Tag Archives: president

The Czech Republic – The 2018 Presidential Elections: A Divided Country

Miloš Zeman, the incumbent president of the Czech Republic, has been re-elected. His success is likely to usher in yet another divisive presidency. To date, Zeman’s time in office has been characterized by his provocative style, his contempt for most of the media, an unpredictability in domestic politics, his clearly pro-Russian and pro-Chinese foreign policy and, consequently, a lack of respect from many EU member states’ representatives.

Despite a number of controversial steps and speeches both in domestic and foreign policy, President Zeman entered the presidential contest as the favourite. In total, eight male candidates challenged the incumbent. Most of them lacked both party membership and political experience, which clearly points to the weakness and low self-confidence of Czech political parties. Indeed, no parliamentary party put up a candidate in the presidential race.

The Czech president is popularly elected for a five-year term. The first election was in 2013. In order to be elected, a candidate must receive more than 50 per cent of the votes cast at the first ballot. If none of the candidates meets this requirement, a second round is held. The two candidates who received the highest number of the votes in the first round are eligible for the second round.

In line with pre-election surveys, President Zeman topped the poll in the first round, followed by Jiří Drahoš. Mr. Drahoš is the former chairman of the Czech Academy of Sciences. He entered the contest as the complete opposite to Miloš Zeman. Drahoš lacked political experience, whereas Miloš Zeman often pointed to his long political career that dates back to the 1989 revolution that put an end to the Communist dictatorship. Zeman was the former chairman of the Czech Social Democratic Party, Speaker of the Chamber of Deputies and Prime Minister between 1998 and 2002. By contrast, Drahoš is a non-partisan, portraying himself as an honest and fair man without any scandals and controversies in his career. He was also strongly oriented towards the EU and NATO and was highly sceptical position towards Russia, which he described as a major security threat to the Czech Republic. Most of these policies were also shared by several other candidates, including Pavel Fischer, the former Czech ambassador to France and a close aide to the first Czech president Václav Havel.

Long before the elections, President Zeman divided the Czech electorate. On the one hand, he had a significant pool of staunch supporters. Zeman is a skilful politician with excellent rhetoric (always speaking off-the-cuff), well-prepared arguments in debates and and instinct for the public mood and popular preferences. On the other hand, his foreign policy, vulgarisms, harsh attacks on some media and political parties as well as individual politicians gave rise to a heterogeneous group of fierce critics.

Mr. Zeman won the first popularly-held elections in 2013. Then, he narrowly beat Mr. Schwarzenberg, a popular and charismatic Minister of foreign Affairs in a highly unpopular right-wing cabinet led by Petr Nečas. Following the 2013 elections, and in contrast to his predecessor President Klaus, President Zeman quickly reached a compromise with the Senate over the appointment of judges to the Constitutional Court, where the terms of a number of judges were soon to expire. President Zeman helped avert this unfortunate situation and together with the Senate appointed largely uncontroversial and respected personalities to the Constitutional Court. President Zeman informally, but significantly meddled in the internal affairs of the Czech Social Democratic Party, which has traditionally been divided between Zeman’s supporters and his critics at least since Zeman left the party in 2007. For example, his hostile relations with the Social Democratic Prime Minister, Bohuslav Sobotka (2013-2017), were often referred to by the foreign media.

It is plausible to assert that Zeman earned his popularity by his almost permanent travelling across the country, visiting regions, speaking to regional and local political leaders, as well as to factory workers, pensioners, students and the like. This patient (and exhausting) strategy helped to create the largely positive image of himself as a popular president who pays attention to ordinary, lower-class or forgotten people in the Czech peripheries. This aspect of Zeman’s presidency together with his deteriorating health (e.g. diabetes, tiredness, limited ability to walk) may explain Zeman’s decision not to run an election campaign. In practice this meant that Zeman did not participate in any of the presidential debates prior the first round of the election. In addition, on most occasions he rejected any requests for media interviews. At the same time, he still enjoyed widespread media coverage. The President was heavily involved in the (still ongoing) government formation process following the October 2017 parliamentary elections and participated in a number of state ceremonies. Moreover, he regularly attended a show called a “Week with the President” broadcast by a private TV channel, which made no secret of the fact that President Zeman was its favoured candidate for the presidential contest. Friendly and uncontroversial questions allowed Zeman to present himself as a clever and responsible statesman. The very fact that President Zeman himself officially conducted no campaign did not prevent his followers and sponsors from making a very efficient, visible and costly outdoor and on-line campaign for President Zeman.

The major disadvantage of Zeman’s challengers (with the exception of the former Czech Prime Minister, Mirek Topolánek) was simple, but serious: none of them was a widely known person and above all they needed to let the voters know who they were. Even before the second round, Mr. Drahoš was still a little known (or even unknown) candidate for a significant proportion of voters, which affected the election result.

Only after the results of the first round were announced when Mr. Drahoš did very well, emboldening all the anti-Zeman camp to believe that the incumbent was not invincible, did President Zeman change strategy and agree to participate in two televised presidential debates. Mr. Drahoš tried to attack Zeman, drawing public attention to a series of failures and problems (including lack of transparency in the campaign fund-raising, questionable members of Zeman’s advisory team with close ties to Kremlin and Beijing). Despite Drahoš’ best efforts, observers agreed that President Zeman won the debates.

Results of the 2018 Czech presidential elections:

Candidates Party First Round Second Round
votes % votes %
Mirek Topolánek non-partisan 221 689 4,3 X X
Michal Horáček non-partisan 472 643 9,18 X X
Pavel Fischer non-partisan 526 694 10,23 X X
Jiří Hynek Realisté (“Realists”) 63 348 1,23 X X
Petr Hannig Rozumní (“The Reasonable”) 29 228 0,56 X X
Vratislav Kulhánek ODA (Civic Democratic Alliance) 24 442 0,47 X X
Miloš Zeman SPO (Party of Civic Rights) 1 985 547 38,56 2 853 390 51,36
Marek Hilšer non-partisan 454 949 8,83 X X
Jiří Drahoš non-partisan 1 369 601 26,6 2 701 206 48,63

Source: https://volby.cz/pls/prez2018/pe2?xjazyk=CZ

In the end, Zeman narrowly won the contest (see table above), but the country remains divided. This is exemplified by the fact that the turnout in the second round reached almost 67%, which is the highest in any Czech nation-wide election over the past two decades. The division in the electorate dates back to the 2013 presidential elections and its existence was confirmed by the 2017 parliamentary elections. What is the difference between President Zeman’s followers and those of his opponents? President Zeman found most of his voters in smaller towns and villages in the Czech peripheries, whereas Mr. Drahoš won in Prague, the Central Bohemia region and in most of large cities. It also seems that older voters with lower education and income levels largely voted for Miloš Zeman. Zeman was also able to take advantage of anti-immigrant sentiments in the Czech population. Despite the fact that only a handful of migrants actually settled in the Czech Republic, migration issues and the EU migrant quotas were important themes of the campaign. It also seems correct to argue that Zeman represented nationalist voters, who are sceptical and even hostile to the EU and NATO (although Zeman was careful to advocate the Czech membership of both organizations), and voters with strong anti-party sentiments. To sum up, President Zeman was able to forge an unique informal electoral alliance of the far-left (the Communist Party of Bohemia and Moravia, which praised the former Communist dictatorship), the ruling populist ANO led by the Czech Prime Minister Andrej Babiš, radical right-wing populists (the anti-migrant movement “Freedom and Direct Democracy”, favouring a “Czexit), Eurosceptical right-wing voters, and a significant portion of the Czech Social Democratic Party’s voters. This heterogeneous alliance now holds a clear majority in the Chamber of Deputies.

What can we expect from the incumbent? Mr. Zeman will probably keep pursuing his policies as well as his divisive political style. In his first speech following the election, he attacked Prague voters (in Prague President Zeman got only 31% of the vote). For the next few weeks and months, Zeman’s role in the government formation process will be key. In December 2017 Zeman appointed Andrej Babiš as the new prime minister. Babiš formed a one-party minority cabinet composed of ANO nominees. Yet, his cabinet failed to receive a vote of confidence in January 2018, mainly because Mr. Babiš is being prosecuted by the police. He has been formally charged with fraud in a case involving a two million euro EU subsidy. Yet, Mr. Zeman and Mr. Babiš have so far supported each other. The former openly sided with the latter in the 2018 presidential contest and Mr. Zeman promised to appoint Mr. Babiš Prime Minister again in February 2018. At the moment, Mr. Babiš leads a caretaker cabinet that resigned in January following the no-confidence vote. However, President Zeman authorized Babiš’ cabinet to execute its functions until a new cabinet is formed. The media are now speculating that the Social Democrats will  change their leaders following their February party congress and abandon their reluctant approach towards the Babiš cabinet. As a result, Babiš might be able to make a coalition deal with the Social Democrats. The new Babiš coalition could be supported by the Communist Party in order to obtain a parliamentary majority in the Chamber of Deputies. This scenario is also supported by Miloš Zeman. Be it as it may, Zeman has won his last great political battle (the constitution forbids him to run for yet another term) and he will remain an influential player in Czech politics.

Rui Graça Feijó – Timor-Leste: The president dissolves the Assembly

This is a guest post by Rui Graça Feijó of the Institute for Contemporary History, New University of Lisboa

Over the last year or so, Timor-Leste has been confronted with a significant number of political novelties, the positive effects of which are reflected in the last Freedom House index “Freedom in the World” where the country has finally moved into the club of “Free Countries”. If the move has long been expected, the reasons evoked –  the success of the 2017 round of elections – are far less so.

Major changes started roughly a year ago when the two largest forces in the country – the historical Fretilin and the charismatic leader Xanana’s CNRT – joined forces in the first round of the presidential elections to support the candidacy of the chairman of Fretilin. In the previous three elections, the two forces had opposed each other, and twice (2007, 2012) they had faced each other (if only by proxy in terms of “independent” candidates supported by CNRT) in the electoral run-off. In 2017, however, the fact that the two parties supported a “Government of National Inclusion” formed in early 2015 and expected to last well into the next legislature, created a different situation. Francisco Guterres Lu Olo easily won the presidency in the March election. He was the first President to be affiliated to a political party.

Legislative elections were held in late July, and the parties supporting the outgoing government (except for the small Frenti-Mudança) did well, winning close to 70% of the vote. Fretilin was the winner by a mere 1,000 votes. Two new parties – one formed by the outgoing president, Taur Matan Ruak (TMR), before leaving office (PLP), and KHUNTO, whose roots are in the new generation and has close links to important martial arts groups – both of which opposed the strategic options of the government, obtained 10.6 and 6.4. percent respectively. It would seem that the conditions were ripe for the continuation of the Government of National Inclusion.

However, one of the critical conditions for the creation of such a government – that the old guard, the Gerasaun Tuan of those who had lived the critical period of 1974-76, would gave way to the Gerasaun Foun of those who came of age under Indonesian occupation – was soon questioned when Fretilin’s secretary general and actual leader, Mari bin Amude Alkatiri, claimed the right to be appointed prime minister. Both CNRT and PLP declared they would rather sit in the opposition, and spoke vaguely of providing confidence and supply to Fretilin’s executive.

Fretilin announced it would seek a broad coalition, but faced great difficulties when it came to talking to Xanana and TMR. With two major players now feeling free to act against the government, President Lu Olo felt compelled to intervene and promoted a meeting in the presidential palace with himself, Xanana, TMR and Alkatiri. But he was not able to convince Xanana or TMR to accept Alkatiri’s terms, nor was Alkatiri willing to change his mind on the conditions under which he would form a coalition with CNRT and/or PLP.

Fretilin negotiated then with two smaller parties: PD (a member of the last three executives) and the newcomer KHUNTO. While negotiations were happening, the three of them joined forces to elect the Speaker of the House, a member of Fretilin. But further agreement could not be found with KHUNTO, and it abandoned negotiations. As a result of this brief period of collaboration with KHUNTO, Fretilin – which had polled just under 30% of the vote – managed to control the three leading figures of the state – PR, PM and Speaker of the House. This is in sharp contrast with the recent history of institutional equilibrium and power-sharing in which “independent” presidents had a major role.

Lu Olo invited Alkatiri to form a government. When he came back with his government proposal, it was based on an agreement with PD alone, which together were supported by 30 out of 65 seats in the House. Thus, it was a minority executive. At that time, the three other parties had not yet formed an alternative alliance, which offered some room for a positive expectation regarding the minority government. The president could nevertheless have asked Alkatiri to find a sounder basis for his government by including members of the opposition parties (PLP expelled two of its militants who accepted jobs in the government) as well as respected independent figures like former PR and PM José Ramos-Horta (JRH). However, the leader of Fretilin insisted on moving ahead with the minority government, admitting that either the opposition would not block the way in the House, or that some opposition MPs would defy their party’s stance and abstain. So, on 15 September, Lu Olo agreed to put all his political (and not merely institutional) weight behind a government that was sworn in that day.

The Constitution offers presidents room for the choice of the prime minister (as JRH did in 2007 and TMR in 2015), but it stipulates that the government must undergo a parliamentary investiture vote. The government must present its program before the House within 30 days of being sworn in (Art. 108.2), and during that period it is merely caretaker cabinet not being entitled to take major political decisions. There is no mandatory vote on the program, but both the opposition and the government may take action: the former proposing the rejection of the program, the latter proposing a vote of confidence (Art. 109). In Dili, in October 2017, the opposition – now formally comprising CNRT, PLP and KHUNTO which had formed a Aliança para uma Maioria Parlamentar /Aliance for a Parliamentary Majority – AMP) – moved to reject the government’s program and it won 35 to 30 votes. For the first time in Timorese history, the government lost a vote in the House. However, the Constitution offers new governments a second change of submitting a revised program before it implies its dismissal (Art. 112 d.).

So far, all was within the constitutional boundaries. Henceforth, the process would derail and move into wild institutional territory. Although the Constitution does not explicitly refer to any deadline for the second presentation of the government’s program, it is assumed that it cannot take longer than the original period of thirty days. Alkatiri, however, suggested he would need ”until the end of the year” (i.e., two-and-a-half months) to resubmit its program. More than that, he assumed the government was fully invested (which was a false premise) and capable of full powers. In this vein, he submitted a revision of the state budget – something that clearly goes beyond the powers of a caretaker government. In the end, the AMP parties used their majority to block such move. This governmental attitude was to be seen in other initiatives. For instance, in late January, the vice-minister for Education (Lurdes Bessa) decided to alter the legislation on a sensitive issue – the use of native languages in school – arguing that “this may be our last bill but until the last day of this government we are working hard”. This position is not supported because it has not been supported by a parliamentary investiture vote.

Once a month had elapsed since the rejection of the first program, and without any signs that a second version would be presented on time, AMP tabled a motion of no-confidence, which, if approved by an absolute majority of MPs, would bring the government down at once (Art. 112 f.). President Lu Olo could also consider that the government was in breach of its constitutional duties and dismissed it in order to “secure the regular functioning of institutions” which was patently the case.

The most unexpected event was still to take place: the Speaker of the House refused to set a date for the plenary session to discuss and vote on the no-confidence motion, which in the overwhelming majority of parliaments takes precedence over other matters. Before such a situation, the opposition tabled a motion to revoke the Speaker’s mandate, in accordance with the House’s regulation (approved a few years ago with the active support of the current Speaker). The Speaker referred the issue to the Courts, where he lost in the first instance, but then made an appeal (still pending).

In order to try and ease the growing tension which was being fuelled by radical rhetoric from both camps and by the clear deviation of National Parliament from its powers, the Speaker took two initiatives: in late December he wrote to the PM asking for the new government program to be submitted “within the next thirty days”; and he set a date – with the approval of the government – to discuss and vote the rejection motion for 31 January 2018, that is, two full months after it had been presented, suggesting that a rejection motion should be voted at the government’s discretion and not as a priority matter.

This sequence of events constitutes an attempt to reduce the role of Parliament in the equilibrium of powers inscribed in the constitution, and it reveals that institutions are not functioning according to the law. As such, it offered ample grounds for the President to intervene, force the dismissal of government, and consider other alternatives: he could have invited the outgoing PM to try to reach another, broader agreement; he could have appointed an independent formateur to try to build a majority coalition including Fretilin; or he could have offered AMP a chance to form a government. He chose otherwise not to interfere, as his power to dissolve the parliament was curtailed until January 22, 2018, that is, exactly six months after the last parliamentary election. And early elections rather than a solution within the incumbent parliament was Fretlin’s preferred choice for resolving the political crisis in Dili.

On January 23, Lu Olo called all the parliamentary parties as it is his duty before dissolving the House; next day he summoned the first meeting of the Council of State, an advisory organ whose opinion he is bound to seek, even if the Council has no binding powers (Art. 86 f.). And on 26th January he announced on TV that for the first time the parliament was dissolved and fresh elections would be called (though a date has not been set).

The Chairman of the National Electoral Commission has stated that he is preparing the “machinery” for early elections (implying, among others, an update of the voting register), and suggested that more than the constitutionally necessary sixty days would be preferable to guarantee a modicum of quality in the electoral process. So, for the first time Timor-Leste will experience early elections somewhere between late March and May 2018 – and a new, fully installed government is likely to see the light of day around a year after the last parliamentary elections. As the country has not passed a state budget for 2018, it must live with a copy of the 2017 one – and this may generate several problems, not least in the amount of money spent on the electoral process. It will take the goodwill of the opposition to vote in favour of various budgetary measures necessary to finance the electoral process.

It is unclear whether the current government parties will form a pre-electoral coalition or not, or whether AMP will run alone. However, a new entity has been formed: 9 smaller parties who failed to pass the 4% threshold, but who together polled about 10% created the Forum Democrático Nacional/ National Democratic Forum – FDN). If they run as a pre-electoral coalition they may contribute to the rise in the number of parliamentary parties (in theory, by running together they might get one seat each) – and they have been severe critics of Fretilin and the way the process has evolved. If they run as FDN, life is likely to be more difficult for Fretilin.

President Lu Olo chose not interfere when Mari Alkatiri failed to secure majority support in parliament (but then again, minority governments are legitimate). Later, when the process of the government investiture in parliament went completely off the track stipulated by the Constitution of Timor-Leste., he was deaf to cries that instability was threatening social peace, and that the economic rate of growth was slowing down significantly on account of instability and uncertainty of the political process. His silence and inaction was only broken when his party was about to suffer a number of humiliating defeats in the House (rejection of government, recall of the Speaker).

Lu Olo’s recent (in)actions were clearly in tune with the options of his own party  (favouring early elections) and in this way he broke with the traditional position of presidents in the Timorese system, who are not supposed to interfere in the party political arena. The future of his presidency hinges, thus, on the results of the legislative elections. Should Fretilin win, or at least be in a position to lead the future government, he will have a peaceful presidency, and his behaviour in the last months will be vindicated; should, however, the fate of Fretilin be different, he will have to face a period of true cohabitation with a group of parties and personalities whose rhetoric against the way he has behaved is quite aggressive – and he may feel the loneliness of the Presidential Palace.

Let’s just hope that elections will be free, fair, and peaceful.

Ukraine – President Poroshenko and the Anti-Corruption High Court

On 31 December 2017, President Poroshenko used his Twitter account to post a video on the last day of the year. The 1 minute 41 seconds video was a collection of clips with a short text underneath each providing a summary of the greatest achievements of the year. Among the biggest successes, the President named the establishment of the visa-free regime and the association agreement with Europe, the release of 73 hostages held in captivity by Russian-led militants in Donbas, large scale highway works as well as pension, education and medical reforms.

One reform area, however, was absent from the video – a demonstration of achievements in the fight against corruption. Given that corruption is one of the chronic, endemic problems that plagues Ukraine and was the reason for ousting its previous President, it is the reforms in this sphere that Ukrainian civil society is most adamant about.

As we mentioned previously on the pages of the blog, to address the demands for corruption reform the President promised to sign a law launching an anti-corruption court by the end of 2017. On December 22, President’s draft law “On the High Anti-Corruption Court” was registered in Ukraine’s parliament. However, the civil society groups and opposition legislators criticized the President’s draft arguing that it did not guarantee the selection of independent judges.

Civil society groups were not the only ones to disapprove the draft law. Transparency International urged the President to withdraw his draft, rework it and submit a new one, listing several areas where the draft did not adhere to the recommendations of the Venice Commission of October 2017.

Both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) also wrote to the President’s office this month expressing concern that the draft law fails to meet the recommendations of the European rights and legal watchdog. Establishing an independent and effective Anti-Corruption Court is one of the reforms required for Ukraine to qualify for the further funding from the IMF, which amounts to $800 million.

Political scientists Robertson and Pop-Eleches call this joint effort between the Ukrainian civil society and the international community to force the country down the road of anti-corruption reforms a “sandwich” model. The model worked effectively in the case of defending the director of the National Anti-Corruption Bureau and other anti-corruption reformers. Whether it will be effective in the case of the Anti-Corruption Court remains to be seen. Recently, the President confirmed that he will amend his legislation to make it more effective.

However, Anders Aslund, a leading specialist on economic policy in Russia, Ukraine and Eastern Europe, is pessimistic about the prospect of the effective reforms in Ukraine. In a recent article, Aslund wrote that the ruling coalition did not seem to be interested in a real independent anti-corruption court or electoral reform even if legislation was under way. Instead, Ukraine’s politicians seemed to be deeply absorbed by the upcoming election scheduled to be held in May 2019.

Tapio Raunio and Thomas Sedelius – Where rules are lacking, presidents prevail: Explaining presidential influence in Lithuania

This is a guest post by Tapio Raunio and Thomas Sedelius, ‘Shifting Power-Centres of Semi-Presidentialism: Exploring Executive Coordination in Lithuania’ that will be published in Government and Opposition

Despite more than two decades of research on semi-presidentialism, we still know very little about the actual functioning of day-to-day routines and coordination mechanisms between the president and her administration on the one hand, and the prime minister (PM) and her cabinet on the other. With some exceptions, even country studies have not probed the regular interaction between the executives. Our fresh case study of Lithuania seeks to partially fill that gap.  As part of a comparative project on semi-presidentialism granted by the Swedish Research Council, we use official documents and interviews with key civil servants and ministers for examining in detail how executive coordination has worked in Lithuania since the early 1990s (Raunio and Sedelius 2017).

Our research was driven by two inter-related questions: how does coordination between the president and PM actually work and how institutional design influences the balance of power and level of conflict between the two executives. The basic premise was that institutional design is related to the level of conflict between the cabinet and the president, and that conflicts over policy, legislation or appointments are manifestations of coordination problems. By institutional design we mean those rules, organizational arrangements and conventions that structure routine coordination between the two executives.

Challenging previous accounts of the Lithuanian case, our article argues that the existing modes of coordination facilitate presidential dominance. Absent of written rules or otherwise strong norms guiding intra-executive coordination, Lithuanian presidents have clearly enjoyed a lot of discretion in designing their own modes of operation. The transition period from authoritarian to democratic rule presented the opportunity to set rules about coordination, but there was insufficient political will for constraining the presidency through more precise legal rules or regular cooperation mechanisms. In line with institutional theory, the adopted approach has become the appropriate course of action, with each new president bringing her own staff, personality and leadership style into the equation. The presidents also have the power of initiative regarding cooperation, with forms and levels of intra-executive coordination essentially always determined by the president. For example, while joint councils or ministerial committees might facilitate better coordination, presidents do not need such bodies. As one of our interviewees put it: ‘Presidents that have enough powers do not create such councils, they do not need such kind of institutions, they just arrange ad hoc meetings despite the fact that it is not foreseen in any law.’

The obvious challenge stemming from lack of rules is that power is very much ‘up for grabs’, particularly given the Lithuanian personality-centred political culture which favours strong leadership and presidential activism. As another of our informants expressed it: ‘one side might ask “where is it written?” and another can argue “where is it forbidden?”’ There is a rather broadly shared expectation, especially by citizens, that the president is the ‘political authority’, and the successive presidents have repeatedly leaned on their popular support to intervene in questions falling under the government. Presidents have also essentially hand-picked various prime ministers and have forced PMs and other ministers to resign. Like in other semi-presidential regimes, much depends on party politics, with periods of cohabitation reducing the influence of the president and bringing about a more strict division of labour between the executives. At other times, such as when the current president Dalia Grybauskaité entered office in 2009, the economic and political conditions facilitated subsequent assertive presidential behaviour.

Another example of a ‘power grab’ is EU policy. Constitutionally European affairs are the domain of the government, with the PM leading Lithuanian integration policy. The cabinet is thus responsible for coordinating EU matters and for preparatory work ahead of the Council and the European Council. During the presidency of Adamkus the president participated in those European Councils which featured foreign and security policy while the PM would cover other matters. Often both executives would attend the summits. Grybauskaitė in turn participates in the meetings of European Council, even though constitutional provisions about division of labor clearly suggest that the PM should represent Lithuania. Again, this power of interpretation shown by Grybauskaité and bending rules in her favour can be explained by lack of formal regulation. The constitution, secondary laws, or the rules about domestic EU coordination do not detail who should represent Lithuania in the European Council.

Our article also highlights the role of advisors. The size of the president’s office may be small, but, interestingly, the staff of each president has comprised mainly policy advisers in areas falling under the competence of the government – including social policy, economic policy, education, culture, religion etc. Such advisors can be important for the presidents, not least through forming contacts with political parties and MPs, individual ministers and ministries or civil society stakeholders.

However, we should not exaggerate the powers of the Lithuanian president. The balance of power between the Seimas, the government and the president ensures that the president can achieve very little alone – and this in fact explains the strategic behaviour of the president and her advisers. Despite the lack of rules, intra-executive coordination does exist and in most instances conflicts are avoided. This applies particularly to foreign and security policy – an issue area that is both highly salient in Lithuania and where the president and the government constitutionally share power. Also the perceived role of the president as a ‘constructive statesman’ constrains the incumbents. But while Lithuanian semi-presidentialism has functioned by and large smoothly, the personality-centred politics commonly found in Central and East European countries does create favorable conditions for presidential activism. While one might argue that institutional flexibility has served Lithuanian politics quite well, the apparent lack of constitutionally regulated coordination between the two executives can prove a profound challenge during a long-term political and economic turmoil.

References:

Raunio, Tapio and Sedelius, Thomas (2017): Shifting Power-Centres of Semi-Presidentialism: Exploring Executive Coordination in Lithuania. Government and Opposition   https://doi.org/10.1017/gov.2017.31.

Moldova – Temporary Suspensions of the President of the Republic

The constitutional choices made in the Republic of Moldova throughout the past 25 years cover an intriguing variety of executive-legislative relations. In the style of a ping-pong game (Fruhstorfer 2016), the idea of going back and forth between a parliamentary and semi-presidential system is a constant theme in the political discussion. At the moment, the game has moved back to a semi-presidential system. This change was not based on a constitutional amendment, but a decision of the constitutional court to declare the 2000 amendments unconstitutional (Constitutional Court 2016). This decision helped to diffuse the massive protests after a corruption scandal and bank heist in course of which the country lost approx. 1 billion USD (Kottasova 2015, see also Brett et al. 2015). During this crisis, the constitutional court showed an unprecedented level of judicial activism that was, as we will discuss below, no isolated case. It was the start of the Moldovan political elite relying on the constitutional court to help solve inter-institutional conflicts. It is also an example of how a ruling elite tries to preserve its hegemonic status (see Hirschl 2004). To address these issues, this post will briefly describe the chain of controversial decisions of the constitutional court concerning the president since 2016. This is followed by an analysis of the most recent decision to temporarily suspend the president.

The constitutional court and the direct presidential election

In a controversial and surprising decision in March 2016, the constitutional court ruled the 2000 constitutional amendment unconstitutional (Constitutional Court 2016) and de facto re-established the 1994 constitution and reinstated the direct election of the president. (For an analysis of this court decision, see an earlier post). The first presidential elections under the reinstated 1994 constitutional order took place in November 2016. Igor Dodon won the run-off vote with 52.28% of votes (47.82 voted for Maia Sandu). As in many semi-presidential systems, this led to a period of cohabitation with the government of Pavel Filip. This per se conflictual situation is exacerbated by the constant, yet informal influence of Vlad Plahotniuc. Plahotniuc is a wealthy oligarch, chair of the PDM (Democratic Party of Moldova), and is incredibly unpopular according to recent polls (IRI.org 2017, originally cited by Popșoi 2017). But he managed to transform the PDM that won only close to 16% of the votes in the 2014 parliamentary election into the main political force in Moldova. Right after the election, it was unclear how confrontational the Filip-Plahotniuc-Dodon relation might be. Since then, we have seen an “inter-institutional deadlock” (Popșoi 2017), which is, according to a variety of independent observers, only a sham to disguise how Plahotniuc and Dodon have consolidated their power with the help of each other.

The suspension of the president

The activism of the court in recent years has often targeted the presidency, yet the suspension of the president in October 2017 and again in January 2018 added a whole new chapter to the already complicated relations between the president and government. Much of the reasoning behind the motivation of Dodon and Plahotniuc is highly speculative, so it seems useful to describe the facts first.

In October 2017, the Moldovan Constitutional Court suspended the president temporarily. The reason was Dodon’s refusal to appoint Eugen Sturza as Minister of Defense, an appointment process that had already started in December 2016. Early in 2017, the constitutional court had issued an interpretation of Art. 98 of the constitution, whereby the president can only reject the nomination of a cabinet member once (Constitutional Court 2017). Thus, the repeated refusal to appoint Sturza led the government to appeal to the constitutional court again. The court first decided that the refusal to confirm a cabinet nomination is considered a violation of the constitution and can led to a temporary suspension. This suspension was issued by the court and was in force until the acting president (the head of parliament) appointed the new minister.
Yet, the constitutional procedure stipulated by Art. 89 would have been entirely different:

(1) In the event where the President of the Republic of Moldova commits grave offenses infringing upon constitutional provisions, he may be suspended from office by Parliament if two-thirds of the members cast their votes in support of suspension.
(2) The motion requesting the suspension from office may be initiated by at least one-third of the members, and it must be brought to the knowledge of the President without delay. The President may give explanations on the actions for which he is being censured before Parliament.
(3) If the motion requesting suspension from office meets with approval, a national referendum shall be organized within 30 days for removing the President from office.”( Constitution of the Republic of Moldova)

A temporary suspension – not because of health reasons – is thus an invention of the constitutional court that sets a dangerous precedent. Two months later the government again appealed to the court to temporarily suspend the president from office, because Dodon refused to appoint seven new ministers. And again in early 2018, two days after the decision of the court on the second appeal, a third complaint reached the court for another temporary suspension, because the president refused to sign a law banning alleged Russian propaganda. According to Art. 98, the president has only a suspensive veto power, but has to promulgate a law after the initiative is reconfirmed by parliament. However, Dodon refused to promulgate the law and the interim president (again the speaker of parliament) appointed both the ministers and promulgated the law.

Any assessment of the role of the constitutional court, the president and the head of the PDM in this complicated power structure is hardly possible without a partisan reading. Some describe Plahotniuc as a pro-democratic, pro-western figure and the PDM as the main party that guarantees democratic development (RFE/RL 2017). But Plahotniuc is also profiting from East-West tensions, has autocratic tendencies and is accused of corruption (Popșoi 2017a). In any case, he is a main player within the government, although he has no formal governmental role (he is member of parliament and chair of the PDM). Dodon’s role and motivations are less clear. On the one hand, he was the former head of the Socialist Party and has a declared pro-Russian stance. This is a logical explanation for his refusal to promulgate the anti-Russian propaganda law. On the other hand, he cooperated closely with Plahotniuc and the PDM to change the country’s electoral law to a mixed electoral system. This move was widely condemned by international actors (among them most importantly the Venice commission, see Venice Commission 2017). Some observers have even argued that Dodon has reached an informal agreement with Plahotniuc and informally supports the political course to hold his position (see for example Necsutu 2017). Authors have described this as a “political cartel narrative” (Popșoi 2017a) with the aim of a Russia-backed coalition between the Socialists (PD) and the PDM after the upcoming parliamentary elections in November this year.

Beyond the speculation about the motives that led Dodon to comply with the course of Plahotniuc, it is clear that the constitutional court is instrumentalized in allowing the ruling elite to preserve their newly won influence and power. The inter-institutional deadlock is nothing new for the Republic of Moldova and neither is the issue of EU integration vs. close ties with Russia. Neither is necessarily beneficial for democratic development, but both always seemed possible to overcome. Yet, what will have a lasting influence on the downward spiral of Moldovan democracy is the unprecedented involvement of the court in the power struggle that will undermine what is left of the public’s trust in the constitutional court.

Literature

BBC (2016): Pro-Moscow figure Igor Dodon claims Moldova presidency. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-37970155. November 14 [accessed November 15, 2016]
Brett, Daniel; Knott, Ellie; Popsoi, Mihai (2015): The ‘billion dollar protests’ in Moldova are threatening the survival of the country’s political elite. http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/europpblog/2015/09/21/the-billion-dollar-protests-in-moldova-are-threatening-the-survival-of-the-countrys-political-elite/, September 21 [accessed November 15, 2016]
Constitutional Court (2017): http://constcourt.md/libview.php?l=en&idc=7&id=938&t=/Media/Noutati/The-President-of-Moldova-may-only-once-decline-PMs-proposal-of-Cabinet-reshuffle/ [accessed January 14 2018]
Fruhstorfer, Anna (2016): Moldova, in: Constitutional Politics in Central and Eastern Europe. Edited by Anna Fruhstorfer and Michael Hein, Springer VS, 359-387.
Kottasova, Ivana (2015): How to steal $ 1 billion in three days. http://money.cnn.com/2015/05/07/news/economy/moldova-stolen-billion/. May 7 [accessed January 10, 2018]
IRI.org (2017): Public Opinion Survey (2017). http://www.iri.org/sites/default/files/iri_moldova_poll_march_2017.pdf. [accessed January 10, 2018]
Necsutu, Madalin (2017): Dodon Response to Suspension Puzzles Moldova’s Socialists, in: http://www.balkaninsight.com/en/article/dodon-response-to-suspension-puzzles-moldova-s-socialists-01-10-2018 [January, 14, 2018]
Popșoi, Mihai (2017): Moldovan President Igor Dodon Suspended by the Constitutional Court. https://moldovanpolitics.com/2017/10/25/moldovan-president-igor-dodon-suspended-by-the-constitutional-court/ [last accessed January 15, 2018]
Popșoi, Mihai (2017a): Moldovan Politics 2017: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. https://moldovanpolitics.com/2017/12/27/moldovan-politics-2017-the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly/ [accessed January 15, 2018]
Venice Commission (2017): Joint opinion on the draft laws on amending and completing certain legislative acts, in: http://www.venice.coe.int/webforms/documents/?pdf=CDL-AD(2017)012-e [accessed January 10, 2018]

Kyrgyzstan – A Double Transition: Administration and Model of Government

The October 2017 presidential election in Kyrgyzstan ushered in simultaneous transitions of administration and model of government.  Under the 2010 Constitution, Kyrgyzstan, like Mexico, restricts its president to a single six-year term, which ended last month with Almazbek Atambaev handing the reins of power to his hand-picked successor, and fellow Social Democrat, Sooronbai Zheenbekov.  Not only is there a new occupant in the Kyrgyzstani White House in Bishkek, but the office of the presidency itself is being reshaped by constitutional amendments adopted by referendum in December 2016, amendments that took effect in December 2017.  It is, therefore, a period of considerable uncertainty, as observers search for clues that could offer insights into the effects of the double transition on Kyrgyzstani politics.

With regard to the transition in administration, Sooronbai Zheenbekov is no Vladimir Putin, who came into the Kremlin in May 2000 with a packet of far-reaching administrative reforms.  As expected, President Zheenbekov, whose close personal and political relations with Atambaev go back to 1995, has not signaled any significant departures from the policies of his predecessor.  However, last month the new president was able to quickly patch up deteriorating relations with neighboring Kazakhstan, which had brought trade with Kyrgyzstan to a virtual halt after President Atambaev harshly criticized Kazakh President Nazarbaev for supporting Zheenbekov’s major opponent, Omurbek Babanov, in the presidential election campaign.

One way of measuring the extent of continuity in presidential transitions is to examine personnel turnover in the presidential apparatus.  Here the record is mixed.  Just as in the Yeltsin-Putin transition, Jeenbekov has retained the services of his predecessor’s chief of staff, in this case Farid Niazov.[i]  As numerous Kyrgyzstani commentators have remarked, Niazov is now in a position to act as the eyes of Atambaev in the new administration, and given that in post-communist regimes with strong presidencies the chief-of-staff is often the second most influential person in the country, Niazov’s appointment seems to be clear evidence of continuity.  However, retaining Niazov may also represent a transition within the transition, and as Zheenbekov acquires greater confidence in his new role, he may bring on his own person in this critical position.

The first weeks of the Zheenbekov presidency have already witnessed substantial turnover in second-tier positions in the presidential apparatus, with many of the new appointees having served under Zheenbekov in his previous roles as prime minister and governor of the Osh region in the South.  With a tradition that reaches back more than a half-century of alternating northern and southern leaders of the Soviet Kirgiz Republic and now the independent country of Kyrgyzstan, the election of the southerner, Zheenbekov, has brought a predictable influx of appointees to the presidential bureaucracy who hail from the South.  However, given his ties to the Social Democratic Party, which has been sensitive to regional balance in personnel matters, it seems unlikely that Zheenbekov will repeat the mistakes of two earlier presidents, Askar Akaev (1991-2005) and Kurmanbek Bakiev (2005-2010), who were ousted in popular uprisings, in part because of the perception of regional favoritism.

The other form of favoritism that plagued the Akaev and Bakiev presidencies was the appointment of family members to key political and economic roles.  Unlike President Atambaev, whose family members were not prominent public figures, Zheenbekov has several brothers who have had leading positions in government institutions, including a younger brother who is now in parliament and had served earlier as parliamentary speaker. In one of last appointments, President Atambaev selected Zheenbekov’s older brother, an ambassador in the Middle East since the Bakiev days, to serve as ambassador to Ukraine, a post that had been vacant for over two years, apparently in deference to Russia’s break with that country.  Even if recent political history has not inoculated Kyrgyzstan against a repetition of family rule or one-region hegemony, it would be unlikely for a cautious politician like Zheenbekov to succumb to the favoritistic politics that helped to bring down earlier Kyrgyzstani presidents.

Less than two months into the Zheenbekov presidency, evidence remains sparse on the realignment of power between prime minister and president, though Zheenbekov’s negotiations with Nazarbaev indicate that the foreign policy portfolio remains firmly in presidential hands.  Under the new rules, the prime minister has full authority to appoint and dismiss members of the Council of Ministers as well as regional and local chief executives.  The young and relatively inexperienced prime minister, Sapar Isakov, has already replaced a number of cabinet-level officials in the areas of social and economic policy, but what is as yet unclear is the level of informal influence exercised over such appointment decisions by the president and his staff, and whether President Zheenbekov will encourage the selective prosecution of political appointees, which roiled the political establishment in the last year and a half of the Atambaev era.

Between the election and the inauguration, the campaign against the political opposition launched by Atambaev culminated in the threatened prosecution of Omurbek Babanov, who, as noted above, was the loser in the presidential race.  With his personal freedom, business interests, and political party under threat, Babanov sought refuge overseas after the presidential contest.  Then in a dramatic announcement communicated on his Facebook page on 30 December, Babanov issued in effect a political surrender and plea for mercy. In a statement reminiscent of the Melis Eshimkanov’s magnanimous concession to President Akaev after the 2000 presidential election, Babanov thanked Atambaev for his “worthy contribution to the preservation and strengthening of the country.”  He then announced his resignation from his parliamentary seat and his departure from politics.  By so doing, he appeared to salvage his own party’s future and to remove the shadow that the popular politician’s criminal conviction would have cast over the Zheenbekov presidency.[ii]

Looming over the double transition of administration and model of government is the figure of ex-President Atambaev.  Seized in the waning months of his term by the vision of apres moi, le deluge, Atambaev had sought to “idiot-proof the constitution” by further diminishing the power of the presidency, which would, in his words, allow him to learn to play the piano in his retirement.[iii]  However, speculation abounds that a new chapter will unfold in Atambaev’s political career at the late January congress of the Social Democratic Party, when observers expect him to be selected as party chairman.  With Social Democrats holding the posts of president and prime minister, some contend that the party apparatus under Atambaev could begin to usurp constitutional authority accorded to the heads of state and government.  In such a scenario, one observer noted, Kyrgyzstan would have its own Ayatollah.

Notes

[i] Niazov had stepped down temporarily from the chief-of-staff position last year to head Zheenbekov’s election campaign.

[ii] Whatever Zheenbekov’s attitude is to Atambaev’s targeting of his political enemies for prosecution, he apparently did not seek to intervene in the criminal trial against parliamentary deputy Kanat Isaev, who was sentenced to 12 years in prison on 4 January 2018.

[iii]  Eugene Huskey, Plebiscitarianism and Constitution-Making: The December 11, 2016 Referendum in Kyrgyzstan, Presidential Power blog.  http://presidential-power.com/?p=5770

Ecuador – Former President Correa Cries Coup as Current President Moreno Convokes Plebiscite on Re-Election Ban

The falling out between Rafael Correa and Lenin Moreno, Ecuador’s past and current presidents respectively, has reached the level of a full-scale civil war that threatens to split the country’s governing party in a conflict over what many are calling the ‘de-Correa-ification’ of Ecuador.

The dominant characterisation of this schism has Moreno making a ‘shift to the right’ away from Correa’s ‘leftist’ policies. For example, in the view of the Financial Times Moreno has begun dismantling Correa’s “populist left-wing legacy” and forging relations with the business community. Meanwhile Correa accuses Moreno of “betrayal,” claiming that he is of the “centre-right” and has “no convictions”.

However, further analysis reveals that the issues at the heart of this extraordinary internecine conflict – which the BBC dubbed “Ecuador’s Game of Thrones” – relate to personality and political style rather than ideology. To be specific, they relate to Correa’s personality and political style.

As previously reported here, Lenin Moreno was elected in April of last year by the narrowest of margins, and under somewhat questionable conditions. Having served as Vice-President to Correa –who stepped down as President after a decade in power – many assumed that Moreno would be little more than a puppet. Some even compared the situation to that which existed in Russia between Dmitry Medvedev and Vladimir Putin between 2008 and 2012.

No one is talking about that any more. Instead a far more likely scenario is the division of governing party Alianza PAIS into pro- and anti-Correa factions.

The situation has been brought to a head by a number of dramatic, headline-grabbing events. First came the preventative detention and prosecution of Moreno’s Vice-President (successor to Moreno as Correa’s Vice-President) Jorge Glas on corruption charges relating to the Odebrecht scandal. Last month Glas was jailed for six years. He was subsequently removed from the post and replaced by Maria Alejandra Vicuña. Impeachment proceedings have been instituted against Glas.

Moreno has also criticised the economic situation he inherited, enacted cuts to public spending, ordered an audit of the legality of Ecuador’s debt, and is seeking to bring its extension of asylum to Julian Assange to an end. Most significantly of all, Moreno has convoked a plebiscite for February 4th which proposes a range of reforms, among them a ban on presidential re-election[i]. This proposal would reverse the amendment abolishing term limits introduced by Correa in 2015, and bar the former president from running again.

Correa and his allies have reacted with increasing fury to these unfolding events, labelling Moreno a “traitor” and accusing him of destroying the legacy of the ‘Citizens’ Revolution’. Correa has characterised Moreno’s cuts as an “austerity package,” and criticised his meetings with business elites and the political right.

As previously reported here, in November pro-Correa factions moved to oust Moreno as president of Alianza PAIS. Moreno was able to have the decision overturned by the National Electoral Council (CNE), however, and the issue has been referred to the Contentious Electoral Tribunal (TCE) for a ruling. As a result, a split appears increasingly likely, with Correa now openly considering forming a rival party.

The most strident criticism of Moreno has focussed on the methods used to convoke the plebiscite. Rather than submit the proposed questions to the Constitutional Court for clarification, Moreno issued an executive decree instructing the CNE to proceed to put the selected questions to the electorate. Moreno justified the decree on procedural grounds, but pro-Correa figures have rejected that explanation. Former Chancellor Ricardo Patiño has labelled the plebiscite “unconstitutional,” while in an open letter of resignation, Ecuador’s UN Ambassador Guillaume Long denounced Moreno’s “dangerous authoritarianism” and “false ecumenism”.

Naturally the strongest criticism has come from Correa, who described the move as “treason” and an attempt at a “coup d’etat.” On January 5th Correa flew back to Ecuador from his home in Belgium to lead the ‘No’ campaign. As a result, Ecuador faces the paradoxical situation where, in the words of Pablo Ospina of the Simon Bolivar Andean University, “the only political movement opposed to the plebiscite is part of the party of the president who convoked it”[ii].

Yet Correa appears to be losing this game of political chess. In terms of support from members of the parliamentary party, Moreno has secured almost twice as many endorsements. Furthermore, according opinion polls Correa’s approval ratings – a consistent source of strength during his time as president – have plummeted to below 30% over the past year, during which time Moreno’s have risen to over 70%. Other polls point to public support for the ban on presidential re-election in the plebiscite.

A recent study of the decade-long Correa regime offers insight into why Moreno looks to be on a path to defeating his former leader[iii]. Utilising the concept of “competitive authoritarianism” developed by Levitsky and Way[iv], Sanchez-Sibony concludes that Correa slanted the electoral playing field and utilised state control of the economy as a substitute for party organisation.

This analysis chimes with that of Ospina, who notes that Correa’s power was based on a combination of charisma and state control. Moreno may lack charisma, but it appears that in contemporary Ecuador, control of the state apparatus is more important. That Moreno appears to be successfully using Correa’s own tools against him is an irony that has not been lost on the former president’s critics.

In particular, Ospina points to Moreno’s strategic approach to opponents on both the left and the right, offering to each some but not all of what they demand[v]. For example, while Moreno did reduce public spending, the move was described as “moderate” by business associations who continue to push the president for deeper cuts. In Moreno’s cabinet, portfolios relating to the productive economy have gone to those with business links, while those with oversight of social policy have been entrusted to left-wing intellectuals.

This method can also be observed in the formation of the questions proposed for the plebiscite. To those on the right, Moreno has offered the possibility of eliminating Correa’s Capital Gains Tax, but has refused to amend the controversial Communications Law. For indigenous movements and environmentalists there is the prospect of restrictions on mining in protected areas, but not the total prohibition sought.

All of which brings the discussion back, inevitably, to Correa. Talk of Moreno ‘betraying’ the Citizens’ Revolution overlooks the fact that Correa himself had moved the project far from its origins during his ten-year reign. Numerous policy switches took place over that time[vi], including the signing of a free trade deal with the European Union and renewed borrowing from the IMF. In terms of the governing coalition, left-wing intellectuals and social movements had long-since been replaced by statist technocrats, ‘modern’ business people, and state contractors.

Several commentators have pointed out that Moreno is not fundamentally altering the economic model of the Correa years, which remains highly dependent on primary commodities, agribusiness, and borrowing. The real source of the conflict here is political.

It is questionable whether Moreno can hold together his ‘rainbow coalition’ of left and right in the long run. In constitution it is redolent of the first cabinet of former President Lucio Gutiérrez, which lasted all of six months before it fell apart under the weight of its internal contradictions[vii].

But for now Ecuador’s left and right are united behind Moreno’s attempt to achieve the ‘de-Correa-ification’ of Ecuadorian politics. Upon that point there appears to be widespread agreement, not only among social and political actors, but in the general public also. Correa may continue to dominate the headlines in Ecuador, but it looks increasingly as though his period of electoral dominance may be drawing to a close.

Notes

[i] The other questions include: The removal of political rights for those guilty of corruption; the election of new members of the Civic Participation Council; the repeal of the Capital Gains Tax Law; the extension of the ‘intangible zone’ in Yasuni National Park; restrictions on mining in protected areas; enhanced protections for children.

[ii] Pablo Ospina, 2017. Informe de Coyuntura: Traición e Infidelidad, los Dioses También Lloran. CEP Informe de Coyuntura, Diciembre. Available at: http://www.cepecuador.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&id=15&Itemid=114.

[iii] Omar Sanchez-Sibony, 2017. Classifying Ecuador’s Regime under Correa: A Procedural Approach. Journal of Politics in Latin America, Vol. 9(3), pp. 121-140.

[iv] Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way. 2001. The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism. Journal of Democracy, Vol. 13(2), pp. 51-65.

[v] Ospina, 2017.

[vi] Sanchez-Sibony, 2017.

[vii] César Montúfar, 2008. ‘El Populismo Intermitente de Lucio Gutiérrez,’ in Carlos de la Torre and Enrique Peruzzotti (eds.), El Retorno del Pueblo: Populismo y Nuevas Democracias en América Latina. Quito: FLACSO Ecuador.

Lithuania – President Grybauskaite’s Anti-Zapad campaign

Lithuanian President Grybauskaite identified the joint Russian-Belorussian military exercise Zapad-2017, which took place on the borders of the three Baltic States and Poland, as one of the most important events of 2017. In and of itself this military drill was nothing new since Russia carried out similar exercises in 2009 and 2013, and the Kremlin had announced that it plans to continue drills every four years. However, a yearlong public relations campaign launched by Grybauskaite against Zapad 2017 and alleged Russian aggression was quite unprecedented, especially if compared to Zapad 2013 and 2009 drills that produced no such presidential reactions.

Starting in February, when she met with US Defense Secretary James Mattis, Grybauskaite declared that Zapad 2017 exercises were a clear demonstration of Russia’s preparations for warfare with the West. Lithuanian President’s first accusation of the Kremlin’s “demonstrative preparation” for war on the West quickly made headlines in the American press. “Russia is a threat not only to Lithuania but to the whole region and to all of Europe,” proclaimed Grybauskaite to Foreign Policy.

Anti-Zapad/Russia campaign continued through the summer and peaked in September as Grybauskaite used high-level meetings to highlight Lithuania’s “aggressive neighborhood.” For instance, during May and July meetings between the heads of state of Central and Eastern European countries and President Trump, Grybauskaite informed Trump of specific threats and challenges faced by Lithuania and of country’s imperative defense needs. Regional threats from the East, especially Russia, topped Grybauskaite’s agenda following her official visits to Estonia and Ukraine. She also talked about threats posed by Russia’s drills during a U.S. Congressional delegation visit in Lithuania and while meeting with NATO and U.S. European Command generals alleging that “[Russia’s] attempts to redraw states’ borders by force.” It was probably not surprising that her 2017 State of the Nation Address identified Zapad 2017 drills as one of the top threats to Lithuania’s national security.

As the official date of military exercises (September 14-20) approached, major Western news outlets became the primary focus of Grybauskaite’s anti-Zapad/Russia pronouncements. In a Wall Street Journal article Lithuanian president observed, “We see a very, very large scale offensive exercise that demonstrates hatred against the West.” Grybauskaite also expressed country’s trepidation to Reuters. “We are worried about the upcoming ‘Zapad 2017’ exercise, which will deploy a very large and aggressive force [on our borders] that will very demonstrably be preparing for a war with the West.” Then, in her interview with CNBC Grybauskaite suggested that there was a “very large” probability that part of Russia’s equipment, including troops, would be kept in Belarus after the military exercise. “Russia is still very, very unpredictable, and it has proved this unpredictability with its activities in occupying Crimea, Ukraine, and Georgia. History teaches us that we need to see and watch and prepare for the activities of Russia,” she said.

Her scathing criticism of Russia, however, was reserved for the international audience in a speech she delivered at the UN.

“As we speak [September 19, 2017], around one hundred thousand Russian troops are engaged in offensive military exercise ‘Zapad 2017’ on the borders with the Baltic States, Poland and even in the Arctic. The Kremlin is rehearsing aggressive scenarios against its neighbors, training its army to attack the West. […] the Zapad exercise is just one symptom of the Kremlin’s inability to finally end its hatred towards the West.

Despite Russia’s special responsibility to protect international peace as permanent member of the Security Council, it violated the UN Charter by attacking Georgia, illegally annexing Crimea, and directly participating in the war in Eastern Ukraine.

The Kremlin’s arsenal does not stop at conventional weapons. Russia continues to meddle in elections of other states, conducts cyber-attacks and uses its ‘sputniks’ to spread fake news and destabilizing propaganda.”

Not surprisingly, the Russian delegation walked out the General Assembly hall before Lithuanian president’s speech.

Although her UN speech received a positive evaluation in the local media, several Lithuanian MPs criticized Grybauskaite over the chosen timing of her visit to the UN. One MP stated that the Lithuanian President has “[…] trumpeted to the entire world the message about possible military invasion of Lithuania, so it is utterly bizarre to learn that when the threat may be at its highest, the Lithuanian head of state, who is also constitutionally carries the duties of the commander in chief, decides to leave the country and not somewhere nearby, but heads as far as over the Atlantic.” Another MP rushed to introduce a resolution mandating all high-ranking state officials to remain in the country during the drills. In her defense, Grybauskaite claimed that “an opportunity to go the UN and to address two hundred nations from its rostrum to draw attention to the problems of our region today when the whole world thinks only about conflicts with North Korea” could not be missed. Additionally, the president’s press office claimed that Grybauskaite was “the only leader of the states directly exposed to the threats by Zapad who has a possibility to present the situation directly to the Secretary-General during the Assembly.”

Anticipating that her leaving the country at the time when Lithuania, according to her, would be facing the gravest threat, Grybauskaite suddenly expressed a marked restraint in her public pronouncements, unexpectedly announcing that she saw “no threats” associated with the drills because the country was well militarily prepared and suggested that Zapad 2017 would be beneficial for Lithuania in the future as such drills would allow to identify potential security gaps. She also urged the public to “[…] not get frightened, because this is what the goal of the Zapad exercise is: to frighten us, to break our will to defend ourselves so that we are paralyzed and can do nothing in our state.”

Arguably, Grybauskaite’s concerns about Zapad’s impact on Lithuania’s national security had some merit. First, the president and defense ministry were deeply concerned about the scope and size of the military involved in the drills. According to the official numbers provided by Russia, only 12,700 soldiers were involved, but Western defense analysts and Lithuanian military intelligence officials claimed that the numbers were closer to 100,000. Moreover, since the exercises were directly on the border with Lithuania, increased risks due to potential provocations could not be ruled out. The second concern was build on fear that a “little green men” scenario in the aftermath of similar smaller drills, resulting in the 2008 war in Georgia and the 2014 occupation of Ukrainian Crimea, could plausibly unfold in the Baltic. “Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia have been particularly concerned about Russia repeating its strategy in Crimea on our soil,” reasoned Grybauskaite.

Despite some justifiable merits to raise awareness around the world about aggressive Russian actions, Grybauskaite’s anti-Zapad campaign cannot be considered as an astounding success. Over the span of a year, her position swung from one extreme: Russia is a threat, it hates the West, and may go to war with NATO and occupy Lithuania, to another extreme: Zapad and Russia are not a threat, Lithuania is militarily ready and will not be frightened or intimidated. The message was clearly inconsistent. Furthermore, this campaign had local and international repercussions.

Domestically, presidential pronouncements of how dangerous Zapad 2017 would be for Lithuania and agitation build up by top policymakers that alleged occupation scenario was nearly imminent led to heightened public anxiety. Local media, building on public presidential pronouncements, also fanned public panic flames with headlines such as “Grybauskaite claims that Russia’s military exercises is a demonstration of its readiness to fight war with the West;” “Nearly half of the Lithuanian population perceives Russia as a threat;” “Discovery of a Zapad drill scenario: Lithuania is given a role of an aggressor with a strange name;” “Russia tops the list of greatest threats to Lithuania’s national security;” and “Save yourself, if you can: Grybauskaite departs to the US during Zapad-2017 military drill.” Even former chief of country’s internal security agency expressed a view that “manipulation of public feelings in the name of security [was] totally unacceptable.”

Local analysts eventually had to admit that worries about the extent of Zapad’s threat were clearly exaggerated by Grybauskaite, government officials, and several other MPs, who, instead of showing restraint when addressing both national and international audiences, chose to advance the “apocalypse is coming” message. Presently, no policymaker issued an apology for causing public anxiety; rather, they “credited” the Kremlin with sowing public panic.

Since the anticipated apocalyptic scenario did not materialize, the bigger concern now for the President is the potential of a negative impact anti-Zapad campaign may have on Lithuania’s credibility internationally and on Grybauskaite’s legacy. The danger is that any future “crying wolf” type campaigns voiced on an international stage by top Lithuanian officials may be ignored at best or completely brushed off as groundless at worst, depriving the next Lithuanian president of valuable future opportunities to communicate to the world about serious threats faced by the country. The anti-Zapad campaign could also tarnish Grybauskaite’s foreign policy legacy. To control potential damage, she is already suggesting a new “military Schengen” project, which would facilitate and free the movement of military equipment among the EU member states and could potentially continue enhancing European security by ensuring air defense and rapid deployment of NATO support into the region. It is unquestionably a tall order for her to succeed in fulfilling this project, given that she merely has a year and a half left in office.

France – President Macron’s political leadership: The personal dimension

One of the core enigmas of the 2017 presidential campaign related to the personality of Emmanuel Macron. Who is Emmanuel Macron? As the real prospect of his election drew nearer, the search for the ‘real’ Macron preoccupied journalists, commentators, political satirists and (rival) politicians, in more or less good faith. Did Macron represent the tardive manifestation in France of Blairite Third Way, as suggested by Arnaud Parmentier (2017) in Le Monde? While there are some obvious similarities, Blair framed his leadership within one of the established parties, whereby Macron came from outside the existing party establishment. Or, on the contrary, as the specialist of the French right Gilles Robert contended, was Macron a contemporary version of the liberal, Orleanist right, an adept of political and economic liberalization (Richard, 2017)? Or, more crudely, the representative of international finance, as maliciously portrayed by Marine Le Pen and Jean-Luc Mélenchon, in a not so strange convergence? Or quite simply the continuation of the (failed) Hollande presidency, the favourite frame of the LR candidate François Fillon?

Even before his election as President, Macron was not a totally unknown quantity, of course. As deputy General Secretary of the Presidential staff from 2012-14, Macron was a key figure in the background, exercising a reputedly strong influence in relation to the social liberal turn of the Hollande presidency (lowering taxes on business via the Business tax credit scheme [Crédit d’impôt pour la compétitivité et l’emploi – CICE] of 2013) and the Business Pact [Pacte de Responsabilité] of 2014). As Minister for the Economy, Industry and Digital Policy, Macron associated his name with a complex law that aimed comprehensively to modernize and liberalise the French economy; that most of its more controversial measures (especially in relation to the professions and work regulations) were abandoned or diluted was more a testament to the stout resistance of the Socialist frondeurs than evidence of half-hearted intent. In August 2016, Macron resigned from his position at the heart of the Hollande administration to launch the risky venture of building his political movement (En Marche!, launched in April 2016) and standing for the French presidential election. At the very least, he is a political entrepreneur and a risk-taker.

Focusing on the individual qualities of a political leader is a necessary (though not sufficient) exercise. Understanding Macron requires adopting, or at least adapting, a framework for studying political leadership. Most models of political leadership involve some combination of personal qualities, positional strengths and weaknesses, and the wider environmental and cultural constraints and opportunities that help shape political leadership. Understanding Macron requires a combination of three levels of analysis: micro (individual), the meso- (institution) and the macro (Europe, foreign policy, international economy). The political constellation in 2017 and the interaction of these three levels arguably placed Macron in a strong position to win through to the second round and eventually be elected President. In his management of the first eight months of his presidency, a mode of two or three-level bargaining has described well his pursuit of his presidential goals and ambitions. Three-level bargaining is used to refer to the interplay between political persona, institutional position and external constraints and opportunities. The theme will be developed more in the next blog. There is at least a heuristic value in combining levels of analysis if we are to understand Macron’s activity as President. In this first of three blog entries dedicated to Emmanuel Macron, and cognizant of the interactive relationship between levels of analysis, I focus on the personal dimension of his leadership.

Macron’s personal qualities are understood and valued insofar as they inform a broader political persona. Insofar as we integrate personal variables, these play themselves out at three levels of abstraction: personal attributes, symbolic attributes and representative attributes.

This first level of analysis is, inevitably, second-hand. But it is valuable, insofar as it disseminates representations that circulate and that are more or less tolerated and organized by the individual himself. A stream of books and articles on Macron were published in and around the 2017 presidential election. These ranged from the hagiographical (Besson, 2017), through the psycho-biography (Fulda, 2016), to the philosophical (Couturier, 2017), or the instant or contemporary historical approach (Jeanneney, 2017; Prissette, 2017 ; Debray, 2017 ; Bourmaud, 2017) and the first attempts at conceptualization and understanding (Debray, 2017). Personal qualities are not intrinsically valued in our account, unless they contribute to the style of governing. In the case of Macron, there is an argument that Brigitte, his spouse, played an important role in the overall political enterprise and that Brigitte and Emmanuel Macron formed a coherent political household, akin to that of the Pompidou family at an earlier period. It was certainly the case that the foreign media were obsessed with Brigitte Macron, who developed her own office within the Elysée, signed a transparency charter, setting out her role and responsibilities, and cultivated her image as a promotor of the liberal arts and various good causes.

At the level of personal traits: the leadership qualities of decisiveness, strength, resolution, risk-taking, vision and imagination are differentially distributed, irrespective of wider structural circumstances. Not even his fiercest adversary can contest the ability to take risks; giving up his position as Economy, Industry and Digital minister to launch himself into the risky venture of En Marche! demonstrated this. Resigning from the civil service to be able to contest the campaign goes in the same direction. Some common themes that emerge from a rapid analysis of the above works are Macron’s personal qualities of determination, resolution and brilliance, coupled with the adjective of the killer with a penchant for vertical forms of governing. The downside was the diffusion (in early surveys, at least) of the image of a rather arrogant, distant and elitist individual.

The personal dimension of Macron might also be understood at a level once removed, or a second level of abstraction. His personal background is interesting insofar as Macron appears as a typical representative of the French elite, having studied at the elite Sciences Po and the National School of Administration (Ecole nationale d’administration – ENA). Rather like former President Pompidou, Macron also spent a period of time working in the private sector, for the Rothschild bank. In a JDD-IFOP poll of 16-17th March 2017 before his election, only 41% considered Macron to be close to the people; his background as a brilliant ENA graduate and his work for Rothschild bank leave the indelible image that Macron is a member of the French elite. This representation is treated in a more nuanced way in some accounts. Abel insists on the fact that the young Macron studied for a higher degree in philosophy at Nanterre University and worked as editorial assistant for the philosopher Paul Ricoeur, a reference that underpins the cultivated image of Macron as the President-Philosopher, or, again, as the avid consumer of highbrow literature (Abel, 2017; Mongin, 2017).

A rather different line of enquiry – a third level of abstraction – relates to whether Macron embodies the sign of the times, the candidate who best crystallized the confused and contradictory ethos of a particular epoch. The focus here is not so much on individual qualities, as on the representative function vested upon him. The first claim is that of generational renewal: he represents better than any other candidate the demand for a new generation. Elected President at 39 years old, Macron was a few years younger than Tony Blair and around the same age as Matteo Renzi in Italy when he became premier. Second, Macron’s election symbolized the running out of steam of the traditional left-right cleavage in French politics. Macron was elected President while riding high on the rejection of party and contesting the validity of the left-right cleavage. For Taguieff (2017), Macron was both actor and subject of the withering away of the old cleavage of left and right, and the embodiment of a new one, based on an openness-closure division within French society. For Bigorne and colleagues, Macron is the symbol of the decomposition and recomposition of the French political system, a transformative position partially instigated by Macron himself.

Third, Macron’s election was symbolic of a generational renewal and an overhaul of political personnel. There was a symbolic rejuvenation and major change of political personnel, characterized by the arrival en masse of new deputies with no political experience, of activists with no experience of political activism and professionals trusted to manage the affairs of their sector. Macron’s avowed distrust of parties was expressed by a preference for rule by experts and professionals, reflected in the composition of the Philippe government itself. Some prominent examples include Muriel Pénicaud, Minister for Employment (former head of Human Resources in the Danone firm), Jean-Michel Blanquer, Education Minister (former President of the HEC business school) and Agnès Buzin (a practicing doctor who became Minister for Health).

All of this adds up to an appreciation of style. We understand style to refer to the complex mix of preferences, beliefs, skills, values and practices of individuals in a potential leadership situation. In terms of Macron, there is some tension between two prevalent frames in the literature: that of the transformative leader, in the framework popularized by James McGregor Burns (1978) and the equilibrist or museum curator (inherent in the campaign theme of ‘en même temps’). In her analysis of ‘the ten words that best characterize Macron’, Darrigand prefers Transformation to that of Revolution (though ‘Revolution’ was the title of Macron’s successful 2016 book). Transformation refers to the ambitious programme of gradual reforms, the cumulative effect of which is to transform society. Transformation is most definitely preferred in the Macron lexicography either to Revolution (a utopian vision removed from reality and producing dystopian outcomes), or to Reform (a negative truism, associated with disillusion on account of the failure of successive governments to reform French society). It is progressive and pragmatic. Transformation is viewed by Macron as a form of correction of past errors, of unblocking the numerous blockages of French politics, society and economy and liberating energies, while protecting the weakest in society. In this sense, transformation can tie into the en même temps slogan, popularised and chanted by Macron supporters during the 2017 campaign.

En même temps can be read first as a campaign slogan – rather like Obama’s Yes We Can. The literal translation – ‘on the one hand, on the other hand’ – might be subject to confusion, however. It can imply an equilibrist, between left and right, the traditional positioning of the centre in France. Identifying itself as between left and right, the French centre has traditionally been squeezed between the Scylla of anti-Gaullism and the Charybdis of anti-Socialism, with a tendency for the centre to drift towards the latter position. The rallying of historic centrist François Bayrou in February 2017 put Macron’s flagging campaign back on track; the debt to the traditional centre was acknowledged by the freshly elected Macron, who rewarded Bayrou with a major position in government and ensured that the MODEM was generously endowed with winnable seats in the June 2017 parliamentary elections (at which the MODEM elected 51 deputies). But renewing with a certain legacy of the French centre is only a small part of the Macron story. En même temps can also imply a transformative leader beyond left and right, consigning the key ideological cleavage drawn from the French revolution to history; the ‘old’ system condemned by Macron and supporters is roundly rejected, both in terms of the mutually exclusive ideological frames it embodies and the parties it produces which feed on maintaining ideological exclusivities for instrumental partisan advantage.

Third, en même temps can be understood as left and right. In this third synthesis, left and right provide inspiration, ideas and talented people on which a modernising President should draw. The historical precursors are General de Gaulle in 1945 and 1958, Prime Minister Rocard in 1988, even President Sarkozy in 2007: on each occasion, political leaders attempted to draw in the best talents from across the political spectrum. The political leader is likened to the curator of a museum, classifying the contributions made by left and right and drawing in the best talents, ideas and political programmes from wherever their provenance. These three positions – centre, central, custodial – are not identical, however, and imply a permanent process of adjustment (between social protection and economic liberalisation, for example). Macron’s New Year address to the French on 31st December 2017 implied that the economic reform agenda of the first eight months would be counter-balanced by a more protective and social approach in 2018.

Finally, en même temps ought to be read as a coded attack on the legacy of his predecessor Hollande, the former President accused of being unable to make firm decisions, of hesitating, of fiddling while Rome burns, while Macron’s central position is portrayed by supporters as openly embracing the best talents and ideas in a problem- solution logic. For Taguieff (2017), Macron’s success lies in the capacity to embody opposites: to be centrist and radical; to be courteous and ruthless; to appear as politically correct and anti-system. The key question is whether the equilibrist can put into effect a process of transformation. Valéry Giscard d’Estaing’s old dream of representing two of every three French people ran into determined opposition and ultimately failed. The Macron experiment deserves closer empirical observation, which will be the subject of the next post.

References

Abel, O. 92017), ‘Paul Ricoeur et Emmanuel Macron’, Etudes, Septembre, 4241, pp. 47-57;
Besson, P. (2017) Un personnage de roman, Paris : Plon, 2017
Bigorne, L., Baudry, A. & Duhamel, O. (2017), Macron, Et En Meme Temps, Paris : Plon.
Bourmaud, F.-X. (2017) Emmanuel Macron – Les Coulisses D’une Victoire, Paris : L’archipel, 2017.
Burns, J.-M. (1978) Leadership, New York: Harper Collins, 1978.
Couturier, B. (2017), Macron : un président philosophe Paris : Editions de l’observatoire.
Darrigand, M. (2017), ‘Emmanuel Macron en Dix Mots’ Etudes, 4241, pp. 21-32, September.
Debray, R. (2017) Le nouveau pouvoir Paris: Editions du Cerf.
Fulda, A. (2016) Emmanuel Macron, Un Jeune Homme Si Parfait Paris : Plon.
Gaetner, G. (2017) Les 100 Jours De Macron Paris : Fauves Editions.
Jeanneney, J-N. (2017) Le Moment Macron – Un Président Et L’histoire Paris : Seuil.
Mongin, O. (2017)‘Les lectures d’Emmanuel Macron’, Commentaire, 159, pp. 519-523.
Parmentier A. (2017) ‘Macron, la troisième voie’, Le Monde 3rd March.
Prissette, N. (2017), Emmanuel Macron : Le président inattendu, Paris : First.
Richard, R. (2017)‘Ce que l’histoire de la droite nous apprend’, Le Point, 9th March.
Taguieff, P.-A. (2017) Macron : Miracle Ou Mirage ? Paris : Editions de l’Observatoire.

Turkey – The President’s Decree Power in the New Presidential System

Last year, Turkey changed its 1982 Constitution and adopted a presidential form of government. These changes will be implemented after the first scheduled presidential and assembly elections which will take place on the same day in 2019, unless early elections are called. There was only a limited debate about what type of presidential system there would be before the referendum in 2017 and there has been no public debate afterwards. It is still unclear for many people what to expect from the so-called ‘Turkish type of presidential system’.

There are different ways of distributing power in presidential systems. The president’s legislative powers are especially important, since those powers challenge the very logic of the separation of powers by delegating legislative power to the sole executive authority. According to Cheibub, Elkins and Ginsburg, high legislative powers separate the Latin American version of presidentialism from the US model.1 Presidential decrees that have the force of law are one important instrument of a president’s legislative power. It is also one that is easily abused and that can lead to a hyper-presidential system in the hands of populist presidents.2

In this respect, the 2017 reform created an important new instrument (presidential decrees) that Turkish presidents will be able to use for many different purposes. Under the new amendments, there are three different types of presidential decrees.

The first replaced the former type of executive decrees. Previously, the Council of Ministers3 could issue decrees with the force of law after the Turkish Grand National Assembly (TGNA) had passed a framework enabling law. Such decrees had to be presented before the TGNA on the same day they were published in the Official Gazette and reviewed by assembly upon presentation. Now, the president may issue decrees without an enabling law or presenting them before the TGNA. The new version abolishes any assembly control over the executive law making. However certain limitations relating to the topics that are allowed to be regulated are similar to the older version. The new Article 104 states that they can be issued for all areas relating to executive authority except individual and political rights, though the president can still issue decrees on economic and social rights.

According to the amended Article 104, presidential decrees cannot be issued on topics that are clearly regulated by legislation. If there were to be a contradiction between the two, legislation would overrule presidential decrees. Presidential decrees would be annulled if the TGNA were to adopt a law on the same topic. Does this mean that presidential decrees are secondary in the hierarchy of rules? The answer is “no”. This is because subordinate rules obtain legality because they comply with the higher rules. Their existence depends on the continuity in the chain of rules. Here, though, we have a special regulation giving legislative power to the president. These decrees supplement legislation in cases when the assembly is unable to legislate. Presidential decrees can be issued when there is no legislation or no clear legislation in a particular area. Bear in mind that the president has the power to veto legislation which is passed by a simple majority. In that case, the president’s veto can be overruled only by an absolute majority. So, presidents could delay or at least make it difficult for the assembly to regulate a particular topic and meanwhile could issue decrees overnight.

This situation might occur in a presidential system if the president’s party were a minority in a divided assembly. If no single party controlled the legislative agenda, the president could rule by decree. However, if the president’s party controlled the assembly, then the majority could gladly surrender its legislative power to the president simply by not doing anything. The Turkish party system, which is now a hegemonic party system,4 previously has had predominant, moderate and extreme pluralist phases since 1950s. These two scenarios are the most likely outcomes considering the previous or current state of the Turkish party system. In sum, presidential decrees resemble supplementary or temporary laws until the assembly regulates the topic clearly. It is also highly likely that the situation where an area is not clearly regulated by legislation could cause a legal confusion which could be misused by presidents.

The second type of presidential decree are ones with an exclusive jurisdiction. For example, creating or abolishing ministerial offices, the powers and responsibilities of ministerial offices, organizing central and local institutional structures, the procedures and rules regarding appointment and dismissal of higher civil servants will be regulated by presidential decrees exclusively under the new Articles 104 and 106. Public legal personalities can be also created by presidential decrees. All structural decisions regarding National Security Council and State Supervisory Council are also to be made by presidential decree (Art.118 and 108).

These two presidential decrees can be reviewed by the Constitutional Court and only a very limited group of people (the majority and second biggest political party group in the assembly or one fifth of the assembly) can bring these decrees to the Constitutional Court, the majority of whose members (12 of 15) are also appointed by the president.

The final type of presidential decree replaces emergency decrees. They are no limitations to them except the emergency situation. The president may declare a state of emergency alone  and then issue regulations that could suspend, interfere with, or limit all basic rights without any constitutional review. The only control here is supposed to be undertaken by the Assembly within three months. If not they are terminated automatically.

In sum, presidents are given quite strong legislative power constitutionally in the new system and the TGNA has lost a large portion of its leverage over presidents compared to its previous position under the 1982 constitution.

Notes

1. J. Cheibub, Z. Elkins and T. Ginsburg, “Latin American Presidentialism in Comparative and Historical Perspective” , Texas Law Review vol.89/7, 2011.
2. See R. Ackerman,D.A. Desierto and N. Volosin, “Hyper-Presidentialism: Seperations of Powers without Checks and Balances in Argentina and the Philipines”, Berkley Journal of International Law, Vol.29/1, 2011.
3. The signature of the president of the republic was also required formally.
4. See G. Sartori, Parties and Party Systems a Framework for Analysis, Cambridge Uni Press, 2005, p. 204-211.