Democracy

by Condoleezza Rice

  I’m sure she was handpicked to impress us. But she did not look like a fighter to me, demobilized or not. She looked like a young woman whose life was almost ruined by civil conflict and who had a chance for a future because her country had been rescued from chaos. If that was the message the Colombians meant to send, it came through loud and clear.

  We were unable to pass the FTA during our time in office, but President Obama succeeded in doing so in 2012. It cemented nearly thirty years of bipartisan American support for Colombia’s journey from civil war to democratic security.

  “Mr. President, It Is Time to Step Away”

  One of the strengths of democracy is that it constrains even the most powerful and popular personalities. Legislatures, civil society, and the press all conspire to keep executive authority in check. So too do term limits. Those who govern democratically accept those constraints and act accordingly. Álvaro Uribe, who played such an important role in rebuilding faith in Colombia’s democratic institutions, almost ignored that obligation.

  Under the 1991 constitution, the Colombian president was barred from a second term. In 2004, at Uribe’s urging, the Colombian legislature lifted that restriction and permitted the president to run again. The law survived eighteen challenges and was finally upheld by the Supreme Court, though not unanimously. Uribe argued that he needed to continue his fight against the FARC and complete the demobilization of right-wing armed groups. He was reelected with over 60 percent of the vote.

  But when, in 2008, Uribe’s supporters gathered five million signatures to call for a referendum on a third term, there was greater opposition. A bill cleared the lower house, but it would have required Uribe to sit out a term before running again in 2014. Many of the president’s supporters persisted, committed in their belief that he should be allowed to stand for office in 2010.

  Eventually, a second bill passed in September 2009 calling for a referendum on the question of amending the constitution. The approval of the Constitutional Court was required for the referendum to proceed. In a decision that could not be appealed, it refused to give its consent. The court’s rationale cited substantial violations of democratic principles, irregularities in the financing of the campaign in support of the referendum, and its difficult passage through the legislature.

  Many Colombians simply felt that a third term would place too much power in the presidency. A legislator summed up that position by saying, “In 2001, voters agreed Álvaro Uribe was the most qualified person for the job. But, like any other democracy, there are plenty of capable people for the job. And those people should get their chance.”9

  President Uribe was bitterly disappointed. He felt that he had delivered for his country—greater security, economic benefits, and stronger democratic institutions. In the end, it was ironically those democratic constraints that denied his dream of continuing to lead his country. “I accept and I respect the decision of the Constitutional Court,” he said.

  Uribe was a strong leader but not a traditional Latin American strongman. He was seen as a president who cared for all citizens and who governed with firsthand knowledge of the issues. During the height of the “democratic security” campaign, he and his cabinet members went to all corners of the country each week. They visited areas with the greatest security, economic, and social problems and held town meetings and discussions. In the end, his people appreciated what he had done. He left office with a 70 percent approval rating, after being elected twice. But it was really his success in rejuvenating Colombia’s democratic institutions that should be remembered. And when those institutions told him that it was time to go, he accepted the verdict and vowed to continue in politics from a parliamentary seat instead.

  All Wars Must End

  Uribe’s party did well in the legislative elections a month after the Supreme Court ruling. But it took his former defense minister, Juan Manuel Santos, two rounds of voting to win the presidency. Santos had been with President Uribe at that first meeting in the Oval Office. More than any other official, he was associated with the tough line against the FARC and the largely successful military campaign against the group.

  The new president sounded very much like his mentor and predecessor in his victory speech. Declaring that “time had run out” on the FARC, he said there would not be the “slightest chance of negotiations.” This buoyed Uribe, who thought that his legacy would be preserved.

  But within a few months, Santos started to move in a different direction. The Colombian press reported that he had initiated secret contacts with the FARC through a businessman. The FARC reciprocated by releasing a series of hostages, describing its move as a “gesture of peace” to the Santos administration.

  Early in his term, Santos essentially followed a two-track policy: ready to negotiate but continuing the military campaign. But the blended approach was hard to sustain. The military dimension took a backseat to the political track of negotiations unfolding in Havana. The levels of violence fluctuated but never increased to the point of threatening Colombia’s stability as in times past.

  Slowly, the FARC and the government worked step by step toward an end to the conflict. The hardest issues were those of justice for past violence and the role of the FARC in the political process going forward. The two sides finally reached an agreement on transitional justice in September 2015. A few months later, they laid out a framework on how rebels would be punished in order to bring justice to the six million victims of the war.

  This brought agreement on four of the five major issues. The remaining question was how the FARC would participate in the political process. In January 2016, the UN Security Council passed a resolution creating a political mission to monitor all aspects of the agreement. “The Security Council’s decision means we are no longer going alone,” Santos said, “but hand in hand with the UN, the entire world, towards the end of this war.”10

  In the summer of 2016, the two sides finally reached an agreement. It aimed to disarm and demobilize FARC forces within a matter of months. A UN peacekeeping mission would oversee the creation of twenty-three temporary zones where nearly seven thousand FARC rebels would relocate and begin the process of disarming and reincorporating into civilian life. Other provisions were more controversial, particularly the weak punishments for FARC leaders and the seats reserved for the group in the Colombian parliament.

  When the peace deal was put to the people in a referendum in October 2016, it was greeted with mixed reactions. Domestic opposition was strong, led by none other than Álvaro Uribe from his perch as a member of the parliament. With a turnout of less than 38 percent, the deal failed to pass by half a percentage point, with 50.2 percent voting against. President Santos responded by vowing to resume the negotiations, and within weeks he signed a revised agreement with FARC leaders that aimed to address some of the concerns of its critics.

  The polarization between left and right characteristic of Colombian politics throughout its history is once again intense as the country tries to end its civil war once and for all. It is a victory for democracy, though, that the contest this time is taking place within its institutions—not in the streets, villages, and jungles of a failed state.

  Chapter 7

  THE MIDDLE EAST: CAN DEMOCRACY EXIST IN A CAULDRON?

  Tsipi Livni, the Israeli foreign minister, was on the phone. “Hezbollah crossed the Blue Line,” she said, referring to the border between Lebanon and Israel that had been established after Israel’s withdrawal from its northern neighbor in 2000. “They killed three Israeli soldiers and kidnapped others.” My heart sank. Another war in the Middle East was about to begin.

  The Lebanon War of 2006 began on July 12 and would go on for six devastating weeks, shaking the Levant yet again. Within days, Israelis and Arabs and diplomats across the world were calling for the American secretary of state to find a solution. One night I watched as a snap poll on CNN asked whether people thought I would find a solution. (I believe 58 percent thought I would.) This was get
ting personal.

  Facing pressure to do something, I tried to put the situation into context. “We are experiencing the birth pangs of a new Middle East,” I told a reporter, hoping to signal that something good could still emerge from the chaos engulfing the region. It was a well-meaning comment, but it came across as insensitive. The cartoon of me pregnant with the new Middle East, blood dripping from my teeth, drove home the point. I quickly backed off the characterization. Yet the tumultuous events of the last decade have indeed torn apart the map of the area and cast aside the pillars of the old order. A new Middle East is emerging through war, unrest, revolution—and, in a few cases, reform.

  Many tend to think of the Arab Middle East as uniform. The composite picture is one of corrupt, authoritarian governments, some of whom are kings. They oppress their women and behead their enemies. The region is the source of terrorism and wars and is wealthy only because of oil. It is a place that spells trouble, pure and simple.

  But there is also another parallel reality. The historical, political, and social circumstances of the countries in the region vary greatly. Bahrain’s ambassador to the United States from 2008 to 2013 was a Jewish woman. Jordan has five female ministers. The skyline of Dubai rivals that of Chicago. Lebanon’s restaurants and nightclubs feel almost European.

  And the political circumstances of the area—the institutional landscape—varies too. If we return to our earlier introductory framework, the Middle East has countries that fit into every category. Libya is a story of chaos after the overthrow of a totalitarian cult of personality. There were few institutions to speak of, and new ones are having trouble gaining traction. Egypt and Tunisia are examples of quite different outcomes after authoritarian presidents were deposed. The former is now ruled by the military, while the latter is now quasi-democratic, with a nascent institutional infrastructure struggling to survive. Iraq is trying to make young institutions work but under much more challenging security conditions and political divisions. The monarchs of Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Kuwait, Jordan, Morocco, Qatar, Oman, and the UAE have different levels of tolerance for dissent and political activity—and the institutional landscapes reflect that. The challenge is to understand not just where these states stand today but what the building blocks might be for a better tomorrow.

  This may seem a less than propitious time to think about a democratic future for the Middle East. The region is experiencing two upheavals simultaneously. The first is similar to uprisings around the world—people are fed up with authoritarian, corrupt regimes that don’t deliver for them. This was the source of discontent that fueled the “Arab Spring,” bringing down governments in Egypt and Tunisia and launching the civil war in Syria. Today, what happens in the village does not stay in the village, thanks to social media. Discontent is spreading across borders like wildfire. The second element, though, is unique to the Middle East—a backdrop of regional war and the splintering of an entire system of state borders.

  The Middle East is cursed with a complex political geography. Egypt has existed for centuries. Modern-day Iran was once the core of the Persian Empire, and Turkey was the center of the Ottoman Empire. These states have strong and established national identities. Others in the region, however, emerged by diplomatic design in the early twentieth century. When the Ottoman Empire collapsed at the end of World War I, its four-hundred-year-old system of governing the Middle East collapsed with it. Britain and France, victors in the war, poured into the vacuum and redrew the borders, often without regard for the complexities on the ground. From this process emerged the modern boundaries of Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and what was then called Palestine. Monarchs and dictators held these constructed states together. Arbitrary lines crossed sectarian and ethnic divides, leaving a hodgepodge of Kurds, Shia and Sunni Muslims, and a smattering of Christian groups and other minorities within and across borders.

  And often the leadership did not match the ethnic and religious mix. Iraq was ruled first by a Sunni king and later by a Sunni dictator, Saddam Hussein, though the Shia were 60 percent of the population. Bahrain’s ruling family is Sunni, while the population is roughly 70 percent Shia. Eastern Saudi Arabia—10 percent of the country and an oil-rich region—is largely Shia. The Sunni monarchs have historically neglected the needs of their populations, leading to widespread distrust. Bashar al-Assad is Alawite—a minority Shia sect. The broader Syrian population is roughly 75 percent Sunni, about 13 percent of whom are Kurds. Lebanon’s population is about 27 percent Sunni, 27 percent Shia, and 40 percent Christian.1 The country is governed by a fixed formula. The president must be Christian, the prime minister Sunni, and the speaker of the parliament Shia. Lebanese Hezbollah, meaning “Party of God,” is also Shia and dominates the country’s southern region and a big chunk of Beirut. It is almost purely an extension of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps—taking orders, money, and inspiration from Tehran.

  The picture is further complicated by the relationship between Shia Iran and Saudi Arabia, the most important Sunni power. Sunni rulers—with some justification—accuse Iran of encouraging the disintegration of their states, of trying to build a “Shia crescent” from the Mediterranean to the Gulf and beyond. They resent the infiltration, as they see it, of Persian Iran into Arab affairs, a battle each side can trace back to the early days of Islam. Though there is no love lost between the Shia Arabs and the Iranians, Sunni leaders tend to lump them together—and to see Iran’s influence everywhere. As a result, there has been a proxy war in Yemen, pitting Iran’s allies against those of Saudi Arabia and the UAE. In Syria, Iraq, Yemen, and Lebanon, the regional powers vie for influence, complicating the already explosive domestic political circumstances.

  So with the Middle East in flames, why even raise the question of democracy? Why not wait until the regional wars and conflicts subside? The answer is that the people of the region may not be so patient. The pent-up frustration that erupted in the “Arab Spring” has not gone away. The economic landscape, with slow growth and low oil prices, is forcing change. The populations of the Middle East are young, and recent surveys show that they remain unsatisfied with the status quo: More than two-thirds of Arab youth think their leaders should do more to improve their rights and freedoms.2 And the landscape for the future is developing now in Tunisia, Egypt, Iraq, and the Gulf states. Eventually, peace will come in Syria too and will shape the institutional framework for that country.

  Most important, the argument for the necessity of a democratic Middle East is as strong—if not stronger—than any place in the world. The case was made most effectively in a landmark manifesto by Arab intellectuals.3

  The 2002 Arab Human Development Report painted a dire picture for the future of the Middle East. Written by Arab social scientists and academics, the report warned of an impending crisis if the region’s leaders did not address three gaps—the freedom gap, the women’s empowerment gap, and the knowledge gap. The study compared progress in the Arab world to that of the Asian Tigers and, somewhat surprisingly, to that of Israel. As the Middle East Quarterly stated in its summary, “The core assumption of the report is that poverty is not merely a matter of income.”4 It quoted Nader Fergany, the lead author of the report, as saying, “A person who is not free is poor. A woman who is not empowered is poor. And a person who has no access to knowledge is poor.” And it concluded that “by all these criteria, the Arab region—even some of its wealthiest corners—could only be described as impoverished.”

  The report thus defined development not just by economic measures but by social and political freedom as indicators of progress as well. The message to Arab leaders could not have been clearer: Change or continue to fall behind the rest of the world.

  I first read the Arab Human Development Report when a member of the NSC staff brought it to my attention. I was stunned at its candor and by the multiple taboos that it broke. I took a copy with me to the Oval Office one morning. “Mr. President, you have to read this,” I said to him. And then I gave copies to
others, including Donald Rumsfeld and Colin Powell, then the secretaries of defense and state. It was not the only factor, but it was a big one in shaping the Freedom Agenda—our belief that the United States had overlooked the absence of freedom in the Middle East for too long. In June 2005, I delivered a speech in Cairo that made that admission. “For sixty years, my country, the United States, pursued stability at the expense of democracy in this region here in the Middle East—and we achieved neither. Now we are taking a different course,” I said. “We are supporting the democratic aspirations of all people.” I went on to say that change was overdue. It was time for individual freedoms, fair elections, the end of violence and intimidation against citizens, and constitutional protections for all.

  Despite regional circumstances less favorable today than in 2005, I stand by that statement. A stable Middle East will one day have to be a democratic Middle East. Only through institutions can people of all religious and ethnic groups find a way to peacefully protect their interests and rights. If dictators and authoritarian monarchs can no longer hold their countries together and make them prosper, democratic institutions have to take their place.

  Iraq: When Tyrants Fall

  I was sitting in my office, trying to put everything that had occurred over the last few days into perspective. The American military had met little resistance from Iraqi armed forces. The war that had begun on March 19, 2003, was, it seemed, just about to be over on April 9.

  The television was on, but it was background noise. I was lost in thought, reviewing my to-do list. Be sure to call Colin about getting the ambassadorial selection process going. He’s also going to have to go back to the UN. Now that the war is over we’ll have to try to bring the Russians and the French on board. [Treasury Secretary] Paul O’Neill ought to call his counterparts to talk about currency stabilization and debt relief. That can be a good icebreaker. Maybe the president should call Chirac and Putin. No—it’s too soon.