Chile once boasted a longer history of stable democratic rule than most of its neighbors and much of Western Europe. Now it is the last major country on the South American continent to return to civilian government after a wave of authoritarianism. In December Chileans will have elected a new president after 16 years in the formidable grip of General Augusto Pinochet Ugarte. That election should set U.S.-Chilean relations, plagued by a history of intervention and mistrust, on a more constructive, cooperative course.
Pamela Constable is an Alicia Patterson Foundation Fellow on leave from her position as Latin America Correspondent for The Boston Globe to study military rule in Chile. Arturo Valenzuela is Professor of Government, Director of the Latin American Studies Program at Georgetown University and author of several books on Chile. The authors are collaborating on a book about the Pinochet years to be published by 1991.
Chile once boasted a longer history of stable democratic rule than most of its neighbors and much of Western Europe. Now it is the last major country on the South American continent to return to civilian government after a wave of authoritarianism. In December Chileans will have elected a new president after 16 years in the formidable grip of General Augusto Pinochet Ugarte. That election should set U.S.-Chilean relations, plagued by a history of intervention and mistrust, on a more constructive, cooperative course.
Chile's transition to civilian rule has been remarkably smooth, despite several anxious moments. In a plebiscite on October 5, 1988, the people rejected Pinochet's bid to remain in power through 1997. The dictator conceded his defeat, opening the way for presidential and congressional elections, rather than clinging to power by force. Slowly the nation's tradition of democratic politics has reemerged, turning back the regime's attempt to uproot the system of partisan politics forever.
What explains this success? The credit goes not so much to Pinochet, who had become as addicted to power as Noriega or Duvalier, and had every intention of remaining in office for a quarter-century. But his ambitions were thwarted by two elements. First, Chile's deeply rooted democratic and law-abiding political culture has survived 16 years of repression. During the transition, government opponents across the spectrum have proven themselves capable of uniting for a common purpose and have resisted radical behavior that might jeopardize the return to civilian control.
Second, the armed forces have remained highly disciplined, professional and uncorrupted despite unprecedented proximity to power. Sworn to uphold the transition formula envisioned in their own 1980 constitution, they vetoed any suggestion of illegal or forceful intervention to retain political control when their own commander in chief was defeated at the polls last October.
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Chile today faces a familiar situation: a government attempting to rule the country and implement its program with the support of only a minority of the population. But the present case is different from the country's minority governments of 1964 and 1970, and far more serious. First, General Augusto Pinochet has much less popular support now than was enjoyed by either previous government. Second, Pinochet's authoritarian government, armed with a monopoly of force, is seeking to extend his rule to 1997, and to ensure military control over future governments. The 1980 constitution, rejected by opponents and widely criticized by independents as undemocratic in substance and virtually unamendable, is invoked as the legal foundation and source of legitimacy of this official scheme to cripple Chilean democracy permanently.
The recent collapse of personalist dictatorships in Haiti and the Philippines has served to remind Americans that since World War II, some of our most grievous foreign policy wounds have been inflicted not by adversaries but by self-styled (and self-seeking) friends. Though nothing is inevitable, and no two situations are exactly alike, it is difficult to ignore the intimate, indeed inextricable, relationship between the collapse of Chiang Kai-shek and the rise of Mao Zedong in China; of Fulgencio Batista and Fidel Castro in Cuba; of Anastasio Somoza and the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.
On the night of September 22, 1972, President Ferdinand E. Marcos imposed martial law on the Republic of the Philippines. Mr. Marcos since has been ruling the archipelago nation under a system that some of his aides call "constitutional authoritarianism" and others of them call "authoritarian constitutionalism." It is, in fact, a military-supported dictatorship, albeit of a rather unrepressive variety.
