(PDF) Ch. 4: Inclusion Without Power? Limits of Participatory Institutions

In the face of high levels of distrust in political parties, policy-makers, intellectuals, and activists in Latin America have created “institutions of participatory governance,” or IPGs, to engage everyday citizens in political decision-making. This essay explores the rise of nationally mandated participatory institutions in Latin America as a partial response to the failures of the party system to engage citizens and channel their interests in the policy making process. It asks: to what extent are IPGs serving citizens’ needs? The evidence provided through two case studies demonstrates that, like the political party systems in several countries, many IPGs do not effectively represent the diversity of interests of Latin American citizens. Nor are they engaging a wide array of constituents. In the two cases that are discussed—Bolivia and Guatemala—this failure is partly due to the same problems that plague political parties, such as clientelism, discrimination, and corruption. The article concludes that to improve democratic governance in the region, both representative and participatory institutions need to be reformed.

This essay sets out a roadmap to understand the new politics of participation in Latin America by exploring the intersection between two important transformations in society and the state. First, we highlight new actors in state and society who are pressing for policy reform. Whereas the existing literature focuses on interests organized around social class and indigenous identity, we reveal a rainbow of societal actors that span class lines, as well as the emergence of activist bureaucrats, who work together to demand greater social inclusion and policy change. Second, while prior studies emphasize representative institutions as the main site to advance policy change, we analyze the importance of new institutions for participation in the executive and the judicial branches of government. These sites have been central for activism in a range of underexplored policy areas, including the environment; the rights of women, people with disabilities, and sexual minorities; and crime. Together, we argue, these new actors and institutions are redefining the politics of participation today in Latin America.

Political theorists and empirical scholars have long assumed that democracy and participation are necessarily in tension. Partly for this reason, research on participatory democracy has focused on “mini-publics”—relatively small-scale and/or local practices. Through an exploration of Brazil's National Public Policy Conferences, we provide the first evidence that participatory governance practices can directly shape important national public policy outcomes at the national level. Our findings call into question the longstanding critique that participatory practices are impractical on a large scale and thus unimportant to the overall functioning and quality of democracy. We find that participatory practices can deepen democratic regimes by opening the doors for greater and more direct civil society input into the substantive content of national governance.

Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:26 Page Number: 118 4 Inclusion Without Power? Limits of Participatory Institutions Benjamin Goldfrank  In the early twenty-ﬁrst century, to different degrees across countries, Latin America became a center for experiments with participatory institutions. Political parties and leaders on the Left called for deepening democracy by adopting new venues for citizen participation beyond traditional representative institutions. More centrist or conservative technocratic incumbents advocated for participatory institutions as a means to improve government efﬁciency and reduce corruption. International development organizations offered encouragement and funding for governments of varied ideological hues to implement participatory institutions, especially at the local level. By one count, 1,889 “participatory innovations” appeared in sixteen Latin American countries between 1990 and 2015, making it the world’s leading laboratory for creating deliberative councils, popular consultations, citizen oversight commissions, participatory budgeting (PB), and policy conferences, among other institutions (Pogrebinschi 2017a). While many observers applauded the growth of possibilities for popular sector participation, a recent wave of skeptical scholarship highlights the profound differences across such experiments and cautions against overly sanguine evaluations of the degree of popular sector inclusion. Indeed, as the introductory chapter notes, although inclusionary reforms have spread across Latin America on paper, questions remain about their application in practice. Heterogeneity in design and implementation of participatory institutions over time, across countries, and across levels of government makes macro-comparative analysis and 118 Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:26 Page Number: 119 Limits of Participatory Institutions 119 identiﬁcation of patterns difﬁcult. Explaining why participatory institutions are adopted, why they vary, and what limits their ability to foster meaningful citizenship is a formidable research agenda, one that this chapter only begins to address with three sets of arguments. The ﬁrst set of arguments complements and complicates the introductory chapter’s claim that Latin America’s inclusionary turn can be traced to the enduring democracy-persistent inequalities nexus. The notion that regular elections encouraged political parties to compete for voters demanding more recognition, access, and resources in unequal societies is not wrong, but is incomplete as an account of the rise of participatory institutions. It misses that many participatory institutions were drafted during periods of political uncertainty or instability – transitions (Brazil, Peru), civil war (Colombia), party system collapse (Bolivia, Ecuador, Venezuela) – or, in some cases, simply readopted after dictatorships ended (Brazil, Uruguay). It also misses the important role of leftist activists inspired by the ideas of participatory democracy to try new forms of political access. Without the Left’s ideological transformation (Goldfrank 2011a), it is unlikely that a participatory inclusionary turn would have occurred. Perhaps most signiﬁcantly, this account misses how international actors encouraged adoption of participatory institutions. In aid-reliant poor countries, donors pushed for participation mechanisms alongside decentralization since the 1980s as a means to achieve efﬁcient government and poverty reduction. These international pressures affected much of the region around the same time that left parties began winning city governments in newly democratized or decentralized countries. One of their autochthonous innovations in the 1990s – PB – gained acclaim in the 2000s, becoming a policy instrument promoted by the leftist activists who invented it and by international development organizations. Participatory budgeting has now been adopted by thousands of cities rich and poor, democratic and authoritarian, governed by mayors left and right. As Hunter (this volume) stresses for conditional cash transfer (CCT) programs, and as the section below on PB illustrates, to account for the adoption of inclusionary institutions in Latin America, one must acknowledge the role of international actors and policy diffusion. Unlike Hunter’s account of CCTs, this chapter also emphasizes the importance of the Left. Second, despite the widespread experimentation with new or revived forms of participation and a tangible increase in access for popular sectors, the degree of meaningful inclusion remains limited, even in countries where participatory institutions are most prevalent. The limitations differ. As suggested in the introductory chapter, a parchment–practice Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:26 Page Number: 120 120 Benjamin Goldfrank gap exists in several countries, where participatory reforms written into laws and constitutions are rarely if ever implemented. This gap is important, but there is a long history of laws being written in Latin America “just for the English to see” (só para inglês ver), as Brazilians say. More interesting are the facts that many countries actually implemented dozens of participatory institutions involving millions of citizens and that, nonetheless, their inclusionary impact in practice has been “partial and tentative” (Roberts, this volume). Their limitations vary. In some cases, the number of participants is small or mostly not from the popular sector. In other cases, the number of participants is relatively large and lowerincome, but they either have minimal consultative roles or they decide over a restricted range of microlevel or narrowly focused issues involving minimal resources. A further, cross-cutting limitation in some cases is that effective participation is conditioned by partisan loyalty, rendering inclusion for some and exclusion for others. For participatory institutions to foster meaningful inclusion, they would need not only to increase access for popular sectors but also to offer some degree of decision-making power over signiﬁcant resources and policies without reinforcing clientelism (see Kapiszewski, Levitsky and Yashar, this volume). While participatory institutions have generated meaningful inclusion in certain locales or for speciﬁc sectors at times, in no country except for perhaps Uruguay has inclusion been sustained nationwide. Instead, the reach of participatory institutions remains limited. This underscores the editors’ point in the introductory chapter that establishing participatory institutions does not necessarily or automatically translate into effective practice of citizenship. Third, this chapter lays out one set of hypotheses to explain why some countries have implemented broad-based participatory institutions more than others, and another set to explain why, even in those countries that most use such institutions, they vary so much and their impact remains limited. In brief, the section below on the participatory boom suggests that the varying degree of implementation of participatory institutions is related to the strength and ideological preferences of the Left, the stability of the political system, international inﬂuence, and country-speciﬁc historical legacies. The section on the limits and legacies of participation offers reasons behind the varying design and impact of participatory institutions, including the ideological preferences, social bases, and continuity of governing coalitions and the strength of conservative opposition. A more general hypothesis, applicable to all cases, is that participatory institutions are constrained because incumbents of all stripes fear genuine power-sharing mechanisms, especially with the Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:26 Page Number: 121 Limits of Participatory Institutions 121 popular sector. Not surprisingly, incumbents prefer to retain decisionmaking authority over the lion’s share of resources and important policies to help them stay in power. Electoral competition may spur efforts at inclusion, particularly social policy expansion (Garay, this volume), but it also may limit the scope of participatory institutions as incumbents seek to maintain control over which constituents gain recognition, access, and resources. As political parties ascend from local to national government, the stakes increase. The need to retain authority to make compromises, cement alliances, and appease powerful interests increases as well, which heightens incumbents’ fear of unconstrained popular participation. Yet politicians address the risk that newly included groups gain too much power (Cameron, this volume) in different ways, some by restricting participatory institutions and others by conditioning inclusion on partisan loyalty. To account for the varying trajectories and limitations of participatory institutions, this chapter proceeds in three sections. The next section reviews the main theoretical approaches employed to understand the new participatory institutions. The chapter then looks for meaningful inclusion in the most likely cases, starting with a sketch of the diffusion of a single institution, PB, the most heralded of Latin America’s recent experiments in participatory democracy. This section argues that while PB began as part of an inclusionary project of the Left, as PB spread to new locales it tended to lose its inclusionary potential. The last section examines the countries that arguably advanced furthest in bringing a panoply of participatory institutions from parchment to practice at multiple levels of government – Brazil, Peru, Venezuela, and Uruguay – where one might expect to see the greatest degree of inclusion. Nonetheless, participatory institutions remain limited in Peru, have been rolled back in Brazil, and have been converted into blatant clientelism in Venezuela. Uruguay’s array of participatory institutions is limited in some ways as well, but, all combined, offers more access to decision-making over important policies for the popular sector than other countries in this group and the wider region.     The academic literature on Latin America’s institutionalized citizen participation beyond elections is rich in detail and brimming with insights drawn mostly from local-level case studies. Systematic macrocomparative analysis remains rare, especially across multiple countries, Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:27 Page Number: 122 122 Benjamin Goldfrank types of institutions, and levels of government.1 This gap reﬂects not only the intrinsic difﬁculty of such analyses, but the established notion in political science scholarship that scaling up participation to the national level is essentially impossible (see, Dahl 1998; Przeworski 2010; Mainwaring 2012) as well as the attention and resources provided to the local level by international development organizations; the World Bank alone allotted roughly $85 billion to “local participatory development” in the ﬁrst decade of the twenty-ﬁrst century (Mansuri and Rao 2013, 1). This section focuses on the more prominent approaches to understanding the region’s participatory boom, highlighting contrasts and points of near consensus. Radically simplifying, one way to divide comparative studies of Latin America’s participatory experiments is into “political projects” and “democratic innovations” approaches. These approaches correspond roughly to the debate in this volume’s introductory chapter between, respectively, what the editors call a demand-side account of the “second incorporation” and their own account stressing democratic endurance and persistent inequality. The two approaches focus on the same gamut of institutions – those that involve citizens, individually or in groups, in public decision-making processes, project implementation, or government oversight – and share some basic assumptions. Most scholars include PB; public policy and planning councils, conferences, forums, dialogs, and roundtables; oversight commissions and public audits; communal councils; and direct democracy mechanisms like recall referendums, prior consultations, citizen initiatives, and policy referendums. Some include corporatist institutions like wage commissions or indigenous selfgovernance institutions. While scholars following either kind of approach recognize tensions between participatory and representative institutions, most implicitly or explicitly view them as at least potentially complementary and recognize that many participatory institutions themselves involve some degree of representation. The political projects approach views participatory experiments as continuations of counter-hegemonic struggles from below against authoritarian rule and against neoliberalism (Santos and Avritzer 2002; Dagnino et al. 2006; Cannon and Kirby 2012). Originally, the main 1 Scholars focusing on “mechanisms of direct democracy” alone, especially referendums, plebiscites, and consultations, have produced interesting national-level comparative analyses, but usually separately from those studying other participatory mechanisms or other levels of government; see Altman (2011) and Ruth et al. (2017). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:27 Page Number: 123 Limits of Participatory Institutions 123 project was creating an alternative participatory model in order to deepen democracy. Evelina Dagnino, Alberto Olvera, and Aldo Panﬁchi (2006), for example, describe Latin America in the 2000s as a confrontation between three political projects – authoritarianism, neoliberalism, and participatory democracy. Participatory democracy does not mean rejecting representative institutions. Rather, it involves the “ampliﬁcation of the concept of politics through citizen participation and deliberation in public spaces,” where democracy is conceived “as an articulated system of processes of citizen intervention in the decisions that concern them and in vigilance over the exercise of government” (Dagnino et al. 2006, 17). This kind of participation is considered to be “an instrument for building greater equality, insofar as it would contribute to the formulation of public policies oriented toward that goal” and “would contribute to a deprivatization of the State, which would become more permeable to the public interest formulated through societal participation, and, therefore, less subordinated to the private appropriation of its resources” (Dagnino et al. 2006, 48). Though they recognize challenges of participatory institutions, scholars within the political projects approach tend to display a normative preference for participatory democracy, identify participatory democracy with the Left, and have high expectations, using the language of emancipation, empowerment, and transformation. Like the demandside account described by Kapiszewski, Levitsky, and Yashar (this volume), this approach emphasizes the role of social movement activists in demanding greater participation, in inventing participatory mechanisms, or in implementing them alongside or within governments. The democratic innovations approaches differ in several ways. With regards to the origins of the participatory boom, rather than grand projects demanded and pursued by subaltern actors, the democratic innovations scholars – like the editors’ chapter (this volume) – tend to emphasize politicians in general responding creatively to constituent demands that emanate at least partly from persistent inequality. However, the democratic innovations approach is also broader than that of the editors. They view the creation of new institutions as responding not only to citizen discontent with unequal societies but to increasingly fragmented societies with multiple social cleavages and new interests (Lissidini et al. 2014, 1–5), and to dissatisfaction with representative institutions (Cameron and Sharpe 2012, 321; Pogrebinschi 2017a, 57). As Zaremberg et al. (2017, 2) put it: “In the last few decades, classic channels of representation centered on political parties and unions have been profoundly transformed, to the point where some have emphasized Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:27 Page Number: 124 124 Benjamin Goldfrank the existence of a generalized crisis of political representation.” In these accounts, the role of the Left or social movements is usually noted, but not stressed, normative preferences are downplayed, and expectations of participation are tempered. For Cameron and Sharpe (2012, 321, 330): “New participatory practices have the potential to improve the performance and legitimacy of democracy, increase accountability and responsiveness, and foster more active and engaged citizenship,” but at the same time, “innovations in one area of democratic governance may damage the performance of democracy in another.” Instead of viewing democratic innovations as collectively pointing to a single larger goal of building participatory democracy, scholars in this vein see multiple, distinct goals: ﬁxing deﬁciencies of traditional representative institutions, redressing inequality, and enhancing political inclusion (Pogrebinschi 2016, 3, 14, 17); restoring trust in democracy (Lissidini et al. 2014, 5); or providing new forms of political intermediation (Zaremberg et al. 2017, 4). Both approaches help illuminate the proliferation of participatory institutions and complement each other well. Arguably, the political projects approach, with its emphasis on actors and ideas, better explains the origins of the participatory turn while the democratic innovations approaches, with their emphasis on regular competition over how to address structural and institutional mismatches, better explain its continuation. Notably absent from either, however, is the role of diffusion. Regardless of approach, scholars of both single- and multi-country studies reach several nearly consensual conclusions. These start with the notions that Latin America is a global leader in creating participatory institutions and that these institutions face limitations and differ in important ways across countries. The most frequently cited and documented limitation is the “extractivist” development model operating throughout most of the region irrespective of ideological orientation. Devotion to extractivism has made participatory institutions related to natural resources, like prior consultations (consultas previas) and tripartite roundtables, toothless at best. While prior consultation is “probably the single most important tool that local communities currently possess to legally resist extractive projects in their habitats,” this tool is ineffective, as it typically either remains only on paper or is manipulated or ignored by business or government conveners (Schilling-Vacaﬂor and Vollrath 2012, 127; see also Cannon and Kirby 2012, 190, 192; Arsel et al. 2016; Federación 2018, 55). Whether in Brazil (Castro and Motta 2015), Colombia (McNeish 2017), Ecuador (Lalander 2014), Peru (Flemmer and Schilling-Vacaﬂor 2016), Venezuela Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:27 Page Number: 125 Limits of Participatory Institutions 125 (Lander 2016), or even Bolivia,2 governments consistently fail to implement, respect, or enforce consultation rights regarding potentially destructive development projects. Instead, Latin America has become the world’s “most dangerous” region for environmental activists, “with indigenous groups being the most vulnerable for violations ranging from threats, attacks and torture to disappearances and killings” as states prosecute environmentalists and indigenous groups or fail to defend them (Arsel et al. 2016, 886). Absence of effective participatory institutions in the critical extractive sector is telling. It reinforces the key point that incumbents avoid sharing decision-making power over the most important policies. It also shows how different dimensions of inclusion – access and resources – can be in tension. After all, for governments relying on revenues from extraction in order to increase social spending, creating meaningful participatory institutions could undermine a crucial pillar for maintaining popularity. While Latin America has a uniformly weak record of effective participation regarding the environment, scholars consistently conclude that the type and scope of other participatory institutions differ signiﬁcantly across the region, even in countries often grouped together. Despite the parallels in their constitutions (Elkins, this volume) and in their reliance on the commodity boom (Mazzuca, this volume), among other similarities, diverse scholars agree that the Bolivarian countries of Bolivia, Ecuador, and Venezuela vary considerably in designing and implementing participatory institutions aimed at the popular sector (Cannon and Kirby 2012; Balderacchi 2017; De la Torre 2017; Silva 2017). Though leaders in each country direct democracy mechanisms like referendums more than most other countries in the region, Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez went further than Ecuadorian President Rafael Correa and Bolivian President Evo Morales in promoting local-level institutions nationwide that allowed for ongoing mass participation. Under 2 The Bolivian case is disputed. While Falleti and Riofrancos (2018) present the use of prior consultations there as exemplifying a strong participatory institution, pointing out how frequently it is employed there compared to elsewhere, others emphasize the fact that the consultations in Bolivia always end with allowing mining operations to go forward (Zaremberg and Torres Wong 2018). Many scholars stress how the Morales government prioritized extraction over participation rights and undermined indigenous activists while empowering transnational mining ﬁrms (Lalander 2016; Andreucci and Radhuber 2017; see also Farthing 2019). The Ibero-American Federation of Ombudsmen (Federación 2018, 55) lists Bolivia alongside six other South American states in which mining harms indigenous peoples’ rights and where “States omit or poorly implement consultation processes.” Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:27 Page Number: 126 126 Benjamin Goldfrank Morales, in fact, the municipal monitoring committees (comités de vigilancia) established in the 1990s were abolished (Zuazo 2017, 100) as he focused more on informal channels for social movement allies than on institutionalized public participation. Correa neither promoted the constitution’s new participatory institutions nor established informal alliances with social movements; instead, technocrats dominated policymaking and citizen participation was primarily electoral. Balderacchi (2017), de la Torre (2017), and Silva (2017) use similar, though not identical, explanations for these differences, stressing the comparative weakness of Ecuadorian social movements, the dispersed nature of Venezuelan social movements, and the reliance by Chávez and Morales on popular sector allies to mobilize against strong opposition reactions. Though the comparative case study literature emphasizes diversity, one pioneering scholar of participatory institutions, Pogrebinschi (2016, 4; 2017a, 58) underscores the commonality of highly institutionalized deliberative forms of citizen participation across the region. Pogrebinschi’s (2017b) impressive dataset of Latin American innovations for democracy (LATINNO) includes over 2,400 examples in eighteen countries from 1990 to 2016, coded according to forty-three indicators. One reason for differences between the comparative case studies and Pogrebinschi’s broad quantitative analysis may be that thus far she has used individual innovations as the unit of analysis. When Pogrebinschi compares countries, she adds together each individual innovation, regardless of how long it lasted, how many citizens participated, at what level of government it took place (local, provincial, national), and whether or not it had an impact on policy outcomes.3 When the nationwide system encompassing thousands of communal councils in Venezuela, which has lasted over a decade, inﬂuenced millions of dollars in local spending, and engaged roughly a third of the country’s adult population, takes the same value as a three-day “Smart Cities Hackathon” involving seventy people in Caracas in 2015, the relative importance and meaning of different “participatory” innovations disappear.4 3 4 The counting rules have other complications. If an institution exists in every city – such as Brazil’s municipal health councils – it counts in the dataset only once, while each of Brazil’s national policy conferences count separately if they are on different topics. Furthermore, data is missing or inaccurate for some of the forty-three indicators, including, crucially, number of participants. See the descriptions of these innovations on the LATINNO data project website here: www.latinno.net/en/case/19001/ and here: www.latinno.net/en/case/19091/ Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:28 Page Number: 127 Limits of Participatory Institutions 127 Recognizing the difﬁculties of macro-comparison of participatory institutions, this chapter triangulates between the counting efforts in LATINNO and in this volume (see Figure 1.3, showing legal adoption of access reforms), and the qualitative evaluations of participatory institutions in case study literature to assess the extent to which broad-based participatory institutions have been implemented in practice across sectors and levels of government. Focusing on formal participatory institutions that offer access to citizens generally (including the popular sector), not those aimed at professionals or technocrats, and including direct democracy mechanisms, major countries in the region divide into three groups. The highly participatory group is comprised of Brazil, Venezuela, Peru, and Uruguay. As detailed in the section below on limits and legacies of participation, each of these countries has created multiple venues for popular sector participation at different levels of government involving millions of citizens. Until recently, Brazil and Venezuela had often been held up – by separate scholars – as examples for the region (cf. Cameron and Sharpe 2012, 244; Webber and Carr 2013, 6, 22), while Peru is the world’s leading user of recall referendums and Uruguay is Latin America’s most proliﬁc user of citizen-initiated popular consultations. At the lower end of the participatory spectrum are Chile, Mexico, and Argentina. While citizen participation is often prominent in the discourse of Chilean and Mexican politicians, who have implemented advisory councils with fanfare, in practice policymaking at all levels generally remains elite-driven.5 In Argentina, participatory discourse has remained limited and “elected ofﬁcials neglected to adopt sweeping participatory reforms” (Risley 2015, 128), even under the Kirchner administrations, when the emphasis lay on rebuilding corporatism (Wylde 2012, 46) and partisan social organizations (Ostiguy and Schneider 2018). The middle group is comprised of Bolivia and Ecuador (described above), as well as Colombia. Like their Northern Andean counterparts in this group, Colombian leaders advanced new participatory institutions like recall referendums and local policy councils when they revised the constitution in the 1990s, and have written several new laws on paper since then to promote citizen participation, but have similarly failed to institutionalize widespread popular sector 5 For Chile, see Jara Reyes (2012), Cameron and Sharpe (2012), and Delamaza (2015) ; for Mexico, see, Cabrero and Díaz Aldret (2012), Cameron and Sharpe (2012), and Olvera (2015). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:28 Page Number: 128 128 Benjamin Goldfrank participation in practice (Rampf and Chavarro 2014; Vargas Reina 2014; Mayka 2019). How can one explain this variation in the implementation of broadbased participatory institutions? As exploratory hypotheses, two factors in combination seem especially pertinent. First, the role of a strong left party or movement with a historical ideological commitment to participatory democracy helps distinguish Brazil, Uruguay, and Venezuela from the other countries. The Workers’ Party and the Broad Front had experience implementing participatory experiments at the local level in Brazil and Uruguay, respectively, in the 1990s before winning national power in the 2000s, and many of their social movement allies espoused participatory ideals as well. The coalition supporting Hugo Chávez in Venezuela also included parties that had advocated and practiced participatory democracy in the past. Even in Peru, where the Left was debilitated, the remnants of the United Left held participatory ideals and experience. Left and center-left parties in the other countries were weaker and/or excluded from power (Colombia, Mexico), not ideologically committed to participatory democracy (Argentina, Chile, Ecuador), or focused on indigenous rights to communal autonomy (Bolivia). Second, countries in the medium to high range (except Brazil and Uruguay) experienced marked political instability in the 1990s or early 2000s, in the form of party system collapse or civil war, while those in the low range did not (even Argentina’s severe economic crisis in 2001 only led to a brief presidential shufﬂing, after which the same party continued to dominate). Instability often led to constitutional assemblies, opening the way for social movements and parties to place new participatory ideas on the agenda. In Argentina, Chile, and Mexico, by contrast, party system stability remained intact (at least until 2015) and policymaking was gradual, even throughout Mexico’s transition away from one-party rule. More tentatively, international inﬂuences may have been stronger in several of the medium to high cases, especially in aid recipient countries such as Peru (see section on limits and legacies of participation). An additional trait that Brazil and Uruguay share is their prior history of greater use of participatory institutions, a corporatist tradition that preceded the inclusionary turn by decades and likely facilitated it (for Brazil, see Mayka and Rich, this volume). This chapter adopts the perspective that the rise of participatory institutions in Latin America stems both from ideologically motivated political projects and from the continual attempts by politicians at all levels of government to innovate in order to respond to constituents, which Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:28 Page Number: 129 Limits of Participatory Institutions 129 democratic competition allows and encourages, and which international organizations often promote. Understanding what these institutions mean for inclusion in practice requires more than an accumulation of snapshots from a bird’s-eye view. More contextualized, longitudinal analyses of participatory institutions are needed to illuminate their origins, evolution, and limitations. The next two empirical sections try to provide this kind of analysis in different ways, ﬁrst by following the trajectory of one of the most widely implemented new institutions in the region – PB – and then by examining the multiple and varied participatory institutions implemented in Brazil, Peru, Uruguay, and Venezuela. Each section demonstrates the importance of both leftist political projects and international actors in the creation, diffusion, and implementation of participatory institutions. Both sections also emphasize that, even when participatory institutions make the leap from parchment to practice, and even when they seem ideally suited to maximize inclusion, how they are designed and implemented by those fearful of losing power can inhibit the effective practice of citizenship.       When leftist mayors began implementing PB in the early 1990s in Porto Alegre and other cities where it had other names, including Ciudad Guayana, Caracas, and Montevideo, inclusion was a principal goal of their project of developing local-level participatory democracy (Goldfrank 2011a). By allowing all residents to voluntarily and regularly contribute to decision-making over a signiﬁcant part of the municipal budget in repeated interactions with government authorities, PB granted recognition to previously excluded groups (those living in informal or peripheral neighborhoods) and provided them access to a new institution that inﬂuenced local resources. Participants disproportionately drew from the popular sectors and government spending through PB-favored popular sector neighborhoods. By the 2010s, PB had spread to thousands of cities in Latin America and throughout the world. However, the form and importance of PB differ considerably across locations, and examples of PB generating meaningful citizenship are now rare in Latin America and beyond (Peck and Theodore 2015; Goldfrank 2017; Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017). How and why did PB globalize and, eventually, lose its more inclusionary attributes in most cases? To answer these questions, this section offers an account of the facilitated diffusion of PB. The globalization of PB follows many traits Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:28 Page Number: 130 130 Benjamin Goldfrank highlighted by Hunter’s (this volume) explanation of the diffusion of CCTs. The main difference between the two is that PB was adopted both by local governments on their own in an uncoordinated but interdependent fashion and by local governments either mandated to do so by national governments or, in Brazil in the 1990s, strongly encouraged to do so by the Workers’ Party. This makes the globalization of PB a hybrid of uncoordinated interdependence and coordination from above, unlike the spread of CCTs, which shows “interdependence without coordination” (Hunter, this volume). Nonetheless, as with CCTs, the spread of PB bears all the hallmarks of diffusion – geographical clustering, adoption by highly disparate cities and countries in short time periods following a forward-leaning “S” wavelike pattern, dense networks of experts and politicians, a simple and bold core idea that appeals to multiple actors across ideological lines, and research and ﬁnancial support from international organizations.6 This section brieﬂy describes the original Porto Alegre model of PB, explains how and why it attracted international attention and began to spread, and analyzes how translations of it elsewhere differ such that its original citizenship-enhancing traits are often lost. In the early years, when the Workers’ Party launched it, PB in Porto Alegre generally worked as follows (Goldfrank 2017). At the start of each annual cycle, citizens met in open public assemblies at the local level to evaluate government performance, discussed their most pressing needs, and established investment priorities for their neighborhoods, districts, and city. Participants voted on which social policies and infrastructure projects should be prioritized and elected district-level (or thematic) delegates, as well as councilors for the city-wide budget council. The delegates and councilors met throughout the year to negotiate technical details of projects and the ﬁnal budget with city ofﬁcials, monitor implementation of the prior year’s plan, and deliberate over potential rule changes. City ofﬁcials aggregated the priorities to develop an investment and service plan, typically representing 5–15 percent of the budget. Allocation of projects across districts corresponded to a formula including population size, lack of infrastructure or services, and the selected priorities. Once the ﬁnal budget was passed by the municipal legislature, the investment and service plan was distributed to PB participants as the cycle renewed so 6 This section draws on Goldfrank (2012) and three books on the diffusion of PB (Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017; Oliveira 2017) or what they prefer to call “translation” of PB and CCTs (Peck and Theodore 2015). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:28 Page Number: 131 Limits of Participatory Institutions 131 that they could monitor government performance. In the 1990s, Porto Alegre allocated between US$30 million and US$120 million annually through PB, roughly equivalent to US$20 to US$80 per inhabitant per year, and participation levels grew from several hundred to ﬁfteen thousand residents (Goldfrank 2011a, 210–211). This model of PB became a modular template that spread in wavelike patterns ﬁrst in Brazil, then throughout Latin America, and ultimately the rest of the world. Participatory budgeting gained notice within the Workers’ Party because Porto Alegre was one of the few cities in which the party continually won reelection, governing from 1989 to 2004. The Workers’ Party mandated its mayors of large cities to implement PB, which partially explains its rise from a handful of cases in the early 1990s to adoption by over 100 Brazilian municipalities over the decade. Widespread diffusion beyond Brazil occurred after Porto Alegre’s PB earned a UN-Habitat award in 1996 and the subsequent publication of several inﬂuential books and articles that highlighted PB as a sort of magic bullet to help solve numerous democratic and development deﬁcits. The simple idea of giving citizens direct input over how to spend government resources appealed to diverse activists and policymakers. PB was touted (or at least perceived) as a way to give voice to the excluded, encourage the growth of civil society organizations (CSOs), make infrastructure and service delivery more equitable, and enhance transparency while reducing corruption. Key publications promoting PB included, Orçamento participativo: A experiência de Porto Alegre (Genro and de Souza 1997), co-authored by a former mayor and implementer of PB, an article in Le Monde Diplomatique (Cassen 1998), the World Bank’s annual World Development Reports starting in 1997 (World Bank 1997, 122), and a PB guidebook from UN-Habitat (2004). The article in Le Monde Diplomatique – written by its director, Bernard Cassen, president of ATTAC in France – helped Porto Alegre secure its place as host of the ﬁrst World Social Forum (WSF), the gathering of anti-neoliberal globalization activists. The prominence of PB at the WSF in turn aided the creation of a left-leaning channel for PB diffusion. Overlapping networks of politicians and experts – starting with the original “ambassadors of participation” (Oliveira 2017, 6) from Porto Alegre’s City Hall and aided by international organizations – promoted PB through workshops, site visits, conferences, research reports, and, in some cases, ﬁnancial support to start pilot projects. The most important organizations supporting PB’s expansion include the United Nations, the European Union through its URB-AL program, United States Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 132 132 Benjamin Goldfrank Agency for International Development (USAID), and the World Bank, which provided roughly $280 million in loans or grants to support PB in ﬁfteen countries from 2002 to 2012.7 Horizontal networks such as the International Observatory on Participatory Democracy, United Cities and Local Governments, and the World Bank- and UN-supported Cities Alliance also advocated for PB, as have national networks of cities with PB in Latin American countries, including Argentina, Brazil, and Colombia. As a result of these diffusion efforts, by 2013 conservative estimates indicated that PB had spread to well over 2,000 locales in more than forty countries, including rural towns and major cities in all world regions, from Mexico, New York, Paris, and Gdansk to Maputo, Chengdu, Seoul, and Melbourne (Sintomer et al. 2014, 30; Cabannes and Lipietz 2017; Oliveira 2017). More recent studies point to over 7,000 local, provincial, or regional governments using PB, with over 2,500 in Latin America alone (Dias and Júlio 2018, 19–20), suggesting that the upward slope of the global “S” curve has not yet peaked. There is clear evidence of diversity of adopters and of at least initial geographical clustering. Local governments in Latin America were early adopters, mostly but not only of their own volition. National governments passed laws mandating local governments to adopt PB in Peru in 2003, the Dominican Republic in 2007, and Colombia in 2015. The hybrid form of diffusion, with some cities learning from and emulating Porto Alegre while others were cajoled by international actors or mandated from above to implement PB, may help explain PB’s heterogeneous and frequently disappointing outcomes as it spreads and evolves. In many cases, what was once a leftist project to deepen democracy became a technocratic and sometimes empty tool of “good governance.” In part this is because the left-leaning channel of PB diffusion, with its ideological commitments to participatory democracy and redistribution, lost clout to the better resourced international donor channels, where motives were mixed (Peck and Theodore 2015, 214, 231; Goldfrank 2012). The Workers’ Party’s loss to a center-right coalition in Porto Alegre in 2004 not only led to the hollowing out (and in 2017, suspension) of PB there, but to the weakening of the left diffusion channel. In addition, whether or not later implementers of PB did so of their own accord or were mandated, they faced the dilemma of power sharing, and 7 This amount represented less than one-tenth of 1% of IBRD loans (see Goldfrank 2012, 3, 8). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 133 Limits of Participatory Institutions 133 many opted to share as little as possible. As PB traveled the globe, adopters often kept its format for allowing regular expression of popular demands but ignored the crucial accompanying administrative reforms that allowed decision-making power over important public resources and policies (Baiocchi and Ganuza 2017, 142–152). The simple core idea of PB became detached from the broader leftist political project that initiated it. By contrast with CCTs, which because of their targeted nature and low resource burden already make for “easy” adoption (Holland and Schneider 2017; Hunter, this volume), the diffusion of PB ultimately entailed the watering down of PB’s inclusionary potential through technocratic hijacking and power-holder pushback. Later adopters tended to modify the Porto Alegre model in ways that inhibited the effective practice of citizenship by limiting access and/or resources. As cities in Latin America and beyond began implementing PB, frequent changes included restricting participation to CSOs or to speciﬁc neighborhoods rather than opening to all, adding government or partisan budget councilors, restricting citizen input to infrastructure projects only, failing to include an allocation formula to beneﬁt poorly served or low-income communities, and forgoing city-wide citizen budget councils and district oversight bodies. Peru’s PB law, for example, adopts all of the restrictions above except for the last one. Many cities, including Mexico City, New York, and Paris, settled on a modiﬁed version of PB that operates like an election. Montevideo’s renewed PB process starting in 2006 offers a good example of this version. At the start of the cycle, the city government sets a speciﬁc amount of funding for PB, allocating an equal amount to each district and specifying a maximum for individual public infrastructure and service projects that citizens or civic associations may propose in person or via the internet. Local government ofﬁcials review the proposals and place technically viable ones on a ballot for a general election. The government commits to implement those projects winning the most votes, up to the established limit, over the course of the subsequent two years. In 2016, the government of Montevideo allocated roughly US$600,000 through PB to each of its eight municipal districts, with a maximum of US$100,000 per project, to be implemented in 2017 and 2018; at concurrent exchange rates, this would come out to about US$1.80 per inhabitant per year decided on through PB (see Goldfrank 2017, 116). In the heyday of PB in Porto Alegre in the 1990s, spending through PB was up to forty times higher than in Montevideo’s PB now. Many if not most Latin American PB processes outside of Brazil suffer from Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 134 134 Benjamin Goldfrank insufﬁcient funding, whether because local ﬁnances are woeful or because city ofﬁcials choose – on paper or in practice – to dedicate a small percentage of revenues to PB. In addition to the design modiﬁcations of PB described above, the varying amount of spending through PB means that the extent to which PB provides access and inﬂuence over resources to the popular sector is highly heterogeneous. Moreover, in some Andean and Central American cases where participation was restricted to speciﬁc groups, PB served to reinforce clientelism rather than enhance effective citizenship (Goldfrank 2017, 120–121). Even in cases where politicians’ intentions are worthy, negative results may occur. In Medellín, for example, criminal armed groups intruded into PB, threatening civic associations in attempts to capture resources and increase their power (Moncada 2016, 241–242). Finally, in countries where PB is not federally mandated, it is frequently abandoned after a mayoral term or two (Goldfrank 2017, 122). This variation in PB outcomes as it diffused underscores the importance of paying attention to local context and of not assuming democratizing or inclusionary effects of participatory institutions. Scholars should be particularly wary as PB spreads to subnational governments in authoritarian countries such as China and Russia, but even in some Latin American countries the local or national contexts feature high levels of violence or autocratic tendencies that change the meaning of participation, whether through PB or other mechanisms.       , , ,   Analyzing this unlikely grouping of these four countries with the most widespread implementation and regular use of participatory institutions echoes lessons similar to those from the preceding look at the diffusion of PB. First, leftist political projects have been crucial to the ideation and implementation of participatory institutions. The Left’s role, in the form of the Workers’ Party (PT), the Broad Front (FA), and Hugo Chávez and his allied political parties, was more important to the spread of participatory institutions in Brazil, Uruguay, and Venezuela than it was in Peru, where international organizations played key roles. Second, more than a parchment-to-practice gap, examination of these four countries with the most extensive implementation of participatory institutions reveals considerable variation in their design such that meaningful popular sector inclusion is not guaranteed. Democratic (non-clientelistic) popular sector inclusion through participatory institutions advanced most in Uruguay Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 135 Limits of Participatory Institutions 135 and Brazil, though more ﬂeetingly in the latter. Inclusion remained comparatively limited in Peru, while initially democratic participatory institutions in Venezuela devolved into clientelistic vehicles for maintaining increasingly authoritarian control. While the rest of this section focuses on narrating the origins and evolution of participatory institutions in these four countries, on describing the access they provide to policymaking, and on evaluating their inclusionary impact, it begins with hypotheses to explain the variation in the general outcomes. First, the greater impact of participatory institutions in Brazil, Uruguay, and Venezuela compared to Peru is partially due to the long periods of left-led government in the former countries. The PT, FA, and Chavismo, respectively, each stayed in national ofﬁce for over a dozen years in the 2000s, while in Peru the Left has never won the presidency and no political party – regardless of ideology – has been reelected even once since democratization in 1980. Continuity granted the Left the opportunity to design participatory experiments that could provide decision-making power (rather than consultation) to the popular sector over important local, sectoral, and national policies. Second, the higher degree of partisan bias within Peruvian and especially Venezuelan participatory institutions relates back to the nature of the governing coalitions, which were broader and steadier in Brazil and Uruguay than in Peru, where they constantly changed amid hyper-competition, and Venezuela, where one party dominated. Finally, the varying strength of conservative opposition forces helps explain the evolution of participatory institutions in all cases. Opposition parties had more congressional seats in Brazil, Peru, and Uruguay than in Venezuela, which they often used to delay, water down, sabotage, or block the most far-reaching participatory institutions, and which governing coalitions took into account when they designed or revived such institutions, limiting their scope, decision-making power, or types of participants (individuals, CSOs, government ofﬁcials). The weaker opposition in Venezuela destroyed its democratic credibility and its ability to inﬂuence Chavista participatory institutions by engaging in civil–military coups d’etat and electoral boycotts that left it without congressional representation during key periods. Peru The origins of Peru’s highly regulated, nationwide, multilevel set of participatory institutions – including but not limited to PB – are complicated. Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 136 136 Benjamin Goldfrank Multiple actors were involved, including politicians from across the ideological spectrum, the Catholic Church, and international aid organizations. The genesis of today’s institutions date back to the experiments in local-level participation by a few United Left (IU) mayors after military rule ended in 1980, and to the autocratic period following Alberto Fujimori’s auto-golpe in 1992, when former IU members joined NGOs and other CSOs in creating initiatives for public dialog, including the ﬁrst “concertation roundtables” (mesas de concertación), often with the support of Catholic or Evangelical religious groups (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 232–239). After the coup, the Organization of American States pressured the Fujimori regime to return to democracy, and international ﬁnancial institutions, led by the World Bank, called for policies to reduce poverty and inequality with support from civil society (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 236–239). This combination of pressures is likely related to the inclusion in the 1993 constitution of two key participation provisions: the recall referendum for local elections (Welp 2016a, 1165) and the right of citizen participation in administration of public resources. As Panﬁchi and Dammert (2006, 236) argue: “citizen participation during fujimorismo was added in the framework of a process of negotiations with external actors.” The pressure continued when donor organizations pushed Fujimori to create a working group on ﬁghting poverty that gathered representatives of the government, business, civil society, and international organizations (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 238–239). When Fujimori was forced out in 2000, Caritas-Peru presented the multiparty transition government with a proposal to build on the local concertation roundtables experience to create a national system of dialog on social policies and development plans to reduce poverty (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 241; Meltzer 2013, 278). Thus was born the Mesa de Concertación para la Lucha Contra Pobreza (Roundtable for the Fight Against Poverty; MCLCP) in January 2001. The MCLCP consists of representatives from government, CSOs, business, labor, and religious groups, and is now present at each level of government, including all twenty-six regions, most of the 195 provinces, and most of the 1,838 municipal districts. At the national level, the MCLCP includes representatives from international aid organizations as well.8 The MCLCP also sends representatives to the National Accord Forum (Foro del Acuerdo Nacional), another state–society organ created 8 See www.mesadeconcertacion.org.pe/directorio-nacional (accessed Feb 13, 2018) for a list of organizations represented. Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:29 Page Number: 137 Limits of Participatory Institutions 137 during the post-Fujimori transition to strengthen democracy and reduce poverty by, among other things, promoting citizen participation and developing state policies on a consensual basis.9 The head of the MCLCP’s executive committee is designated by Peru’s president; the ﬁrst was a Catholic priest who had been the pastoral advisor to Caritas (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 242). Supported from the start by international aid organizations, including the United Kingdom’s Department for International Development (DfID) and the World Bank (Meltzer 2013, 278), one of the MCLCP’s main goals has been to: “Institutionalize citizen participation in the design, decision making, and oversight of the State’s social policies.”10 During Alejandro Toledo’s administration starting in 2001, the MCLCP began working with the Ministry of Finance (MEF) to create PB throughout Peru to provide continuity to local development plans. Again, international organizations, including the World Bank, UN agencies, and especially USAID, played a pivotal role. USAID provided training to municipal governments (Baiocchi 2015, 123) and co-sponsored an international conference on PB in Peru’s Congress, with presentations by former IU mayors who had previously implemented PB and by representatives from Workers’ Party governments in Porto Alegre and Santo André (Oliveira 2017, 180–181). The unlikely alliance (of locally-based CSOs, Church representatives, international agencies, the MEF, and Toledo government ofﬁcials with roots in the IU) faced resistance from opposition parties in the legislature when the former pushed to mandate PB in all regional, provincial, and municipal governments in 2003. Traditional parties, especially the Aprista Party (formerly APRA), claimed that citizen planning and budget councils undermined representative democracy. Eventually, a compromise, hybrid bill passed. It restricted involvement to ofﬁcial “participating agents” – those representing legally registered organizations (public or private) – who developed PB proposals, and it gave authority to approve those proposals to coordination councils with 60 percent of the seats reserved for local government ofﬁcials. Over the next few years, virtually all subnational governments began creating local MCLCPs and coordination councils and began implementing PB, and, after stops and starts, 9 10 For details, see Meltzer (2013), Iguíñiz (2015), and http://acuerdonacional.pe/ (accessed Feb 13, 2018). See www.mesadeconcertacion.org.pe/objetivos-y-funciones (accessed Feb 13 2018). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:30 Page Number: 138 138 Benjamin Goldfrank both the national MCLCP and the National Accord Forum had created working groups and were holding regular meetings. By the end of the ﬁrst decade of the twenty-ﬁrst century, CSOs throughout Peru had access to policy and budget decision-making processes, at least through representatives, at all levels of government. About 150,000 Peruvians were involved in PB every year by the late 2000s, or roughly 1 percent of the adult population (Goldfrank 2017, 121), and thousands more participated in the MCLCPs, coordination councils, and several other policy councils and committees. In addition, individual citizens had the right to recall elected authorities (mayors and city councilors) at the municipal and provincial levels and the rights to several mechanisms of direct democracy at the national level, including citizen legislative initiatives. As in other Andean countries, the latter have been used only sporadically, including successfully by an oil workers’ union to prevent the privatization of PetroPeru and unsuccessfully by the federation of water workers opposing privatization of water companies (Lissidini 2015; Welp 2008, 124–125). Local recall referendums, however, have been attempted more than 20,000 times, activated over 5,000 times, and successful over 1,500 times since 1993, making Peru “the most intense user of recall referendums worldwide” (Welp 2016a, 1164, 1162). Whether or not Peru “has more institutionalized mechanisms for citizen participation than anywhere else in Latin America” (Meltzer 2013, 20), it certainly stands out. Nonetheless, the degree to which Peru’s participatory institutions provide meaningful popular sector inclusion is questionable. Other than the direct democracy mechanisms, the main participatory institutions require membership in ofﬁcially registered CSOs, which excludes those who are not already (legally) organized, and they often give an equal or greater number of seats to government ofﬁcials, who may drown out citizen voices. Furthermore, many CSOs involved are not from the popular sector. On the MCLCP’s national directorate, for example, civil society is represented not only by the labor confederation (CGTP) and a women’s movement (CONAMOVIDI), but by Caritas, two business federations (CONFIEP and SNI), UNICEF and the UNDP, and the Coordinator of Foreign Entities of International Aid (COEECI). The civil society groups playing the most important roles on the coordination councils and in PB are not membership-based grassroots social organizations but professional NGOs; and women and women’s organizations are underrepresented in both the coordination councils and PB, leading McNulty (2013, 82) to “suspect that other less empowered constituencies are not Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:30 Page Number: 139 Limits of Participatory Institutions 139 attending these meetings either.” The main participatory institutions also allow only limited inﬂuence over policy and resources. The National Accord Forum and the MCLCPs operate by consensus, leading to broad nonbinding policy guidelines whose impact is difﬁcult to gage (Panﬁchi and Dammert 2006, 255; Iguíñiz 2015). And while by law PB should affect the capital investment budget for subnational governments, in practice funding dedicated to PB projects tends to be minimal. Only about half the approved projects are implemented on average (McNulty 2019, 137). In the recent four-year term of Lima’s mayor, Susana Villarán, only 16 PB projects were completed, which was one-ﬁfth the number of technically viable projects, and about 2 percent of all projects presented, leading to widespread participant frustration (Desenzi 2017, 130). Finally, Welp’s (2016a, 1172–1173) exhaustive analysis of recall referendums demonstrates that rather than promote inclusive citizenship, constant activation of recalls resulted in “polarization of politics and a growing lack of civility in the political arena.” Brazil The rise of participatory institutions in Brazil best exempliﬁes the political projects approach described earlier, in which anti-authoritarian social movements and political parties, in this case the PT especially, began advocating for and experimenting locally with a more participatory form of democracy while the country was under military rule. Their mobilization efforts paid off during the writing of the 1988 constitution, which enshrined the municipal autonomy and citizen participation rights that allowed for further growth of participatory institutions once democracy returned. Scholars typically tout the importance of urban social movements and PT administrations in large cities in the development of the participatory democracy project, but one should remember the roles of Catholic activists inﬂuenced by liberation theology and of reformist politicians from the Movement for Democracy (MDB, and later PMDB), especially in the 1970s and 1980s (Tranjan 2016; Baiocchi 2017). While Mayka and Rich (this volume) are correct that several participatory initiatives advanced somewhat under centrist governments of the 1990s, it is undeniable that the PT became the party most associated with the advance of participatory institutions aimed at the popular sector. Not only was the PT responsible for the spread of PB in the 1990s, during four consecutive terms in the presidency starting in 2003, it revived, created, or encouraged multiple participatory initiatives at all levels of government. Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:30 Page Number: 140 140 Benjamin Goldfrank Most importantly, the PT “reengineered” seventeen existing national policy councils in order to include CSO representatives and established twenty-two new national policy councils, stimulated the creation of tens of thousands of municipal public policy management councils through federal funding, and held dozens of multitiered national public policy conferences involving millions of participants at the municipal, state, and federal levels (Pogrebinschi and Tanscheit 2017; see also Avritzer 2012, 7–8, 12, and Wampler 2015, 264). The PT’s commitment to participatory democracy culminated in its (ultimately failed) attempt to establish a National System of Social Participation in 2014 that would have served to articulate the various participatory institutions with each other and with the government. By 2015, Brazil’s “vast participatory architecture” (Wampler 2015, 267) provided a wide array of opportunities for citizens to participate, and relatively large numbers of them did so. In Brazil’s 5,570 municipalities there are altogether somewhere between 30,000 and 65,000 policy councils with at least 300,000 members (cf. Wampler 2015, 264, 3; Romão et al. 2017, 35). Each of Brazil’s twenty-seven states has roughly thirteen councils covering different policy sectors (Pires 2015, 28). Some 7 million Brazilians participated in at least one of the ﬁfty-eight national public policy conferences held between 2003 and 2011, representing about 5 percent of the adult population (Pogrebinschi and Samuels 2014, 320–321). Survey research indicates that 3 percent of Brazilians have taken part in PB and 2 percent in municipal or regional policy councils (Avritzer 2012, 11). The extension of participatory institutions and their intensive use by millions of Brazilians offer a strong case for their role in enhancing democratic citizenship and inclusion (Cameron and Sharpe 2012; Pogrebinschi and Samuels 2014; Wampler 2015; Avritzer 2017; Mayka and Rich, this volume). However, this author and many others question the importance of Brazil’s multilevel participatory institutions, pointing to a range of limitations on their effectiveness and inclusiveness (Goldfrank 2011b; Dagnino and Teixeira 2014; Gómez Bruera 2015; Pires 2015; Romão 2015; Baiocchi 2017). The core critiques are that participants tend not to hail from the popular sectors but are frequently professionals or CSO leaders who are steps removed from their movement bases, that the institutions are consultative with limited decision-making power at best, and that crucial policy issues – development projects, macroeconomic policy, and budgetary decisions – remain unaffected. Baiocchi (2017, 42), for example, emphasizes that “time and again, conference Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:30 Page Number: 141 Limits of Participatory Institutions 141 resolutions that went directly against government policy or powerful economic interests did not get adopted as policy” and that “the anticrisis economic measures of 2008 did not go through participatory spaces and ignored more progressive alternatives.” The PT’s most important social program – Bolsa Família (see Hunter, this volume) – involves no participatory mechanisms. This is despite Lula’s original intentions when he invited a leading liberation theologian and a WSF leader to mobilize support for the Zero Hunger committees, which were later discarded in favor of the more technical Bolsa Família program (Bruera 2015, 9, 10–12). Of note for comparison is that, once in the presidency, the PT never scaled PB up to the national level nor attempted to mandate or encourage it subnationally (2015; Goldfrank 2011b; Gómez Bruera 2015). The percentage of both all large municipalities (50,000 or more inhabitants) and all large PT-governed municipalities implementing PB declined after Lula was elected president. The number of Brazilian cities using PB – perhaps 200 at one time – was never large, and in most cities it only lasts one or two terms at best (Goldfrank 2012, 2–3; 2017, 122; Wampler 2015, 262). Strengthening the skeptical interpretation of Brazil’s participatory institutions are the facts that many PT government ofﬁcials questioned their impact and that a wave of protests began in 2013 involving millions of citizens that were the country’s largest since mobilizations for direct elections thirty years earlier. Responding to civil society and internal government doubts, the Lula administration’s Instituto de Pesquisa Econômica Aplicada (IPEA) created a special unit in 2010 to evaluate the effectiveness of participatory institutions and develop proposals to improve them (Romão 2015, 48–49). After the 2013 protests, in part in response to them and in part building on the IPEA’s research and on a segment of the PT’s long-standing interest in creating a participatory system, President Dilma Rousseff (Lula’s successor) instituted the National System of Social Participation by decree in May 2014. Yet the PT could not convince its congressional coalition partners to make the decree permanent, as many legislators and a good part of the press (especially Veja) viewed Rousseff’s decree as a threat to representative democracy, dubbing it “Bolivarian” and claiming it aimed at creating “soviets.” The decree died in the Senate in 2015, a precursor to Rousseff’s ousting the following year and to the rise of a pair of anti-participatory conservative presidents, Michel Temer and Jair Bolsonaro. As even champions of Brazil’s participatory institutions recognize, Temer and Bolsonaro dramatically weakened them, removing civil society members, Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:30 Page Number: 142 142 Benjamin Goldfrank cutting funding and stafﬁng, and holding only the few national conferences that are legally required (Pogrebinschi and Tanscheit 2017, 4–5; Lima 2020, 25–26). Venezuela The origins of the ﬁrst wave of participatory institutions under Hugo Chávez in the early 2000s bear some resemblance to those in Brazil – a leftist project for participatory democracy based in part on prior locallevel experiments and aided by a constituent assembly – but differ in that this constituent assembly followed not a twenty-one-year military dictatorship but nearly four decades of democracy. Furthermore, Venezuela’s constituent assembly in 1999 and subsequent governments were dominated by Chávez and his allies, whereas the PT played a minor role in Brazil’s constituent assembly and did not win the presidency until fourteen years later, and then only in coalition with centrist parties. More importantly, Venezuela’s ﬁrst wave of participatory institutions was short-lived and overtaken in 2006 by a second wave based not on the ideas of the participatory democracy project described earlier but on notions of popular power and twenty-ﬁrst-century socialism (Goldfrank 2011b, 177–179; Silva 2017, 109–110). While ﬁrst-wave participatory institutions like the Water Planning Boards (Mesas Técnicas de Água; MTAs), Urban Land Committees (Comités de Tierra Urbana; CTUs), and Local Public Planning Councils (Comités Locales de Planiﬁcación Pública; CLPPs), generally resembled participatory institutions in the region, second-wave institutions did not. To understand the signiﬁcance of these second-wave institutions – the Communal Councils (Consejos Comunales; CCs), Communes (Comunas), and, later, Local Supply and Production Committees (Comités Locales de Abastecimiento y Producción; CLAPs) – one must take into account that they developed under and contributed to an increasingly illiberal political context. Accordingly, the key questions are: how do ﬁrst- and second-wave participatory institutions differ, why did Chavismo change models, and to what degree are Venezuela’s participatory institutions inclusionary? To be clear, distinctions between earlier and later participatory institutions are not absolute. And some institutions, such as occasional use of referendums and PB in several cities, or the more widespread health committees, spanned both periods. Nonetheless, there are signiﬁcant differences between the key ﬁrst- and second-wave participatory institutions. The neighborhood-level MTAs and CTUs, which numbered in Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:31 Page Number: 143 Limits of Participatory Institutions 143 the thousands by the early 2000s, and the city-level CLPPs, which, as mandated in the 1999 constitution, should have functioned in all of Venezuela’s 335 municipalities, operated with local government agencies and within the framework of a pluralistic, representative democracy (Goldfrank 2011b, 177–178). The CLPPs, for example, should include the mayor, city councilors, and representatives of CSOs, the latter of whom hold 50 percent of the seats plus one and are elected in public assemblies. The CLPPs are intended to organize assemblies for direct participation in municipal planning and budgeting as well. Second-wave participatory institutions, by contrast, operate parallel to and in competition with local representative governments, and have become increasingly linked to the national government and the ruling party (the Partido Socialista Unido de Venezuela; PSUV) (Silva 2017, 110). CCs can be formed by between 150 and 400 families in cities and by smaller numbers of families in rural and indigenous areas; their main purposes are proposing, planning, implementing, and monitoring community projects. Communes, which link CCs with one another and with, in some cases, “productive units known as social property enterprises,” are explicitly aimed at building a new communal state to replace the existing state and facilitate a transition to socialism (Ciccariello-Maher 2016, 20–21; see also Azzellini 2016). There are at least three main reasons why the Chávez administration moved away from the ﬁrst-wave participatory institutions like the CLPPs and began focusing on the communal councils and eventually communes instead. First, CLPPs faced severe challenges. Chavista and opposition mayors often failed to create them or obstructed their functioning. Some Chávez sympathizers argued that existing representative institutions and bureaucracies were corrupt and inefﬁcient and needed to be replaced (Goldfrank 2011b, 179). Second, creating new institutions – the CCs – offered Chávez an avenue that was potentially free of opposition interference to build a clientelist network in preparation for the 2006 presidential election and for the establishment of a new political party, the PSUV, in 2007 (Goldfrank 2011b, 179). Finally, the change to CCs and communes coincided with the radicalization of Chavista ideology toward explicitly proclaiming a socialist revolution (Silva 2017, 109–110). This radicalization followed the opposition’s repeated attempts to remove Chávez from power: the failed coup d’etat in 2002, oil strike in 2003, and recall referendum in 2004. After the opposition abstained from congressional elections in 2005, Chavista legislators passed a law delinking the CCs from CLPPs, and thus from municipal governments; instead, Chávez Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:31 Page Number: 144 144 Benjamin Goldfrank created a national-level commission to register CCs and provide funding (Goldfrank 2011b, 179). As Chávez used increased oil revenues to sponsor their projects, the number of communal councils skyrocketed. By the late 2000s, the CCs had received over four billion dollars, ofﬁcial ﬁgures indicated that 33,549 CCs had formed, involving more than 8 million participants, and independent surveys conﬁrmed that roughly a third of Venezuelan adults had participated in at least one CC meeting (Goldfrank 2011b, 177–178; Azzellini 2016, 102–103). In 2010, the government passed the Law of Communes, and 1,195 communes had registered by 2015 (Azzellini 2016, 243–245). Later, as oil revenues plummeted and the economy entered a deep recession, President Nicolás Maduro created another “participatory” initiative in 2016, the Local Committees for Supply and Production (CLAPs), which distribute subsidized food baskets. By 2017, over 29,000 CLAPs had formed, according to the program’s director (CNN 2017). The CLAPs have their own webpage on the vice-president’s site (www.vicepresidencia.gob.ve/index.php/ category/clap/) and a magazine suggestively titled, Todo el Poder para los CLAP (All Power to the CLAPs), featuring Maduro on the editorial board. Opportunities for popular sector participation have been numerous in Venezuela, and a higher percentage of the population has participated regularly in the new institutions than anywhere else in Latin America, but it is hard to sustain that this participation signiﬁes meaningful citizenship. Well before Venezuela’s economic collapse and the creation of the blatantly clientelistic CLAPs, which tie popular sector food consumption to ofﬁcial party membership in a context of severe shortages, scholars had identiﬁed profound problems with the CCs. Even many observers sympathetic to participatory ideals recognize that CCs suffer from corruption, lack of transparency, co-optation and subordination of social movements, exclusion of those not aligned with the PSUV, and electoral manipulation, and that they often end up sowing or deepening distrust within communities and ultimately delegitimizing participation (Briceño 2014; RhodesPurdy 2015; Silva 2017; García-Guadilla 2018; Hanson 2018). The overlapping roles CCs play means that they mix society, the ruling party, and the state in such a way that access to participation in decision-making over public goods is conditioned by partisanship. Even if some CCs have served to include the popular sector without political manipulation, the CCs operate at the microlevel; opportunities for sector-based or state- and national-level participation have been virtually nonexistent, as the Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:31 Page Number: 145 Limits of Participatory Institutions 145 constitutionally prescribed state- and national-level planning councils never materialized (Silva 2017, 111). The only major exceptions to the lack of national participatory institutions were the recall referendums in 2004 and constitutional referendums in 2007 and 2009. Yet the 2007 referendums ultimately proved meaningless; when a majority rejected dozens of constitutional changes that Chávez proposed, Congress passed many of the same reforms anyway (Welp 2016b). And when Maduro’s opponents tried to use the constitutionally-sanctioned path for a recall referendum against him in 2017, the National Electoral Council rejected it, and later prohibited major opposition parties from ﬁelding candidates in the 2018 presidential election. Such actions obviously inhibit citizenship rights and make a mockery of Chavista claims that Venezuela remains a democracy, participatory or otherwise. Uruguay Unlike the other countries examined here, and uniquely in Latin America, Uruguay’s recent embrace of participatory institutions does not coincide with the rewriting of constitutions nor with dissatisfaction with democracy and representative institutions such as elections, parliaments, and parties.11 Instead, the Uruguayan case demonstrates a mix of the persistence and revival of prior participatory institutions with a leftist participatory democracy project promoted by the Broad Front (Frente Amplio, FA) and its social movement allies. Well before the rest of Latin America began amending constitutions to add participatory institutions, and particularly mechanisms of direct democracy, Uruguay had pioneered popular consultations, holding its ﬁrst in 1917 and adding citizen-initiated consultations to the constitution in 1967 (Lissidini 2015, 161; Altman 2011, 142). From then until the dictatorship of the 1970s, and again after the 1985 transition to democracy, Uruguay has been “the most prodigious user” of citizen-initiated mechanisms of direct democracy not only in Latin America but in the global South (Altman 2011, 140). It is the sole country in the region to regularly use binding citizen-initiated popular consultations not only to propose laws and constitutional amendments 11 Uruguayans have the highest rates of satisfaction with democracy (70% in 2015), sense of representation by congress (45% in 2015), and party identiﬁcation (72% in 2015) in Latin America; they vote at higher rates (an average of 95% turnout compared to the 67% regional average from 1995 to 2015) and believe their elections are clean at higher rates than regional peers (82% versus the region’s 47% average in 2015) (Latinobarómetro 2015). Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:31 Page Number: 146 146 Benjamin Goldfrank but to overturn laws as well (Lissidini 2015, 143–144). This combination gives citizens power directly over critical issues and also indirectly by affecting how parliaments and presidents consider potential bills before they become law (Altman 2011, 147, 184–185). At the same time, since democratization, FA-allied social movements have been the most frequent and most successful users of citizen-initiated popular consultations. These consultations addressed crucial economic issues, including votes to raise and protect pensions in 1989 and 1994, and to revoke or prevent privatization of state enterprises in 1992, 2000, and 2004 (Bidegain and Tricot 2017, 141, 147–151). The FA, moreover, has been a consistent champion of participatory democracy beyond the popular consultations. Since the 1980s, the FA regularly campaigned on deepening democracy by creating citizen participation initiatives, launched important participatory reforms while at the helm of Montevideo – the capital city where nearly half of Uruguay’s population resides – starting in 1990, and introduced new or revived old participatory institutions at the national level after ascending to the presidency in 2005. With this combination of long-standing direct democracy mechanisms and new participatory institutions created by the FA at multiple levels of government, Uruguay now offers broad access to policymaking processes for the popular sectors. At the national level, in addition to popular consultations, which continued occasionally during the FA’s three presidential terms (Bidegain and Tricot 2017, 151–152), the FA created dozens of public policy councils, roundtables, and working groups that bring together state ofﬁcials and civil society representatives, held sectoral dialogs or conferences with a wider public, and, distinctively, reintroduced and expanded corporatist wage councils (Goldfrank 2011b, 174–177; Vecinday 2017). The latter are tripartite salary bargaining mechanisms originally introduced in 1943, abandoned during the dictatorship, brieﬂy reintroduced after the transition, and then left dormant for ﬁfteen years until the FA’s ﬁrst presidency. What makes the wage councils notable is that the FA expanded them to include rural, domestic service, and public service workers. At the provincial level, the FA continued its decentralized participatory system and reorganized its PB process in Montevideo and implemented PB in other provinces where it won elections as well. Finally, in 2010 the FA passed the Decentralization and Citizen Participation Law, creating a new municipal level of government with new representative bodies – city councils and mayors. By 2015, in addition to its nineteen provincial governments, Uruguay had 112 municipal governments. Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:31 Page Number: 147 Limits of Participatory Institutions 147 The quality of participation and the degree of inclusion vary across institutions, sectors, and locales. Overall, however, Uruguay’s participatory institutions offer greater access to decision-making over more important issues to a greater percentage of the population than elsewhere in the region. The citizen-initiated popular consultations, for example, offer the “real possibility of exercising direct inﬂuence on important public policies” and give citizens incentives to organize to propose laws that help them or to prevent policies that hurt them (Bidegain and Tricot 2017, 143). The FA’s expanded wage councils present a clear case of enhancing meaningful citizenship. They provide recognition to previously excluded groups, rural workers and domestic servants (mostly women), access to decision-making processes, and resources in the form of higher wages. Scholars link the wage councils to rising unionization rates, declining labor informality rates, and consistent gains in real wages (Bidegain and Tricot 2017, 153; Vecinday 2017, 248). By contrast, the policy councils, roundtables, and national dialogs in various sectors (welfare, rural development, security) receive many of the same critiques and show many of the same limitations as similar institutions in Brazil and Peru. To wit, while they provide some degree of access, they are mostly consultative, they fail to reach the popular sectors by focusing on existing CSOs, and they often produce citizen frustration as a result (Noboa and Bisio 2016; Fuentes et al. 2016; Vecinday 2017). At the provincial level, PB varies across cases and affects a relatively small percentage of the budget but tends to involve a comparatively high percentage of the population (between 5 percent and 10 percent in Montevideo) and generates higher participation rates in lower-income neighborhoods (Veneziano 2017). With regard to the new municipalities, the picture is also mixed. Their creation alone opened new channels of access, and nearly three-quarters of the mayors implemented some type of participatory institution, including PB and open assemblies, but their signiﬁcance is limited because they lack resources and responsibilities (Freigedo 2015, 18, 111–116). One striking absence is any effort by the FA to scale up PB to the national level, especially notable given Uruguay’s small population and the fact that its two-term president, Tabaré Vázquez, introduced a version of PB as Montevideo’s mayor thirty years ago.  This chapter has advanced several arguments. The ﬁrst is double-sided. The dramatic increase in the number of participatory institutions in Latin Comp. by: KARTHIGA G Stage: Proof Chapter No.: 4 Title Name: KapiszewskiEtAl Date:22/7/20 Time:12:38:32 Page Number: 148 148 Benjamin Goldfrank America can indeed be conceptualized as part of the inclusionary turn, as this volume’s editors suggest, but a complete understanding of the initial rise of participatory institutions and their subsequent diffusion requires acknowledgment of the role of the Left and of international actors. At the same time, certain participatory innovations born in Latin America have contributed to the global rush to expand citizen participation, as diffusion of PB illustrates. This chapter also explored the limits of participatory institutions. Even when they made the leap from paper to practice, they frequently provided inclusion without power. That is, they tended to offer access through low-quality channels of participation entailing consultation rather than effective decision-making (as seen in the various councils and conferences in all countries), focused on issues or resources of lesser magnitude (as was frequently the case with PB), or restricted involvement to a limited public (not necessarily drawing from the popular sectors). In some cases, participation did not signify enhancing citizenship but reinforcing clientelism instead, particularly in Venezuela. Finally, this chapter showed the futility of a simpliﬁed approach to Latin America’s participatory turn. The development of participatory institutions diverges considerably across the countries associated with the Left turn, even within the conventional Bolivarian and socialdemocratic categories. Ideology and ideas more broadly matter, but country-speciﬁc historical legacies, system stability, the varying strength of conservative threats, and the social bases of incumbent governments all play a role in explaining variation in the types of participatory institutions adopted and the degree of inclusion generated. Indeed, not all participatory innovations have a positive impact on citizenship. As the case of Uruguay shows, sometimes older participatory institutions offer greater promise of meaningful inclusion. References Altman, David. 2011. Direct Democracy Worldwide. New York: Cambridge University Press. 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