TRANSITIONS FROM
POSTCOMMUNISM
Michael McFaul
The collapse of communism did not lead smoothly or quickly to the
consolidation of liberal democracy in Europe and the former Soviet
Union.1
At the time of regime change, from 1989 into the first few years
of the 1990s, popular democratic movements in the three Baltic states,
Hungary, Poland, Slovenia, eastern Germany, and western Czechoslovakia
translated initial electoral victories into consolidated liberal
democracy. These quick and successful democratic breakthroughs were
the exception, however. Bulgaria, Croatia, Romania, and eastern
Czechoslovakia (after 1992 known simply as Slovakia) failed to consolidate
liberal democracy soon after communism collapsed. Yet in time,
the gravitational force of the European Union did much to draw these
countries onto a democratic path.
Farther from Western Europe, however, there was no such strong
prodemocratic pull. Full-blown dictatorships entrenched themselves
early across most of Central Asia and, after its 1994 presidential election,
in Belarus. Semi-autocracies and partial democracies spread across
the rest of the ex-Soviet states, including Russia. By the end of the
1990s, further democratic gains in the region seemed unlikely.
Starting in the year 2000, however, democracy gained new dynamism
in the region in unexpected ways and places. In October of that
year, Serbian democratic forces ousted dictator Slobodan Miloševiæ.
Three years later, Georgia’s far less odious but still semi-autocratic president
Eduard Shevardnadze fell before a mobilization of democratic
forces. The following year, in a similar drama but on a much grander
Michael McFaul is Peter and Helen Bing Senior Fellow at the Hoover
Institution and associate professor of political science at Stanford University.
He is also a nonresident senior associate at the Carnegie
Endowment for International Peace. His latest book, edited with
Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, is After the Collapse of Communism: Comparative
Lessons of Transitions (2004).
Journal of Democracy Volume 16, Number 3 July 2005
Journal of Democracy6
stage, Ukrainian democrats toppled the handpicked successor of corrupt
outgoing president Leonid Kuchma.2
The Serbian, Georgian, and Ukrainian cases of democratic breakthrough
resemble one another—and differ from other democratic
transitions or revolutions—in four critical respects. First, in all three cases,
the spark for regime change was a fraudulent national election, not a war,
an economic crisis, a split between ruling elites, an external shock or
international factor, or the death of a dictator. Second, the democratic
challengers deployed extraconstitutional means solely to defend the existing,
democratic constitution rather than to achieve a fundamental
rewriting of the rules of the political game. Third, each country for a time
witnessed challengers and incumbents making competing and simultaneous
claims to hold sovereign authority—one of the hallmarks of a
revolutionary situation.3
Fourth, all of these revolutionary situations
ended without mass violence. The challengers often consciously embraced
nonviolence on principle, using occasionally extraconstitutional
but almost always peaceful tactics. The failing incumbents do seem to
have tried coercive methods including assaults on journalists and opposition
candidates and the closing of media outlets. But no incumbents
dared to call on military or other state-security forces to repress protest.
Another remarkable thing about these democratic breakthroughs is how
few analysts predicted them. To many it seemed a miracle that Serbian
democratic forces could overcome a decade of disunity in order first to
beat Miloševiæ in a presidential election on 24 September 2000, and then
to galvanize hundreds of thousands of citizens to demand that the actual
election result be honored when it became clear that Miloševiæ was trying
to falsify it. Similarly dramatic events unfolded in Georgia after Shevardnadze
tried to steal the November 2003 parliamentary elections, leading to
his resignation as president and a landslide victory for opposition leader
Mikheil Saakashvili in a hastily scheduled January 2004 balloting. While
many anticipated controversy over Ukraine’s autumn 2004 presidential
election, most observers still expected that Kuchma would find a way to
make his chosen successor, Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovich, Ukraine’s
next president. Not even opposition leaders predicted the scale and duration
of the street protests, which would break out after the government
tried to claim that Yanukovich had won the November runoff against Viktor
Yushchenko of the prodemocratic “Our Ukraine” coalition.4
Identifying the common factors that contributed to success in these
cases may be our best method of predicting future democratic breakthroughs
not only in this region but perhaps in others as well. Deploying
John Stuart Mill’s “method of similarity”—which holds that in order to
be considered necessary to the causation of a certain effect, a variable
must be present be in every case—we can assemble a list of commonalities
that unite Serbia in 2000, Georgia in 2003, and Ukraine in 2004 as
cases of successful democratic breakthrough.
Michael McFaul 7
The factors for success include 1) a semi-autocratic rather than fully
autocratic regime; 2) an unpopular incumbent; 3) a united and organized
opposition; 4) an ability quickly to drive home the point that voting
results were falsified, 5) enough independent media to inform citizens
about the falsified vote, 6) a political opposition capable of mobilizing
tens of thousands or more demonstrators to protest electoral fraud, and 7)
divisions among the regime’s coercive forces. We should also note that
these cases were not wholly independent from one another, and indeed
were most likely linked by demonstration effects. Moreover, identifying
the commonalities may also help us to isolate other factors often regarded
as vital to success that were not present in all these cases.
A semi-autocratic regime. All autocratic regimes are vulnerable to
collapse at some point. But which kinds of autocracies are more vulnerable
than others? Some observers posit that semi-autocratic or “competitive
authoritarian” regimes are more open to democratization than
full-blown dictatorships, while others argue that semi-autocracies or partial
democracies can actually do more to block genuine democratization
by deflecting societal pressures for change.5
In this second wave of democratization in the postcommunist world,
every incumbent regime was some form of competitive autocracy or
partial democracy, in which formal democratic procedures—elections
especially—were never suspended.6
This particular regime type in turn
allowed pockets of pluralism and opposition within the state, which
proved critical to democratic breakthrough.
Even Miloševiæ, the communist-turned-ultranationalist provocateur
who won election to first the Serbian and later the Yugoslav federal
presidency while pursuing policies of ethnic cleansing and aggression,
never set up a full-blown dictatorship. He harassed opposition movements
but never outlawed them. He occasionally shut down independent
media outlets, and ordered the assassination of outspoken journalists,
but he also allowed critical outlets such as the B-92 radio station to
reopen. He let human rights organizations continue their work, and while
he tampered with the results of elections, he never banned them altogether.
Parliamentary elections helped to sustain opposition leaders and
parties, even if they enjoyed no real power. More importantly, local
elections allowed the democratic movement to gain footholds in more
than a dozen regional parliaments as well as the Belgrade mayor’s office
in 1996 and 1997 (though only after more than three months of protests
to force Miloševiæ to honor the results). With control of these regional
governments also came control over regional media outlets, a vital resource
in Milo¡seviæ’s ouster in 2000.
In Georgia, Shevardnadze early in his rule created conditions for
democratic institutions and actors to emerge, including Georgia’s most
popular television station, Rustavi-2. Although he tried to become more
Journal of Democracy8
authoritarian as time wore on, his achievements fell far short of his
ambitions. Attempts at monitoring and curtailing the activities of civil
society and the media had limited effects or even backfired. Shevardnadze’s
state lacked the resources to be more effectively harsher, and
the president himself often seemed irresolute about repression, perhaps
because so many of his leading critics had at one time been part of his
own camp.
Kuchma came to power in Ukraine through a competitive 1994 election,
in which he had proclaimed it as his goal to move forward with the
consolidation of democracy. Instead he eventually tried to build a “managed
democracy”—combining formal democratic practices with informal
control of all political institutions—similar to President Vladimir Putin’s
in Russia. But Kuchma never enjoyed anything like Putin’s popularity,
and many of his clumsy and brutal attempts to squelch critics served to
mobilize even greater opposition. The “Ukraine Without Kuchma” campaign
from December 2000 to March 2001 and the results of the March
2002 parliamentary elections demonstrated that Ukrainian society was
active and politically sophisticated. The success of “Our Ukraine” in
the 2002 voting gave it a foothold within state institutions. Kuchma
never quite rallied all of Ukraine’s economic elites behind his rule, and
the fall of 2004 found them still divided.
An unpopular incumbent. A second necessary condition for democratic
breakthrough in all of these countries was the falling popularity of
the incumbent leader. This factor may seem obvious, but it is also a feature
that distinguishes theses cases from countries such as Russia, where President
Putin is still popular, or countries like Mexico during the heyday of
semi-authoritarian rule, when the ruling party could manufacture electoral
victories without major voter fraud. In Serbia, polls put Milo¡seviæ’s popularity
at less than 30 percent by the summer of 2000.7
In Georgia, 82
percent of respondents were saying as early as 2001 that the country was
going in the wrong direction, up from 51 percent the year before.8
Kuchma’s
approval ratings plummeted during his last year in office.
The causes of presidential unpopularity differ from case to case and can
be difficult to trace within each one. Miloševiæ had won a number of free
and fair elections and persistently sought mandates from the voters. He
himself had changed the Yugoslav constitution to set up his campaign for
direct election to the federal presidency in September 2000. Yet several
military defeats, culminating with capitulation to the 1999 NATO air campaign,
and years of economic decline severely undermined his support.
Shevardnadze too was popular at first. Yet he failed to set Georgia’s
economy on a sound course even as Rustavi-2 and other independent
media sources began exposing the growing corruption of his government
and made honesty in public life a major issue in the 2003
parliamentary elections. Shevardnadze also suffered for having failed
Michael McFaul 9
to win or satisfactorily resolve wars or territorial disputes in the troubled
regions of Abkhazia, South Ossetia, and Ajaria.
In 1994 and again in 1999, Kuchma won a presidential election judged
relatively free and fair by regional standards. During his second term,
economic growth began after a decade of contraction, roaring to a record
12 percent in 2004. Yet severe corruption made him unpopular. Typifying
the rot was Kuchma’s apparent complicity—illustrated by leaked
audiotapes—in the 2000 abduction and assassination of Web-based investigative
reporter Georgi Gongadze. More than any other event,
Gongadze’s murder exposed the illegitimacy of Kuchma and his allies.
A united opposition. A united opposition—or at least the perception
of one—is a third factor that appears crucial for democratic breakthrough,
although the extent of unity varies widely enough across the cases that
one may question its necessity as a factor. In Serbia and Ukraine, unity
before the election was critical to success; in Georgia, less so. This may
have been because the former countries had presidential elections, while
Georgia held parliamentary balloting. In each case, however, a viable
alternative to the incumbent leader seemed critical.
Throughout the 1990s, personality clashes had plagued the Serbian
democratic movement and tarnished its reputation. In January 2000,
Serbia’s democrats agreed to set aside their differences to create a united
front, the Democratic Opposition of Serbia (DOS). Most importantly, DOS
settled behind one presidential candidate, Vojislav Koštunica, for the September
2000 presidential election. At the time, Koštunica headed the
relatively small Democratic Party of Serbia and had only modest fame. Yet
polls showed that Koštunica’s newness, coupled with his brand of moderate
nationalism, made him the ideal opposition candidate. Support began
to gel behind him firmly and broadly enough to make him seem the potent
challenger for whom so many Serbian voters had been longing.
Ukrainian democrats also created the perception of unity in the runup
to the 2004 presidential election. For much of the previous decade,
Ukraine’s democratic forces had remained divided and disorganized.
The crafting of opposition unity was complicated by the presence of
strong and legitimate Socialist Party, which made cooperation with liberals
difficult. Nor, for many years, was there a single, charismatic leader
of the opposition who stood out as an obvious first among equals. Ironically,
Kuchma helped to create such a leader when he dismissed Viktor
Yushchenko as his prime minister in 2001.
While known more as a technocrat than a politician, Yushchenko had
overseen economic growth and otherwise done well in office, making
him a dangerous opponent to the party of power. His new “Our Ukraine”
bloc captured a quarter of the popular vote in the 2002 parliamentary
elections, causing other contenders for the role of opposition standardbearer
to step aside in advance of the 2004 presidential balloting.
Journal of Democracy10
Facing legislative elections under a system of proportional representation,
the Georgian opposition had little reason to unite before polling
day. Saakashvili’s National Movement was one of three serious opposition
blocs, and gained only a fifth of the popular vote. But in the
37-year-old Saakashvili, a U.S.-trained lawyer and former justice minister,
the transformative moment of the postelectoral protests against
Shevardnadze’s chicanery found a revolutionary leader. Saakashvili
gave fiery speeches, mobilized popular protest, and took bold decisions.
His thin ties to the old regime (he had quit the cabinet in protest)
helped him. His decision to lead unarmed protestors to storm into the
parliament chamber and interrupt a Shevardnadze speech was a more
radical and less constitutional step than anything that the Serbian or
Ukrainian democrats did or would later do. It was also tactically risky:
Had part of the Georgian democratic opposition refused to go along,
Shevardnadze might have been tempted to fight harder to stay in power.
Independent electoral-monitoring capabilities. A fourth condition
critical to democratic breakthrough in Serbia, Georgia, and Ukraine was
the ability of NGOs to provide an accurate and independent tally of the
actual vote quickly after polls had closed. In Serbia, the Center for Free
Elections and Democracy (CeSID) provided the critical data exposing
voter fraud in the first round of the presidential election in September
2000. Exit polls were illegal in 2000, so CeSID conducted a parallel
vote tabulation, a technique now used in many transitional democracies
that CeSID founders originally observed in Bulgaria.9
They posted
their representatives at 7,000 polling sites, which allowed them to produce
a remarkably sophisticated estimation of the actual vote. On
election night, DOS officials announced the results of their own parallel
vote tabulation, but did so knowing that their results corresponded with
CeSID results. CeSID, in other words, provided the legitimacy for the
claim of falsification. CeSID’s figures also supported Koštunica’s claim
that he had won more than 50 percent in the first round and therefore did
not need to stand in a second round.
In Georgia as well, independent electoral monitoring was crucial.
Buoyed by international funding, Georgian NGOs and survey firms carried
out the country’s first-ever exit polls and parallel vote count. All
told, around 20,000 voters across 500 precincts were questioned, while
about 8,000 foreign and domestic monitors observed the voting.10
The
results from the exit polling and the parallel count were remarkably
similar and strikingly at odds with official tallies. Observation teams
documented instances of vote fraud.
In Ukraine, the Committee of Ukrainian Voters (CVU) played the
central role in monitoring all rounds of the 2004 presidential vote. CVU
also conducted a parallel vote tabulation. A consortium of polling firms
coordinated by the Ukrainian NGO “Democratic Initiatives” did exit
Michael McFaul 11
polls, though so too did firms associated closely with the Kuchma regime.
Unlike their Georgian counterparts, the Ukrainian organizations
had years of experience. Yet they also had to contend with a far more
sophisticated vote manipulator using novel tactics. Kuchma and his allies
falsified the vote at the level of precinct, and not between the precinct
level and higher levels of counting, where fraud traditionally occurs.11
A
parallel vote tabulation attempts to expose fraud by sampling the actual
vote count at the precinct level. But if the precinct numbers are already
phony, then a parallel count will also reflect the result of the falsified
vote, an outcome that the CVU had to face. Second, Kuchma’s government
muddied the results of the exit polls by compelling two of the
consortium partners to use a method in the second round different from
the method used by the other two polling firms more closely tied to the
opposition.12
After the second round of the presidential vote, therefore,
two different exit polls were released with different results.
Where quantitative or large-scale methods for exposing fraud failed,
however, finer-grained or qualitative methods came to the rescue. Individual
election monitors affiliated with Ukrainian NGOs and international
organizations reported hundreds upon hundreds of specific
irregularities. At the same time, the turnout levels that the government
was claiming in some regions of the east (a pro-Kuchma bastion) were
so absurdly high that analysts knew they had to be false. The combination
of systematically reported irregularities with ridiculous turnout
claims gave a few members of the Central Election Commission the
courage to refuse to certify the final count, sending the issue to the
Supreme Court.13
The Court, deliberating amid the grand peaceful protests
of late November and December 2004, then used the evidence of
fraud that the CVU and other NGOs had gathered as grounds for overturning
the official results and ordering a rerun of the second round,
which Yushchenko won decisively.
A modicum of independent media. A fifth critical element in Serbia,
Georgia, and Ukraine was the presence of independent media able to
relay news about the falsified vote and to publicize mounting popular
protests. For years, such media outlets and brave individual journalists
had been reporting the misdeeds of semi-autocratic incumbents. At the
moment of breakthrough, autonomous media remained vital in triggering
change despite the incumbents’ last-ditch efforts to hang on to power.
In Serbia, several important independent media outlets contributed
to the decline of Milo¡seviæ’s popularity. The B-92 radio station had
offered unsparing professional coverage of Milo¡seviæ and his regime
since 1989.14
B-92 cofounder Goran Matiæ also played an instrumental
role in establishing a regional radio and television network to distribute
independent news broadcasts. The ANEM network, a media cluster
consisting of a news agency, several independent dailies and weeklies,
Journal of Democracy12
and a television station, helped to give Serbians news from outside
state-dominated channels. Critical coverage of Milo¡seviæ’s wars, his
economic policies, and his government’s violent arrests and abuses of
young protestors helped to undermine his support within the population.
In September 2000, independent media coverage of official vote
fraud brought outraged Serbians into the streets. At the time, Milo¡seviæ
had closed B-92, but ANEM and Radio Index in Belgrade ensured that
there was no letup in coverage. Without these media outlets, popular
mobilization would have been much harder.
In Georgia, too, independent media were key. Shevardnadze’s second
term had seen him take a pounding from the serious, corruptionexposing
“60 Minutes” show on Rustavi-2, while the cartoon satire
“Dardubala” skewered him with tongue in cheek. During the late fall of
2003, Rustavi-2 and some smaller media outlets broadcast the exit-poll
and parallel-count results endlessly, right next to the official results
released by the Georgian Central Electoral Commission. Unlike the
opposition media in Serbia or Ukraine, Rustavi-2 had become the most
watched television network in Georgia even before the controversial
election. Once people took to the streets, Rustavi-2’s cameras showed
them all. Networks once loyal to Shevardnadze followed suit, and even
more Georgians came out to speak their minds once it became clear that
the government would not use force.
While Ukraine’s democratic opposition had access to fewer traditional
sources of independent media and found all their major broadcast
channels owned or controlled by oligarchs loyal to Kuchma and
Yanukovich, Ukrainians made up for this with their slightly richer
country’s higher level of Internet connectivity. Indeed, the Orange Revolution
(so called after the party color of “Our Ukraine”) may have been
the first in history to be organized largely online.
Gongadze’s own Web-based publication, Ukrainskaya Pravda, had
carried on despite his murder and remained a critical (in both senses)
source of news and analysis about the Kuchma regime. By the end of the
Orange Revolution, this Internet publication was the most widely read
news source of any kind in Ukraine. During the critical hours and days
after the second-round vote, Ukrainskaya Pravda displayed the results
of exit polling, detailed news about other allegations of fraud, and provided
all sorts of logistical information to protestors. Text messaging
via cell phones or handheld digital devices was a great tool for spreading
information among the large crowds of outdoor protestors in Kyiv
and its tent city.
The comparatively old-fashioned technology of television also played
a role in the Orange Revolution’s success. Realizing that national television
access was going to be a problem, the wealthy Yushchenko
supporter Viktor Poroshenko bought a small station in 2003 that he then
renamed Channel 5. Amazingly, the authorities let the sale go through.
Michael McFaul 13
They would have cause to rue this when Channel 5 began running roundthe-clock
coverage of the protest in downtown Kyiv after the false official
results came out. As Ukrainians witnessed the peaceful, even festive
mood of the crowd, more came out to join the 11-day demonstration. By
the fourth day, the staffs at most other proregime stations had joined
forces with the street demonstrators. So in Ukraine as in Georgia, television
proved a major headache for the fraudulent incumbents.
Mobilizing the masses. A sixth critical factor for democratic breakthrough
in Serbia, Georgia, and Ukraine was the opposition’s capacity to
mobilize significant numbers of protestors to challenge the falsified electoral
results. In all three cases, newly formed student groups—Otpor in
Serbia, Kmara in Georgia, and Pora in Ukraine—provided logistical support
and in the case of Ukraine, the first wave of protestors. Beyond that
early boost, all of these student groups worked together with both the
main opposition parties and other NGOs in helping to mobilize the giant
demonstrations (in Serbia and Ukraine the crowds topped a million) that
forced the election violators of the old administration to leave office.
In Serbia, the opposition had planned for street-level activism well
in advance. A broad coalition of Otpor, DOS, regional government heads,
union leaders, and civil society organizers coordinated efforts that culminated
in the million-strong 5 October 2000 march on Belgrade. As
columns of protesters neared the capital, they met police barricades, but
not one seriously tried to stop the caravans. The sheer scale of the unarmed
demonstration (the total population of Serbia is about ten million)
overwhelmed any thought of resistance. Within hours, the opposition
had seized the parliament building, police headquarters, and the national
television station. The next day, Milo¡seviæ resigned.
In contrast to their Serbian predecessors, Georgia’s protestors seemed
less organized and were smaller in number (in population terms, Georgia
is about half Serbia’s size, and about eleven times smaller than Ukraine).
But by Georgians standards, the mobilization was coordinated, well organized,
and massive, involving not only citizens of Tbilisi, but people
from all parts of the country. The student group Kmara, modeled after
Serbia’s Otpor, took the lead.15
Kmara was new, and so had not paved the
way for protest as Otpor had, but once the vote was stolen, Kmara played
a more central role than had its Serbian counterpart in mobilizing street
protests. Saakashvili became the voice and face of the opposition. He
used his boldness and speaking skills to coordinate a new United Opposition
coalition joining the three opposition parties with Kmara and other
civil society organizations. Eventually, the protests in Tbilisi reached
that unspecifiable tipping point where anyone could see that suppression
would mean mass casualties, an outcome that no powerholder—
including Shevardnadze—deemed acceptable.
Compared to their counterparts in Serbia and Ukraine, Georgia’s dem-
Journal of Democracy14
onstrators (or at least their leaders) were more radical in both their demands
and their actions. In Serbia, protestors took to the streets to press
the government to recognize the results of the presidential election. In
Georgia, Saakashvili called for and succeeded in obtaining not only
recognition of the actual parliamentary election results, but Shevardnadze’s
ouster, even though the Georgian president was not standing
for reelection at the time. The demand was unconstitutional. Like Serbian
democrats, but in contrast to the Ukrainian demonstration, Georgia’s
protestors initiated physical contact with the authorities by storming
into parliament.
In Kyiv on the day after Yanukovich’s fraudulent runoff “victory,”
Pora and “Our Ukraine” set up hundreds of tents near Independence
Square, where “Our Ukraine” activists and legislators were erecting a
large stage. Truckloads of tents, styrofoam mats, and food soon appeared.
But these were logistics for tens of thousands, not the more than
one million people who would eventually turn out. As the numbers
rose, organizers succeeded in keeping people fed, clean, calm, and warm
in the dead of a Ukrainian winter only because thousands of small
businesspeople lent aid and because the city government of Kyiv (the
city was a Yushchenko bastion) was supportive. In fact, support from
city hall was critical not only in Kyiv, but also Belgrade and Tbilisi,
and may even constitute another necessary condition for success.
Splits among the “guys with guns.” A seventh and final necessary
condition for success is a split among the “guys with guns,” meaning
the state’s military, police, and security forces. A segment of these must
distance itself far enough from the incumbents to show that the option
of violent repression is risky if not untenable. In all three cases such a
split developed, though its size as well as the threat of violence varied
from case to case.
In Serbia, Milo¡seviæ called upon local police to undertake increasingly
violent actions against young Otpor protestors. Many police
officials disliked such orders. As demonstrations grew in size and intensity
throughout 2000, many in the security ministries came to suspect
that Miloševiæ would soon be finished. The size of the fresh protests that
broke out after Miloševiæ falsified the presidential vote convinced many
police and intelligence officials that violent repression was no longer an
option. On the eve of the giant march on the capital in early October, the
major opposition politician Zoran Djindjiæ convinced the Yugoslav
army’s chief of staff to have his troops stand down the next day. This
helped greatly in preventing bloodshed during the October 5 march, since
some demonstrators had come to Belgrade armed and ready to fight.
The Georgian opposition began courting the security ministries well
before the 2003 election. Once demonstrators took to the streets, some
key officials either openly deserted Shevardnadze or made it clear that
Michael McFaul 15
they would refuse to order units under their command to arrest, much
less to shoot, peaceful protestors. When an elite Interior Ministry paramilitary
unit went over to the side of the protestors, other formations
followed. Memories of the heroism that Georgian police had shown in
trying to protect civilians from attacks by Soviet security troops during
a 1989 rally in Tbilisi also played a huge role in stimulating defections
and keeping the 2003 response peaceful.
Compared to his counterparts in Serbia and Ukraine, Shevardnadze
had a more legitimate reason to use force against the rebellious opposition.
They, after all, stormed the parliament and then demanded his
resignation, not simply the recognition of the results of the parliamentary
election. Shevardnadze, however, refrained from trying to use force.
He may have realized that finding reliable forces to carry out such an
order would be no sure thing, but also may have had sincere qualms.
Then too, Shevardnadze enjoys a positive reputation in the West by
dint of his role in winding down the Cold War as Mikhail Gorbachev’s
foreign minister, and no doubt felt reluctant to mar that good name with
the blood of civilians.
In Ukraine, the contacts that opposition leaders made with the security
apparat also helped to close the door to violent repression.16
On the
streets, where protestors and soldiers were close together for days, Pora’s
humorous tone (as well as the number of young female demonstrators
who took positions on the front line, eye-to-eye with the soldiers guarding
government buildings) defused tensions. As in Georgia, several
police and intelligence units made clear that the “guys with guns” could
not be trusted to carry out a repressive order.
As laudable as some of the defections may have been, it is wise not to
overidealize the attitude of the security forces in these situations. More
than their good will, what kept violence at bay was the sheer size of the
crowds. Smaller, less organized protests would have been tempting targets
for aggressive police action. Ten thousand people can be dispersed
with tear gas and armored cars. A crowd of one million cannot be.
Unessential Factors
Highlighting these seven factors implicitly suggests that other factors
were not as important. For instance, the state of the economy or
level of economic development did not play a uniform causal role in
these cases of democratic breakthrough. Students of modernization have
identified a long-term positive correlation between rising wealth in a
country and the emergence of a middle class and democratization.17
But
while Ukraine has a growing middle class and a recent history of robust
growth, the same cannot be said of Serbia or Georgia. Those latter two
countries, indeed, had been living through periods of economic trauma
and hardship that served to undermine Miloševiæ and Shevardnadze,
Journal of Democracy16
but in neither case was an economic meltdown the trigger for transition.
Instead, it was a purely political factor—vote fraud—that set things off.
While all three countries had some recent history of ethnic tensions
or troubles up to and including outright warfare, neither a full resolution
of all border disputes nor clear stipulation of who “belonged” in
the polity formed a precondition for democratic breakthrough.
Splits between hard-liners and soft-liners among the semi-authoritarian
incumbents also figured little as tactical triggers for democratizing
change. In part this may be because such splits had taken place years
before, so that the oppositions in these three cases were dominated not
by dissidents or civil society leaders, but by former reformists within
the regime. Koštunica had sat in parliament, Saakashvili had been recruited
for government service by Shevardnadze, and Yushchenko had
been Kuchma’s premier.
The relationships between the incumbents and the West in these
cases do not fit into a single clear pattern. Miloševiæ obviously had the
worst such relationship: After he had refused to accept NATO peacekeeping
plans for Kosovo, NATO warplanes had bombed Serbia for
almost the entire spring of the year before his ouster (the effect of the air
war on democratization is still a hotly debated topic among Serbian
democrats and students of Serbian politics generally).18
Shevardnadze,
by contrast, enjoyed much better ties with Western leaders, but this
good standing did not help him keep power. Kuchma’s cordial but
strained relations with the West may have pushed him at the margin to
do the right thing and relinquish the succession rather than try to force
his handpicked successor on a country that had elected someone else.
Western democracy-assistance programs played a visible role in all
three cases. Saying which instance of aid helped, hurt, or made no difference
to democratic breakthrough is a complex subject well beyond
the scope of this essay. It seems safe to say that foreign aid played no
independent role in any of these breakthroughs (and rarely does), but
contributed to the drama by increasing or decreasing the relative value
of each of the seven factors outlined above. With the possible exception
of election monitoring, each factor would still have been present
had no Western assistance been forthcoming.
Another possible factor, the quality of the positive appeals or platforms
worked out by the opposition in each country, also appears fairly
insignificant. In every case, the heart of the matter was getting rid of
unpopular and deeply dishonest incumbents, not backing some specific
new set of policies or reforms. Even the role that democratic ideas
played in mobilizing first voters and then protestors is not uniform
across these cases. Rather, all three successful movements constructed
compelling ideologies of opposition, whose main message was a cry of
“Enough!” hurled in the face of the incumbent powerholders.
Even the pivotal role of the opposition leader is not easy to discern in
Michael McFaul 17
all three cases. After the breakthrough, it seems as if no other leader could
have united the opposition and toppled the regime. But this “fact” only
seems obvious after success. Immediately after victory in 2000, Koštunica
looked like the only moderate nationalist who could have defeated
Milo¡seviæ in a free and fair election, yet Koštunica’s limited skills as a
politician have since diminished his heroic status. The diabolical tactics
of the Kuchma regime, including most obviously the poisoning of
Yushchenko, transformed Yushchenko into an indispensable hero of the
Orange Revolution. Yet just months before victory, several leaders within
the Ukrainian democratic movement questioned whether he had the political
and campaigning skills needed to win. In Georgia, Saakashvili
became essential and one-of-a-kind only after he ordered the storming of
the parliament and Shevardnadze’s ouster. Had the opposition maintained
more modest objectives—a new parliamentary vote or the recognition of
the actual results of the vote already held—Saakashvili’s place in Georgian
history could have evolved into a very different narrative. Whether
leaders seize greatness or have it thrust upon them by circumstance is not
a question that these cases will settle.
In seeking to learn lessons from these democratic breakthroughs, it is
important to realize that the list of necessary conditions is long. (It is
bad social science to have seven independent variables to explain three
outcomes!) The presence of only a few of these factors is unlikely to
generate the same outcome. A more popular or more clever and ruthless
autocrat might have been able to outmaneuver the democratic opposition.
A less-organized electoral-monitoring effort in any of these three
countries might not have been able to convince people to take to the
streets. Smaller numbers of protestors in the streets might have led to
outcomes that looked more like Tiananmen Square in 1989 than the big
and peaceful wins for democratization that actually happened. The stars
must really be aligned to produce such dramatic events.
Democratic breakthroughs are a start, but in and of themselves they
cannot ensure success in consolidating democracy. In Serbia, Georgia,
and Ukraine, we have seen an antidemocratic status quo knocked off its
pins and a stalled democratic transition get a new lease on life. But
renewed democratic stagnation and even reversal remain possible.
Moreover, each case played out in a different way that has consequences
(social scientists call this “path dependency”). In Serbia, the 4
October 2000 deal that prevented shooting also allowed top security
officials from the Miloševiæ administration to stay in power. The very
general who negotiated with Djindjiæ appears to have ordered his murder
three years later. Corrupt officials entrenched within the interior
and intelligence ministries still threaten the deepening of Serbian democracy—a
problematic legacy of October 2000.19
Georgia’s breakthrough was not pacted or negotiated. Rather, one side
seized power, which was both good and bad. In the plus column,
Journal of Democracy18
Saakashvili owed no favors and could clean house, which to his credit he
has tried to do. In the minus column, the lack of constraints faced by a
man who seized power in what was very like a coup and then had it
ratified by 96 percent of his country’s voters makes some worried that he
too might one day turn to autocratic methods.20
To date, these predictions
have all proved premature: Saakashvili is still a force for democratic
consolidation. But critics recall that Shevardnadze, after all, became president
under somewhat similar circumstances and appeared, at least
comparatively, as a liberalizing figure. Georgia has yet to see executive
authority change hands through an elective and rule-based process.
By contrast, Ukraine’s leaders eventually did agree to negotiate, with
the assistance of international mediators, a pacted arrangement by which
Kuchma and his side allowed the second round of the presidential election
to be rerun and Yushchenko and his side agreed to changes in the
constitution, giving the parliament and prime minister more powers and
the president fewer. At the time of these roundtable talks, some leaders
of Ukraine’s opposition wanted to end discussions, follow the example
of the Rose Revolution, and simply seize power.21
Yushchenko, however,
rejected these calls for storming government building three times,
and insisted instead on the negotiated path. Yushchenko’s decision
will constrain his presidential powers in the short run, but in the long
run may help to consolidate democratic practices of compromise and
checks and balances between branches of government. If so, he may
prove the most visionary of the three anti-authoritarian leaders.
NOTES
The author would like to thank David Abesadze, Valerie Bunce, Daniel Calingaert,
Taras Kuzio, Ryan Podolsky, Matthew Spence, and Cory Welt for comments on
earlier drafts of this article.
1. On why, see Valerie Bunce, “The Political Economy of Postsocialism,” Slavic
Review 58 (Winter 1999): 756–93; M. Steven Fish, “The Determinants of Economic
Reform in the Post-Communist World,” East European Politics and Societies
12 (Winter 1998): 31–78; and Michael McFaul, “The Fourth Wave of Democracy
and Dictatorship: Noncooperative Transitions in the Postcommunist World,” World
Politics 54 (January 2002): 212–44.
2. In early 2005, Kyrgyzstan’s semi-autocratic president Askar Akayev also
suffered an ouster at least in part due to the factors described in this essay, but the
nature of the events remains too murky—and their implications for democracy too
uncertain—to be included in this analysis at this time.
3. Charles Tilly, From Mobilization to Revolution (New York: McGraw-Hill,
1978), 191.
4. Author’s interview with Taras Stetskiv (“Our Ukraine” leader and one of the
central organizers of the protest at Kyiv’s Independence Square after 22 November
2004), Kyiv, 10 March 2005.
5. Daniel Brumberg, “Liberalization versus Democracy,” in Thomas Carothers
Michael McFaul 19
and Marina Ottoway, eds., Uncharted Journey: Promoting Democracy in the
Middle East (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2004),
15–36.
6. On this regime type, see Larry Diamond, “Thinking about Hybrid Regimes,”
Journal of Democracy 13 (April 2002): 21–35; and Steven Levitsky and Lucan
Way, “The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism,” Journal of Democracy 13 (April
2002): 51–65.
7. Zeljko Cvijanoviæ, “Belgrade Opposition Upbeat,” Institute for War and
Peace Reporting, 28 July 2000.
8. Richard Dobson, U.S. Department of State, “Georgians Fast Losing Faith in
Shevardnadze and Their Democracy,” M-238-01, 3 December 2001, 1.
9. Author’s interviews with CeSID officials Zoran Luciæ and Marko Blagojeviæ,
Belgrade, 13 January 2005.
10. Author’s interview with Anna Tarkhnishuili (director of the Business and
Consulting Company, one of the three firms involved in the exit poll), Tbilisi, 14
October 2004.
11. Author’s interview with Ihor Popov (chairman of the Committee of Ukrainian
Voters), Kyiv, 10 March 2005.
12. Author’s interview with Ilko Kucheriv (president of Democratic Initiatives
and organizer of the exit-poll consortium), Kyiv, 10 March 2005.
13. Author’s interview with CEC member Roman Knyazevich, Kyiv, 12 March
2005.
14. On B-92’s history, see Matthew Collin, Guerilla Radio: Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio
and Serbia’s Underground Resistance (New York: Nation, 2001).
15. On the Serbia connections, see interview with David Zurabishvili (former
head of the Liberty Institute), in Zurab Karumidze and James Wertsch, eds., Enough!
The Rose Revolution in the Republic of Georgia 2003 (New York: Nova Science,
2004), 61–68; and Peter Baker, “Tbilisi’s ‘Revolution of Roses’ Mentored by
Serbian Activists,” Washington Post, 25 November 2003, A22.
16. C.J. Chivers, “How Top Spies in Ukraine Changed the Nation’s Path,” New
York Times, 17 January 2005, A1.
17. Seymour Martin Lipset, Political Man: The Social Basis of Politics (Garden
City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1960).
18. Author’s interviews with several democratic activists involved in the antiMilo¡seviæ
campaign in 2000. Polls show that Milo¡seviæ benefited in the short run
from the bombing campaign, although, ironically, this spike in popularity might
have caused him to miscalculate his chances of winning a direct election.
19. Helsinki Committee for Human Rights in Serbia, Human Rights and Accountability:
Serbia 2003 (Belgrade: Helsinki Committee for Human Rights in
Serbia, 2004), 163–66.
20. Author’s interviews with several Georgian NGO leaders, Tbilisi, 12–14
October 2004.
21. Author’s interview with Pora leader Vladislav Kaskiv, Kyiv, 9 March 2005.