challenges modernization theory’s optimism about a linear, progressive human capital development model. As Zubarevich points out, the middle class in federal cities is experiencing a population decline (2013, 74). The World Bank’s estimation of Russia’s urban demographic changes suggests the same (2022a and 2022b). Zubarevich suggests that this decline will lead to a corresponding decrease in protest activity because as fewer young people enter the job market, employment competition will diminish while the job market stabilizes (2013, 74).

Additionally, she notes that the decreasing number of young people, a segment which has been a vital conducive factor for protest sentiments,

33

will lead to fewer protests (Zubarevich 2013, 75). Exit options to Europe and elsewhere are also an attractive alternative for individuals with competitive market skills to escape rather than confront the autocratic regime (Zubarevich 2013, 75; Nemtsova 2022).

The government has become more sensitive to palpable threats of social and political instability from society, and it has become more determined to maintain its monopolistic control of political power by employing state repression and asserting ideological control. After all, macroeconomic and political stability is the priority of Putin’s administration (Åslund 2019, 36). Accordingly, the government has targeted regime oppositions, legalized repression, limited the growth of liberal civil society and NGOs, and employed state censorship, all to maintain its legitimate control of political power and make anti-regime protests costly for any opposition (Robertson 2018, 85-93; Mickiewicz 2018, 94-107). For example, the regime not only harassed and repressed the middle class and people who held liberal values after the 2011-12 protest cycle, but it also smeared them as “anti-Russian, foreign supported, effete and deviant” (Robertson 2018, 89). When the regime isolates, stigmatizes, and suppresses a single, amorphously-defined social group, reducing it to a “threat” to the bystanders of that repression, the regime can gain support from those bystanders by demonstrating to them that the state is “tough” and will protect their material interests by employing violence to reduce perceived threats (Krastev and Holmes 2012, 44; Robertson 2018, 89; Lachapelle 2022, 695-698). This was the case with the legalized stigmatization and criminalization of people who identify as LGBTQ+ (Robertson 2018, 90; Stähle 2021, 49). By repressing this community, the regime garners popular support from social groups with traditional and conservative social identities while reinforcing existing tension between groups with competing political and social identities (Robertson 2018, 89, 93).

However, labour workers and the pro-government middle class can be a threat to Russia’s social stability as well, although they have a conservative and progovernment outlook. Protests and social unrest can emerge when the government faces an economic downturn and depression and cannot sustain the employment rate of industrial towns (Aron 2008; Crowley 2016, 413).

During the economic crisis of the 1990s, thousands of workers participated in strikes and road and railway blockades (Robertson 2018, 83). In 2005, the government’s controversial decision to replace benefits in kind, such as free transportation, with monetary cash payments to social groups such as pensioners and war veterans sparked spontaneous protests throughout several cities in Russia (Robertson 2018, 86). Also, protests may spread in industrial towns, as in Pikalevo during the 2009 economic downturn, when the federal and regional governments’ budgets were depleted and could not sustain local industries (Zubarevich 2013, 76).

The Russian economy is stagnant and vulnerable to an economic crisis and downturn (Zubarevich 2013, 81; Åslund 2019, 36; Gustafson 2021, 208214). Russia’s GDP growth averaged 0.8 percent per year from 2009 to 2021 (Sonin 2022). The country’s economy also suffers from Western sanctions resulting from its invasion of Ukraine (Sonin 2022). Ban on critical imports into Russia stifles its key industries (such as cars, high tech, and weapons) from developing (Sonin 2022).

Unprofitable and inefficient industrial cities, as mentioned above, are still sustained by the federal government to the detriment of the economy (Crowley 2016, 415). Regional governments, on the other hand, have limited budgets that are strained in supporting declining industries and expanding social safety nets while balancing the trade-offs of ensuring a steady flow of revenue to the centre and reducing tax rates to induce greater economic investment and growth (Remington et al. 2013, 1865; Zubarevich 2013, 76-77). Putin has also set various economic and social targets, such as improving human capital development, known as “May Directives,” for regional governors to complete with foremost priority (Petrov and Slider 2019, 65-66). This has led to the expansion of the already strained regional budgets, and new federal transfer funding can only partially cover Putin’s new targets (Petrov and Slider 2019, 66). In times of economic crisis or depression, the federal and regional governments will thus face financial difficulties in transferring funds had they participated in the 2011-12 protest cycle, “up to ninety thousand additional protesters would have taken to the streets” (Rosenfeld 2021, 33). Therefore, this difference in economic and political interest

34

impedes the Russian middle class from forming a broad democratic coalition.

Another demographic characteristic of the Russian middle class challenges modernization theory’s optimism about a linear, progressive human capital development model. As Zubarevich points out, the middle class in federal cities is experiencing a population decline (2013, 74). The World Bank’s estimation of Russia’s urban demographic changes suggests the same (2022a and 2022b). Zubarevich suggests that this decline will lead to a corresponding decrease in protest activity because as fewer young people enter the job market, employment competition will diminish while the job market stabilizes (2013, 74).

Additionally, she notes that the decreasing number of young people, a segment which has been a vital conducive factor for protest sentiments, will lead to fewer protests (Zubarevich 2013, 75). Exit options to Europe and elsewhere are also an attractive alternative for individuals with competitive market skills to escape rather than confront the autocratic regime (Zubarevich 2013, 75; Nemtsova 2022).

The government has become more sensitive to palpable threats of social and political instability from society, and it has become more determined to maintain its monopolistic control of political power by employing state repression and asserting ideological control. After all, macroeconomic and political stability is the priority of Putin’s administration (Åslund 2019, 36). Accordingly, the government has targeted regime oppositions, legalized repression, limited the growth of liberal civil society and NGOs, and employed state censorship, all to maintain its legitimate control of political power and make anti-regime protests costly for any opposition (Robertson 2018, 85-93; Mickiewicz 2018, 94-107). For example, the regime not only harassed and repressed the middle class and people who held liberal values after the 2011-12 protest cycle, but it also smeared them as “anti-Russian, foreign supported, effete and deviant” (Robertson 2018, 89).

When the regime isolates, stigmatizes, and suppresses a single, amorphously-defined social group, reducing it to a “threat” to the bystanders of that repression, the regime can gain support from those bystanders by demonstrating to them that the state is “tough” and will protect their material interests by employing violence to reduce perceived threats (Krastev and Holmes 2012, 44; Robertson 2018, 89;

Lachapelle 2022, 695-698). This was the case with the legalized stigmatization and criminalization of people who identify as LGBTQ+ (Robertson 2018, 90; Stähle 2021, 49). By repressing this community, the regime garners popular support from social groups with traditional and conservative social identities while reinforcing existing tension between groups with competing political and social identities (Robertson 2018, 89, 93).

However, labour workers and the pro-government middle class can be a threat to Russia’s social stability as well, although they have a conservative and pro-government outlook. Protests and social unrest can emerge when the government faces an economic downturn and depression and cannot sustain the employment rate of industrial towns (Aron 2008; Crowley 2016, 413). During the economic crisis of the 1990s, thousands of workers participated in strikes and road and railway blockades (Robertson 2018, 83). In 2005, the government’s controversial decision to replace benefits in kind, such as free transportation, with monetary cash payments to social groups such as pensioners and war veterans sparked spontaneous protests throughout several cities in Russia (Robertson 2018, 86). Also, protests may spread in industrial towns, as in Pikalevo during the 2009 economic downturn, when the federal and regional governments’ budgets were depleted and could not sustain local industries (Zubarevich 2013, 76).

The Russian economy is stagnant and vulnerable to an economic crisis and downturn (Zubarevich 2013, 81; Åslund 2019, 36; Gustafson 2021, 208214). Russia’s GDP growth averaged 0.8 percent per year from 2009 to 2021 (Sonin 2022). The country’s economy also suffers from Western sanctions resulting from its invasion of Ukraine (Sonin 2022). Ban on critical imports into Russia stifles its key industries (such as cars, high tech, and weapons) from developing (Sonin 2022).

Unprofitable and inefficient industrial cities, as mentioned above, are still sustained by the federal government to the detriment of the economy (Crowley 2016, 415). Regional governments, on the other hand, have limited budgets that are strained in supporting declining industries and expanding social safety nets while balancing the trade-offs of ensuring a steady flow of revenue to the centre and

35

and reducing tax rates to induce greater economic investment and growth (Remington et al. 2013, 1865; Zubarevich 2013, 76-77). Putin has also set various economic and social targets, such as improving human capital development, known as “May Directives,” for regional governors to complete with foremost priority (Petrov and Slider 2019, 65-66). This has led to the expansion of the already strained regional budgets, and new federal transfer funding can only partially cover Putin’s new targets (Petrov and Slider 2019, 66). In times of economic crisis or depression, the federal and regional governments will thus face financial difficulties in transferring funds to sustain local industries, employment, and demands for social welfare and benefits.

In times of economic crisis or depression, protests with greater scope and intensity will likely emerge from labour workers, pensioners, and the statedependent middle class when the government cannot sustain their existing social benefits and statesponsored employment. However, while spontaneous socioeconomic protests may morph into a sustained social movement demanding financial assistance, they may not necessarily lead these social groups to demand democracy or lead to democratization itself.

The extreme conditions of many industrial cities in Russia’s hinterland and the poorly developed labour unions in these cities make the formation of a broad worker movement challenging (Crowley 2016, 413).

The state, which possesses monopolistic political control over the state- and public-sector opportunities and resources, remains the sole source of income for labour workers with low market skills and competitiveness. Furthermore, the apolitical nature of socioeconomic protests would focus more on the “state’s dwindling ability to provide essential services” than the country’s lack of meaningful democracy (Dmitriev and Treisman 2012, 61).

Thus, socioeconomic dependence and social and political identities de-incentivize these social groups from forming a broad democratic coalition that demands more political participation.

In conclusion, protest-led democratization from below is highly unlikely in Russia. The Russian middle class, which seems like a promising agent of democratization, is divided and reducing in size, challenging modernization theories’ assumptions.

The narrow economic interests of the

state-dependent middle class and residents of industrial towns make them a conservative and apolitical force, stifling or delaying democratization from below. Even in an economic crisis when the state can hardly sustain employment, these groups may continue to shoulder the country’s economic liabilities in limited acquiescence because their economic interests depend on social stability—a necessary condition for the state to restore macroeconomic stability and growth. However, the extent to which they will continue to support the regime may depend on their belief in the state’s capacity to restore that macroeconomic stability and growth.

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American Enterprise Institute, October 19, 2008. Åslund, Anders. 2019. Russia’s Crony Capitalism: The Path from Market Economy to Kleptocracy. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Crowley, Stephen. 2016. “Monotowns and the political economy of industrial restructuring i Russia.” Post-Soviet Affairs 32:5 (2016): 397–422.

Dmitriev, Mikhail and Daniel Treisman. “The Other Russia: Discontent Grows in the Hinterlands.” Foreign Affairs 91 (5): 59–72.

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POLIS

Undergraduate Political Science Journal

2023

Poland’s Rule of Law Deterioration

GREGOR HRELJA 38

One of the foundational values of the European Union (EU) is to respect and adhere to the rule of law.

However, starting in 2016, the Polish government has systematically undermined Polish judicial independence and its judicial review system. Poland’s total breakdown of the rule of law is a significant threat to the EU’s interconnected legal order. While Polish populist backsliding is partly to blame, the EU bears some responsibility due to the absence of an effective mechanism that keeps member states accountable to the EU’s core values. This lack of accountability, in turn, creates a fragmented European Union with diminished prominence on the domestic and global stage. More specifically, the Polish disregard for the rule of law damages the EU’s future integration processes and opens the door to internal disagreements about the EU’s fundamental values.

This essay will proceed in three parts. First, I will examine how Poland disregarded EU rule of law.

Poland broke the delicate balance between following the EU’s fundamental values and the broad cooperation of member states. Second, I will examine what mechanisms the EU has at its disposal to stop member states from acting against EU values — a lack of an effective mechanism greatly hinders the EU’s ability to incentivize cooperation. Third, I will look at the effects of Poland’s rule of law policies on the future of the EU. Given that the rule of law in the EU underpins the institution as a whole, its absence in one member state fundamentally delegitimizes other “constitutional pillars of the EU legal system” (Amato and Verola 2018, 83).

Poland and Rule of Law In order to analyze how Poland has systematically disregarded the EU’s definition of the rule of law, one must look at how the EU defines “rule of law.”

Article F in the preamble of the 1992 Treaty on European Union (TEU) presents a significant contradiction when looking at the rule of law issues in the European Union: 1. The Union shall respect the national identities of its Member States, whose systems of government are founded on the principles of democracy (Amato and Verola 2018, 58).

2. The Union shall respect fundamental rights, as guaranteed by the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental

Freedoms signed [...] and as they result from the constitutional traditions common to the Member States, as general principles of Community law (Amato and Verola 2018, 58).

In essence, the EU is founded on fundamental values such as “respect for human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law and respect for human rights, including the rights of persons belonging to minorities” (Ziller 2018, 175).

Nevertheless, any decision must also align with Article F — the respect of each Member State’s government decisions formed on the principles of democracy. Although the concept of the rule of law is less clear than issues such as democracy and human rights, Amato and Verola argue that the EU requires an independent judiciary, parliamentary reservation, and judicial review (2018, 72). Thus, according to EU standards, if one of these critical components of the rule of law has been broken, effective rule of law does not exist in that country.

Poland’s issues with rule of law stem from the election of the far-right Law and Justice Party (PiS) in 2015. Throughout its period of governance, PiS’s strategy included years of “sustained attacks, deliberately targeting Polish courts, judges, and prosecutors” (Pech et al. 2021, 3). Further, Pech et al. highlight how Poland became the “first EU Member state to no longer have an independent judicial branch” (2021, 3) as a result of political interference by the PiS. The 2019 adoption of the ‘muzzle law’ highlights how the Polish legal system is now a “[S]oviet-style justice system” — where any Polish judge can be subject to “arbitrary disciplinary investigations, proceedings, sanctions and dismissals, initiated, conducted and adopted by unlawful bodies” (Pech et al. 2021, 3). The ruling PiS party justifies their judicial reforms with Article F (1) TEU — where the EU must respect the national identities of its member states. In 2019, Ursula von Der Leyen, the President of the European Commission, asserted that there can be “no compromise when it comes to respecting the Rule of Law” (Izdebski 2022). Subsequently, the European Commission suspended a new Polish judicial body, citing its likelihood to cause serious and irreparable damage to the EU legal order due to its ‘lack of judicial independence’” (Pech et al. 2021, 2).

In 2021, the Polish courts recognized the primacy of Polish national law over EU law (Izdebski 2022).

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This is significant because EU law recognizes the primacy of community law over domestic member state law (Carbone 2018, 186). The effectiveness of EU community law, with its prevalence over domestic laws of each member state, has never caused a dispute between the EU and a member state “thanks to the… cooperative relationship between the European Union and member states” (Carbone 2018, 186). In terms of courts, neither supranational nor national courts have absolute supremacy over one another (Tosato 2018, 162).

Building a united Europe is based on the consent and goodwill of member states; in other words, one cannot unify Europe by force. This consensusbuilding process is slow, labourious, and requires constant compromises (Tosato 2018, 167). In cases where a member state chooses to act against the collective good of the European Union, “effective and adequate action towards non-compliance with political and constitutional duties is extremely difficult”— an example of this includes the “Austrian Crisis” in 2000.¹ In recent years, the rule of law disputes with Hungary and Poland also reflect how harsher mechanisms by the European Union are needed (Woelk 2018, 36).

Poland has changed both these institutional precedents with the recognition of the supremacy of Polish national laws over EU law. The Polish government is undertaking this rule of law dispute with Brussels because PiS believes it is more important to control its domestic politics and maintain power than follow EU norms. In particular, PiS does not want to demotivate a hardcore right-wing electorate, which would disintegrate their ruling coalition (Izdebski 2022). PiS likely believes that it can violate Article F (2) of the TEU because the EU’s mechanisms to control rule of law backsliding are insubstantial.

The strictest mechanism that the EU has is Article 7 of the TEU — where member states can be sanctioned if they fail to uphold the values listed in Article F (2) of the TEU, including the rule of law.

(Amato and Verola 2018, 78) The scope of Article 7’s sanctions includes the suspension of voting rights of a member state. In order to sanction a member state, the European Parliament must first determine a “clear risk of a serious breach” (Amato and Verola 2018, 78). Next, to ratify the proposed sanction, the European Council can only pass it by a unanimous vote (Amato and Verola 2018, 78).

EU’s Mechanisms After analyzing how Poland has systematically disregarded the EU’s definition of the rule of law, I will now analyze the EU’s mechanisms to combat rule of law backsliding. There are three broad mechanisms which the EU has at its disposal:

The existence of Article 7 is essentially a deterrent, and “its inclusion in the system of treaties was precisely with the idea of not having to activate it” (Amato and Verola 2018, 78). The EU views Article 7 as a ‘nuclear option’ to be used when the situation in the member state has “deteriorated so much that no outside intervention can hope to change its course” (Amato and Verola 2018, 78). Further, Amato and Verola highlight how Article 7 can be undermined because its wording is vague: the definition of a ‘clear risk of a serious breach’ or a ‘point of no return’ is up for debate by member states (2018, 78). In 2017, Poland became the first EU Member State to be subject to the EU’s ‘nuclear’ Article 7(1) procedure (Pech et al. 2021, 5). Yet, due to the requirement of unanimity, the mechanism failed to be implemented, as Hungary and Poland agreed to form a “voting bloc” to vote against Article 7(1) ever being implemented against them (Pech et al. 2021, 6).

1. Cooperation and voluntary respect; 2. Legislative powers, such as Article 7 TEU; 3. Economic powers such as sanctions or fines.

After this examination, it is evident that these three mechanisms only work to a limited extent, as even after being subject to all the EU’s mechanisms, Poland continues to disregard EU values. In recent years, the rule of law disputes with Hungary and Poland also reflect how harsher mechanisms by the European Union EU are needed (Woelk 2018, 36). A truly effective mechanism to prevent member states from acting against its legal principles does not exist.

Woelk (2018) highlights the “goodwill” paradox, the principle underlying the functioning of the EU legal system. Due to the difficulties with enforcement on a state level, the functioning of the EU legal system is wholly based on the “voluntary respect of its rules by member states” (35).

1. In response to the election of a far-right government in Austria in 2000, the EU enforced the 'diplomatic isolation' of Austria — despite there not being a legal basis for such a measure.

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Beyond the Article 7 procedure, economic power is the EU’s best mechanism to keep member states in check. Verdun characterized the EU as an economic giant but a political dwarf — “the EU has always used its soft power over its military capacity to solve problems” (2018, 117). The EU has hit Poland with a multitude of fines and has begun withholding EU funding to Poland for violating the rule of law principles (Izdebski 2022). However, this also seems ineffective; as of December 2022, the Polish government has not reversed its rule of law reforms (Izdebski 2022).

Since member states maintain autonomy and control over the majority of their domestic resources, European integration requires cooperation between states. A system of standard rules and best practices is “far more important for the development for the function of EU integration and cooperation, over the budget and common policies” (Ziller 2018, 175). This is why the rule of law is vital to the EU. EU policy is wholly based on he assumption that “legal compliance is a given, and each member state has adequate procedures and internal safeguards” (Amato and Verola 2018, 83). The absence of the rule of law in Poland reveals that the EU lacks specific procedures and safeguards, which presents further challenges to future European enlargement.

Future Integration Challenges In this section, I will examine how Poland’s rule of law policies affect the EU’s future. The deterioration of rule of law in Poland happened because the EU did not have an easy mechanism to stop it. Mass mobilization for abstract concepts such as the separation of powers and the independence of the judiciary is challenging. Further, the Polish government’s rule of law violations happened incrementally over a more extended period (Amato and Verola 2018, 77). These factors all contributed to the situation today. Despite this, “the structural nature of the rule of law — is the most fundamental bulwark in defence of all the Union’s fundamentals” (Amato and Verola 2018, 77). As a result of Poland’s actions, the door to significant challenges to future European integration has opened.

There is a school of thought that member states voluntarily seek to integrate into the EU because integration is an advantage for them rather than an obligation (Woelk 2018, 36). In other words, cooperation among member states is explained by a “rational strategy,” where many problems can be “better managed by sharing aspects of a member state’s sovereignty,” such as a shared currency (Costa and Brack 2019, 52). The only thing underpinning cooperation between member states is the idea of maximizing gains. As a member state, the Polish government benefits from all the economic benefits of the EU but is able to manipulate the rule of law to further its domestic political interests. Poland knows that it can push the EU because there is no mechanism to remove them. They are now maximizing their gains.

The European Union has proactively prepared for challenges relating to how future integration will affect their shared values. In the early 2000s, with the enlargement of the EU to include many former Warsaw Pact member states, there was an ‘unspoken assumption’ that the EU’s community of shared values was “no longer sustainable”. (Amato and Verola 2018, 62). As a result, the EU amended certain articles, such as Article 49 of the TEU, which “requests the commitment of the member states in promoting its values and interests” (Amato and Verola 2018, 62). Further, Article 3(5) of the TEU states that “the union shall uphold and promote its values and interests” (Amato and Verola 2018, 62). Yet, without specifying what said ‘values and interests’ are, and what priority they should be ‘upheld and promoted’ — member states, like Poland, have plausible deniability toward upholding certain values and not upholding others.

Lastly, European integration “enables effective governance by insulating policy-making from politicization at the domestic level” (Borzel and Risse 2018, 86). Poland’s success in challenging the EU on a fundamental value such as rule of law could set a dangerous precedent. This could accelerate the increasing divides within Europe where the rise of populism proves that more people identify with their nation-state over Europe as a whole (Borzel and Risse 2018, 87). In other words, the growing success and normalization of Poland’s “Eurosceptic viewpoint,” could lead others to follow such a path, which would cause a fundamental rupture in the EU (Costa and Brack 2019, 36).

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Conclusion: Future of the EU? Pech, Laurent, Patryk Wachowiec, and Dariusz Mazur. 2021.

“Poland’s Rule of Law Breakdown: A Five-Year Assessment of EU’s (In)action.” Hague Journal on the Rule of Law 13 (1): 1-43.

Skeptics point out that the EU has faced a crisis which has threatened its existence on many occasions — the empty chair crisis in the 1960s, the currency fluctuations in the 1970s, the rejection of the constitutional treaty in 2004, the Eurozone crisis that began in 2008, and the war in Ukraine in 2022 (Tosato 2018, 168). Yet, although each of these crises has resulted in a shifting of the institutional balance of the EU, the EU as a whole has survived and has emerged stronger from these crises (Tosato 2018, 168).

Tosato, Gian Luigi. 2018. "The Institutional Framework of the European Union." In The History of the European Union: Constructing Utopia, edited by Giuliano Amato, Enzo MoaveroMilanesi, Gianfranco Pasquino and Lucrezia Reichlin, 151–170.

Oxford: Hart Publishing.

Verdun, Amy. 2018. “Theories of European Integration and Governance,” in European Union Governance and Policy Making: A Canadian Perspective, edited by Emmanuel BrunetJailly, Achim Hurrelmann, and Amy Verdun, 105-124. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

However, the rule of law crisis in the European Union is different from previous crises. This is a disagreement about fundamental values, which is causing a rupture within the EU. In order to survive, the European Union must come to a consensus on whether it prioritizes respect for policies made by democratically elected national governments or the protection of the fundamental rights of the European Union. Poland disregarding the rule of law without adequate punishment sets a precedent for other member states to act against Article F of the TEU, which underpins the EU. The EU’s current mechanisms are insufficient to bring Poland back ‘onside’. The EU must do more—its survival as an institution is at stake.

Woelk, Jens. 2018. “From Enlargement Perspective to ‘Waiting for Godot’? Has the EU Lost Its Transformative Power in the Balkans?” In Highs and Lows of European Integration, 27– 47.

Cham: Springer International Publishing.

Ziller, Jacques. 2018. "The Acquis: European Union Law and So Many Laws." In The History of the European Union: Constructing Utopia, edited by Giuliano Amato, Enzo MoaveroMilanesi, Gianfranco Pasquino and Lucrezia Reichlin, 171–184.

Oxford: Hart Publishing.

Bibliography Amato, Giuliano, and Nicola Verola. 2018. "Freedom, Democracy, Rule of Law." In The History of the European Union: Constructing Utopia, edited by Giuliano Amato, Enzo Moavero- Milanesi, Gianfranco Pasquino and Lucrezia Reichlin, 57–88. Oxford: Hart Publishing.

Börzel, Tanja A., and Thomas Risse. 2018. “From the Euro to the Schengen Crises: European Integration Theories, Politicization, and Identity Politics.” Journal of European Public Policy 25 (1): 83–108.

Carbone, Sergio M. 2018. "The Principle of the Primacy of EU Law Over the National Legal Systems of Member States." In The History of the European Union: Constructing Utopia , edited by Giuliano Amato, Enzo Moavero-Milanesi, Gianfranco Pasquino and Lucrezia Reichlin, 185–198. Oxford: Hart Publishing.

Costa, Olivier, and Nathalie Brack. 2019. How the EU Really Works. London: Routledge.

Izdebski, Krzysztof. 2022. “Rule of Law Reform – Poland's Government Succeeds at Achieving Nothing.” Visegrad Insight, October 19, 2022.

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Songs of Protest and Popular Nationalism in Dictatorship-Era Brazil

Carolina Morum de Sant’Anna Xavier 43

On March 25th, 2022, a handful of artists led a political demonstration at Lollapalooza Brazil, rallying crowds with “Fora Bolsonaro” chants which called for the removal of then-Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro––a far-right former military captain. The following night, an electoral judge of Brazil’s Supreme Court officially banned what he called “political propaganda” in support of leftist parties during the international music festival, with an associated fine of up to R$50,000 (almost USD$11,000) (Phillip 2022).

The aftermath of this ruling saw Brazilian artists and audiences alike denouncing the decision as dangerously reminiscent of the country’s previous dictatorial period of the 1960s and ‘70s, when censorship laws prohibited artistic expression that might have been critical of the military government (Phillip 2022). At the time, music festivals had also been a major rallying point for anti-authoritarian or leftist discourse which, without an outlet in the political stage, manifested itself through music and created a cultural and political movement through a new form of popular Brazilian nationalism.

The come-and-go of Brazilian protest music genres contributed to the development of collective national identity by blending modern and traditional aspects of Brazilian culture and mobilizing popular art as a form of political action rather than passive entertainment.

Common, accessible language and spoken poetry were used to sidestep military censorship, acting as a rallying point for a new Brazilian national identity. At the same time, this form of Brazilian nationalism interacted with the international scene as exiled artists came to influence and be influenced by political music and related movements in other Latin American and Western cultures. The development of Brazilian music constantly interacted with foreign genres and political sentiments, especially as Rio de Janeiro became a major cultural capital of the world through its annual music festivals, which, for many years, functioned as a center for underhand political expression.

The 5th Institutional Act of December 1968 is often discussed as the final puzzle piece of Brazil’s military dictatorship (Rezende 2008, 7). It strictly prohibited any manifestation of political sentiment, public or otherwise, contradicting or criticizing Brazil’s military regime, while centring political power firmly at the head of state (Dushá 2017). This was the beginning of the end of Brazil’s international music festivals, which had begun to flourish shortly after the dictatorship

itself in 1964 (Stroud 2000, 89). This was not coincidental. Censorship laws had been put in place immediately after the military coup in April 1964, formally and informally (Perrone 2022, 71). As open political expression was increasingly stifled in the following months, a new movement grew as the Brazilian people turned to indirect means of expression through music.

Until the early 1960s, popular Brazilian music was comfortably centered around Bossa Nova, a laid back style of music that relied on sparse guitar instrumentals and soft chorus vocals for an easy export to Western audiences abroad (Moreno 1982, 130). After the Coup of ‘64, a transitional second wave of Bossa Nova introduced more contentious topics of Brazilian politics to this easy-going soundscape as political frustrations were stifled in the general population (Treece 1997, 3). Music became a primary outlet for these growing fears and frustrations as state-sponsored violence became commonplace in Brazil (Rezende 2008, 8).

As anti-dictatorship activists, and later sympathizers, were disappeared off the streets, these stifled sentiments grew (Perrone 2002, 67).

However, the space for open protest diminished rapidly until the only safe avenue for a nation-wide wave of fear and repression was through art (Perrone 2002, 67). This is the setting in which second-wave Bossa Nova transitioned to Popular Brazilian Music (Música Popular Brasileira, or MPB), an inherently political, leftist-associated genre of music which actively sought to adopt native Brazilian soundscapes and modern Brazilian politics into artistic expression (Perrone 2002, 69).

MPB music festivals became a staple of Brazilian culture as artists were able to perform strongly opinionated songs and audiences convened in the closest thing to an explicitly political setting as possible at the time (Stroud 2000, 89). Music became a medium not just for entertainment or foreign cultural integration, but for voiced and shared opinions that were otherwise prohibited.

Music was not the only means of underhand political expression that grew at the time, but it was by far the most important to the development of a new popular Brazilian nationalism—it made language infinitely more accessible. In Imagined Communities (1983), Benedict Anderson explores the birth of nationalism through the spread of print media, which allowed for the standardization of a

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common, accessible language across large groups of people (36). Print-capitalism, through books and newspapers, contributed to the formation of shared stories, news, and realities across widespread populations, creating a common national identity (Anderson 1983, 37). There is a significant discrepancy between Anderson’s theory and the reality of what happened in Brazil—rather than print media, the spread of accessible and common language and narratives was facilitated by increasingly cheap recordings of popular music through cassette tapes, vinyl records, and radio broadcasting (Turino 2003, 187). Interestingly, it was relatively rare for Brazilian music albums in leftist dictatorship-time genres such as MPB and Tropicália to be studio-recorded and distributed. Instead, songs were often approved for release and recorded for the first time with a live audience in music festivals which were broadcasted nation-wide (Stroud 2000, 93).

Recordings of these performances were available for relatively cheap in-store purchases, but listeners were also able to personally record these broadcasts at home (Stroud 2000, 93).

Literacy rates in Brazil were extremely low at the time, particularly across lower-income groups in the North, Northeast, and Southeast regions (Stroud 1997, 96; Leu 2016, 15). This had previously contributed to a form of cultural isolation between the five regions of Brazil when print media in particular reached only small populations in the poorest states due to widespread illiteracy (Leu 2016, 13). However, as audio technology became more accessible during the ‘60s and ‘70s it was able to reach audiences that could not have had the same exposure to print media (Treece 1997, 3). The popularization of language played an important role in the birth of this new nationalism, as Anderson discusses, but it did so even more rapidly as it relied on media that did not require formal education to be consumed.

There was another reason why this standardized language became important to Brazilian nationalism: the need to bypass increasingly harsh censorship laws for the music to be approved for release in the first place. Initially, this was not too difficult. Lyricism and spoken poetry have been a significant part of Brazilian art since the pre-colonial years, with roots especially in Native and Afro-Brazilian cultures (Rezende 2008, 16). At first, it was a matter of

introducing a few pointed metaphors into an otherwise harsh political message. Caetano Veloso, one of the most significant musicians of the time and a pioneer of both MPB and Tropicália, has joked about rifling through synonyms of a particular word dozens of times to get a song approved for release—an annoying, but not necessarily crippling process (Calil and Terra 2020).

As the effect of lyrical protest became increasingly significant and apparent to not only the Brazilian public but also to the government, censorship laws related to art and music grew increasingly strict (Rezende 2008, 16). Artists were exiled or fled the country to avoid being blacklisted or disappearing.

Geraldo Azevedo’s Canção de Despedida (Goodbye Song), written in 1968, was one of many to be blocked entirely until the transitional years of the dictatorship in 1985 (Azevedo 1985). Artists had to become increasingly creative with their lyrics, which they did through audible wordplay, homophones, and disjointed verse structures that had to be scrambled to be made sense of.

The fact that songs were approved for release in written form and only later recorded and spread audibly was incredibly significant to their ability to bypass prohibitive censorship laws. The most famous example of this is in Chico Buarque’s Cálice (Chalice), released in 1972 when censorship was incredibly strict, which, in written form, cites the Holy Bible: “Father, take that chalice away from me” (Buarque 1972). Out loud, however, it uses the homophone “Cale-se” (Be quiet) to denounce the dictatorship’s oppression: “Father, get away from me and be quiet” (Buarque 1972; Rezende 2008, 21). In 1975, the federal police stopped a performance of Cálice, forcefully removing one microphone at a time (Perrone 2002, 71). The performance was recorded, and this poetic demonstration of the song’s message—Be quiet!— became anthemic to the anti-dictatorship movement nation-wide (Perrone 2002, 71).

The fact that performances in MPB festivals were recorded was incredibly significant to the development of a broader national political conscience. Those who were unable to attend festivals personally still shared in the avid sentiments and reactions of live audiences through recordings which immortalized political moments (Stroud 2000, 93). What was recorded in festivals

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guided national sentiment in one direction or another.

This is exemplified in the recordings of the 1968 FIC festival in Rio—these are still the versions one will find today in modern streaming platforms, audience reactions included—when Bossa Nova darlings Tom Jobim and Chico Buarque’s sentimental exile song, which lamented the loss of their homeland, was met with booing and profanities. The song won the festival despite the audience’s distaste for its old-fashioned sound and soft political message (Buarque 1968; Stroud 2000, 89).

Shortly after, as Geraldo Vandré came onstage to perform the crowd favourite Pra Não Dizer Que Não Falei das Flores (So that [they] don’t claim I never spoke of flowers), he pleads with the crowd to calm down, telling them that “life is bigger than festivals”— that ideas shared in festivals were meant to be applied beyond them—before leading the audience of thousands into a strong, emotional performance that would birth a symbol for political change in the dictatorship’s transitional years (Vandré 1979; Perrone 2002, 73). These two recordings reveal two significant shifts in Brazil. First, the gentler sounds of Bossa Nova and MPB finally gave way to the much harsher genre of Brazilian Tropicália (Spagnolo 2020).

Second, they marked the end of music festivals as a legitimate space for political activism as, after the passing of AI-5, the government intervened in the previously audience-led festivals to ensure such a strongly political song as Vandré’s could not win in the eyes of the Brazilian public or the rest of the world, as Brazilian festivals had by then become a global center for music and cultural exchange (Stroud 2000, 93).

Both of these points relate to the interaction of Brazilian protest music with the larger international system. In particular, the chronological development of new Brazilian music genres is reminiscent of Anderson’s discussion of the interaction between popular and official nationalism—which seeks to emulate the effect of the development of a shared language in popular nationalism by introducing a state-sponsored unifying language instead (Anderson 1983, 86). The dictatorship held significant ties to the United States through a Western anti-Communist neoimperialist movement in Latin America as a whole and involved Western cultural imports into Brazil through music (Perrone 2002, 75). This was used as a way to push for a clean, state-sponsored version of popular music in Brazil in the Jovem Guarda genre,

which strongly emulated popular Western rock sounds, steering clear of political messages, although it was associated with right-wing politics and a general support of the dictatorship (Treece 1997, 19). This process, as Anderson discusses, sought to create a new national language in music that became popular in its own right (Anderson 1983). This form of official nationalism came as an explicit reaction to the strength of the popular nationalism of MPB. There was a similar reaction to official nationalism in popular nationalism, a second wave of protest music in Brazil that came about, rather controversially, in Tropicália. MPB aimed to engage strictly with Native and Afro-Brazilian styles of lyricism, song structure, instrumentation, and language, openly rejecting the neoimperialist movement of Western sounds into Brazilian music for the sake of Western consumption, characteristic of Bossa Nova (Perrone 2002, 63). This became set in stone when Jovem Guarda began to associate more heavily with the military government (Treece 1997, 18-19). The first wave of popular nationalism found pride in its inclusion of a more authentically Brazilian soundscape and energy.

Tropicália, on the other hand, embraced Western genres and even languages in a differentially Brazilian way, adopting the principles of Oswald de Andrade’s “Anthropophagic [Cannibal] Manifesto” which advocated for an absorption and appropriation of the “enemy” (imperialist culture) into Brazilian culture for its own benefit (Andrade 1928; Golden 2022). When some of the same artists who solidified the MPB genre changed course to instead found Tropicália, it was seen as a betrayal not only of Brazilian culture, but of the antidictatorship movement as a whole.

An immortalized recording of the 1968 MPB festival in Rio reveals this sentiment very clearly.

Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil, who were both exiled to the United Kingdom in the mid-1960s, wrote and performed a song named after a slogan of the May ‘68 student protests in France: É Proibido Proibir (“It is forbidden to forbid”) (Veloso and Os Mutantes 1968). Veloso and Gil pioneered the genre with obnoxiously loud Western rock sounds, song structures reminiscent of The Beatles, and an intense appeal to homoerotic sexuality on stage (Dushá 2017; Blikstad 2021).

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Veloso performed in Rio in 1968 and was met with one of the most violent recorded receptions in any festival.

The performance ended with food and glass threw at the stage as Veloso screamed at the crowd for minutes on end. Eventually, however, the words he repeated in this performance—“God is on the loose!”—would become a slogan for the nationalist movement similar to those before it (Dushá 2017; Beta 2016). Tropicália marked a transitional period between the first decade of the dictatorship in its dwindling freedom and a much louder and aggressive nationalism in the 1970s and between the mild, sorrowful sounds of MPB and a thriving postdictatorship Brazilian Rock genre (Beta 2016; Areias 2011). It encouraged Brazilian national pride through an appropriation of state-backed Western music in Jovem Guarda, turning it on its head and destroying its purpose of official nationalism to become, instead, politically charged and firmly anti-dictatorship.

The interaction between Brazilian nationalism and international movements went both ways. The 1965 International Song Festival (FIC) in Rio was the first music festival to encompass such an international scope of performers (Stroud 2000, 91). Going forward, the annual FIC was split in two parts: first, MPB festivals where audiences would choose the Brazilian song that would compete with other countries; second, an international competition between artists of different cultures (Stroud 2000, 98). Meanwhile, artists such as Veloso, Gil, Buarque, and many others had left Brazil to create music safely away from an increasingly violent police state regime (Stroud 2000, 104). Although there was some introduction of Brazilian music, and therefore the Brazilian nationalist movement and its politics, into Western music through artists such as Beck and David Byrne, there was a more explicitly political exchange of nationalist, leftist, and anti-authoritarian sentiment within Latin America (Stroud 2000, 91).

Brazil shared with many other Latin American countries at the time a struggle against a US-backed military regime which was harshly anti-left. Throughout the postwar 20th century in Latin America, right-wing regimes were implemented in a domino-like effect across the region, leftist movements in different countries became increasingly reliant on each other not only for an ideological basis to rally people around but also as points of reference for resistance

against similarly oppressive governments (Dulitzky 2019, 426). Methods of oppression were common among different dictatorial regimes—for one, the forced disappearances in Brazil had been pioneered in Argentina, and later emulated across the region (Dulitzky 2019, 429). Methods of resistance were similarly shared across sympathizing movements, which were increasingly self-referencing and interwoven as popular leftist leaders—of both guerrillas and music—moved across countries to escape persecution.

This shared experience of resistance was exemplified in music in the exchange of messages and sounds between movements such as Brazilian Tropicália, Chile’s Nueva Canción, and Argentina’s Rock Nacional. The Nueva Canción functioned as a pioneering genre of Latin American protest music as a response to oppressive governments (Neustadt 2004, 129; Lopez 2017). It developed alongside MPB and second-wave Bossa Nova with a similar traditionalist interest in reintroducing Native South American soundscapes and structures to modern Chilean music while introducing stronger political, anti-imperialist messages into otherwise soft styles (Moreno 2022). This style of music spread across Latin America, and Hispanic countries in particular, in the late 1950s and early ‘60s.

Throughout the 1960s, as the military dictatorship in Brazil cracked down on artistic expression as a means to control national sentiment, Hispanic dictatorships followed suit, and remaining artists of Nueva Canción began to adopt MPB’s underhand, wordplay-based style of political expression as Brazil transitioned into Tropicália (Turino 2003, 172). Similarly, Tropicália’s introduction of Westernstyle rock and sexuality to Brazilian music functioned as a jumping-off point for the wider acceptance of a Latin American cultural cannibalism movement, such as in the development of Argentina’s Rock Nacional (Lopez 2017; Neustadt 2004). The development of different and interwoven genres of Latin American protest music held similar political and popular significance as those in Brazil.

Thus, Brazilian protest music genres, and the popular nationalism born from it, interacted and influenced the wider international political sentiments and forms of protest in Latin America.

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Buarque, Chico. 1978. “Apesar de Você.” Track 11 on Chico Buarque.

Throughout the dictatorship era, Brazilian protest music became a primary form of national political expression and cultural development as it moved continuously across genres. This was the first time in Brazilian history when music became primarily a medium for politics rather than pleasure, while simultaneously allowing for a centring of root Brazilian styles to flourish and serve as a unifying force in an otherwise sprawling and disparate culture. The development of popular Brazilian nationalism through protest music genres such as second-wave Bossa Nova, MPB, and Tropicália facilitated the spread of a common language—in more than one sense of the word, through spoken poetry and wordplay, a common cultural and political context, and mainstream political and entertainment media—which functioned as resistance to state oppression. At the same time, it interacted with and influenced a wider leftist antiauthoritarian movement in Latin America, informing and informing by simultaneously musical and political movements. This time period set the stage for what would become not only mainstream Brazilian music but also a larger Brazilian national identity.

Buarque, Chico. 1978. “Cálice.” Track 2 on Chico Buarque.

Buarque, Chico. 2012. “Jorge Maravilha.” Track 10 on Umas e Outras.

Buarque, Chico. Lyrics to “Apesar de Você.” Genius.

Buarque, Chico. Lyrics to “Cálice.” Genius.

Buarque, Chico. Lyrics to “Jorge Maravilha.” Genius.

Calil, Ricardo and Renato Terra, dir. 2020. Narcissus Off Duty / Narciso em Férias. Boa Viagem Distribuidora, 2020.

Carruyo, Light. 2005. “La Gaita Zuliana: Music and the Politics of Protest in Venezuela.” Latin American Perspectives 32 (3): 98-111.

Dulitzky, Ariel E. 2019. “The Latin-American Flavor of Enforced Disappearances.” Chicago Journal of International Law 19 (2): 243-289.

Dushá, Germano. 2017. “Deus está solto!” Wallstreet International Magazine, March 15, 2017.

Gil, Gilberto. 1972. “Back in Bahia.” Track 2 on Expresso 2222.

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