A tale of two lefts

Just over a decade ago, Latin America seemed poised to begin a virtuous cycle of economic progress and improved democratic governance, overseen by a growing number of centrist, technocratic governments. In Mexico, President Carlos Salinas de Gortari, buttressed by the passage of the North American free trade agreement, was ready for his handpicked successor to win the next presidential election. In Brazil, former finance minister Fernando Henrique Cardoso was about to beat the radical labour leader Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva for the presidency. Argentine president Carlos Menem had pegged the peso to the dollar and put his populist Peronist legacy behind him. And at the invitation of President Bill Clinton, Latin American leaders were preparing to gather in Miami for the summit of the Americas, signalling an unprecedented convergence between the southern and northern halves of the western hemisphere.

What a difference ten years makes. Although the region has just enjoyed its best two years of economic growth in a long time and threats to democratic rule are rare, the picture today is transformed. Latin America has swerved left, and backlashes are under way against the dominant trends of free-market reform, agreement with the US on many issues and consolidation of representative democracy.

Starting with Hugo Chávez's victory in Venezuela eight years ago, a wave of leaders, parties and movements generically labelled "leftist" have swept into power in one Latin American country after another. After Chávez, it was Lula and the Workers' party in Brazil, then Néstor Kirchner in Argentina and Tabaré Vázquez in Uruguay, and then, earlier this year, Evo Morales in Bolivia. In Peru, Ollanta Humala lost the presidential run-off to Alan García in June by a small margin. More importantly, García, despite everything he has learned over the past 20 years since he was first president, only fails to qualify for the leftist label now because he had someone more extreme to his left. And while Andrés Manuel López Obrador ultimately lost the recent Mexican election, he obtained the highest score ever for a left-wing candidate and his party achieved its greatest ever representation in congress. Given the distinct possibility that Daniel Ortega and the Sandinistas will return to power in Nicaragua in November, it seems that a real left-wing earthquake has shaken the region.



The rest of the world has noticed. But understanding the reasons behind these developments requires recognising that there are two Latin American lefts today. One is modern, open-minded, reformist and internationalist, and springs, paradoxically, from the hardcore left of the past. The other, born out of Latin American populism, is nationalist, strident and close-minded. The first is aware of its past mistakes and has changed accordingly; the second has not.

The reasons for Latin America's turn to the left are not hard to discern. I rehearsed some of them 15 years ago in my book Utopia Unarmed: The Latin American Left After the Cold War. The first was that the fall of the Soviet Union would help the Latin American left by removing its geopolitical stigma. Washington would no longer be able to accuse any left of centre regime in the region of being a "Soviet beachhead"—as it had every such government since it aided the overthrow of Jacobo Arbenz's administration in Guatemala in 1954.

The second point was that regardless of the success or failure of economic reforms in the 1990s, Latin America remains the world's most unequal region—and the combination of inequality and democracy tends to cause a shift to the left. This was true in Europe from the end of the 19th century until after the second world war; the masses vote for policies that, they hope, will make them less poor.

Third, the consolidation of democratic elections as the only road to power would, sooner or later, lead to victories for the left—precisely because of the social, demographic and ethnic configuration of the region. Even without the other proximate causes, Latin America would almost certainly have tilted left.

This forecast became all the more certain once it became evident that the economic, social and political reforms implemented in Latin America starting in the mid-1980s had not delivered. With the exception of Chile, which has been governed by a left of centre coalition since 1989, the region has had unimpressive economic growth rates. They remain well below those of the glory days of the region's development (1940-80) and also well below those of other developing nations. Between 1940 and 1980, Brazil and Mexico, for example, averaged 6 per cent growth a year; from 1980 to 2000, their growth was less than half that. Low growth has meant the persistence of poverty, inequality and high unemployment. Democracy, although welcomed by most sections of Latin American society, did little to eradicate the region's secular plagues: corruption, a weak rule of law and the concentration of power in the hands of a few. And despite hopes that relations with the US would improve, they are worse today than at any other time in recent memory.

But many of us who foretold the return of the left were wrong about the type of left that would emerge. We thought the path of the left in Latin America would follow that of socialist parties in France and Spain and New Labour in Britain. In a few cases, this occurred—Chile certainly, Brazil partly. In many others, it did not.

One reason for our mistake was that the collapse of the Soviet Union did not bring about the collapse of its Latin American equivalent, Cuba, as many expected. Although the links and subordination of many left-wing parties to Havana have had few domestic electoral implications (and Washington has largely stopped caring anyway), the Latin American left's close ties to and emotional dependency on Fidel Castro became an obstacle to its reconstruction on many issues. But the deeper explanation has to do with the roots of many of the movements that are now in power. Knowing where left-wing leaders and parties come from—in particular, which of the two strands of the left in Latin American history they are a part of—is critical to understanding who they are.

The left—defined as that current of thought, politics and policy that stresses social improvements over macroeconomic orthodoxy, redistribution of wealth over its creation, democracy (at least when in opposition) over state effectiveness—has followed two different paths in Latin America. One left sprang from the Bolshevik revolution and followed a path similar to the left in the rest of the world. The Chilean, Uruguayan, Brazilian, Salvadoran and, before Castro's revolution, Cuban communist parties, for example, obtained significant shares of the popular vote, participated in "national unity" governments in the 1930s and 1940s, established a solid presence in organised labour and exercised strong influence in academic and intellectual circles.

By the late 1950s and early 1960s, however, these parties had lost most of their prestige. Their corruption, submission to Moscow and assimilation by local elites had discredited them in the eyes of the young and the radical. But the Cuban revolution brought new life to this strain of the left. There were tensions at first, but thanks to Soviet and Cuban understanding and the sheer weight of repression generated by military coups across the hemisphere, the Castroists and communists came together—and they remain together today.

The origin of the other left is peculiarly Latin American. It arose out of the region's great contribution to political science: old-fashioned populism. Such populism has almost always been present in Latin America. It is often in power, or close to it. It claims as its founders historical icons, from Peru's Victor Raúl Haya de la Torre and Colombia's Jorge Gaitán (neither made it to office) to Mexico's Lázaro Cárdenas and Brazil's Getúlio Vargas, both foundational figures in their countries' 20th-century history, and to Argentina's Juan Perón and Ecuador's José Velasco Ibarra. Many of these nations' founding-father equivalents were seen in their time as benefactors of the working class. They made their mark on their nations, and among many of these countries' poor, they inspire respect, even adulation, to this day.

These populists are often virulently anti-communist, always authoritarian and more interested in policy as an instrument for attaining and conserving power than in power as a tool for making policy. They did do things for the poor—Perón and Vargas mainly for the urban poor, Cárdenas for the Mexican peasantry—but they also created the corporatist structures that have since plagued the political systems, as well as the labour and peasant movements, in their countries. They nationalised large sectors of their countries' economies, extending well beyond the so-called commanding heights: oil (Cárdenas in Mexico), railroads (Perón in Argentina), steel (Vargas in Brazil), tin (Victor Paz Estenssoro in Bolivia), copper (Juan Velasco Alvarado in Peru). They cut sweetheart deals with the budding local business sector, sustaining Latin America's crony capitalism. Their justifications for such steps were superficially ideological (nationalism, economic development) but at bottom pragmatic: they wanted to spend money on the "shirtless" without raising taxes on the middle class—and they did it by capturing natural resource or monopoly rents.

The ideological corollary to this odd blend of rhetorical support for the poor, macroeconomic folly and political staying power (Perón was the dominant figure in Argentine politics from 1943 until his death in 1974, the Cárdenas dynasty is more present than ever in Mexican politics) was virulent, strident nationalism. Perón was elected president in 1946 with the slogan "Braden or Perón" (Spruille Braden was then the US ambassador to Buenos Aires).

These two sub-species of the Latin American left have always had an uneasy relationship. On occasion they have worked together; at other times they have been at war, as when Perón returned from exile in June 1973 and promptly massacred a fair share of the Argentine radical left. In some countries, the populist left simply devoured the other one, although peacefully in most cases: in Mexico in the late 1980s, the tiny Communist party disappeared, and former PRI (Institutional Revolutionary party) members, including López Obrador, took over everything from its buildings and finances to its congressional representation and relations with Cuba to form the left-wing PRD (Party of the Democratic Revolution).

More recently, something funny has happened to both kinds of leftist movements on their way back to power. The communist, socialist and Castroist left, with a few exceptions, has reconstructed itself, thanks to an acknowledgement of its failures. Meanwhile, the populist left has remained true to itself; it waxes nostalgic about the glory days of Peronism, the Mexican revolution and, needless to say, Castro.

When the reformed ex-communist left has reached office in recent years, its economic policies have been similar to those of its immediate predecessors, and its respect for democracy has proved sincere. Old school anti-Americanism has been tempered by years of exile and realism.

The best examples of this left are to be found in Chile, Uruguay and, to a lesser extent, Brazil. This left emphasises social policy—education, anti-poverty programmes, health, housing—but within a more or less orthodox market framework. It usually attempts to deepen and broaden democratic institutions. On occasion, Latin America's old vices—corruption, authoritarian rule—have led it astray. It disagrees with the US frequently, but rarely takes matters to the brink.

In Chile, former president Ricardo Lagos and his successor, Michelle Bachelet, both come from the old Socialist party (Lagos from its moderate wing, Bachelet from the less temperate faction). Their left-wing party has governed for 16 consecutive years, in alliance with the Christian Democrats. This alliance has made Chile a true model for the region. Under its stewardship, the country has enjoyed high growth rates; significant poverty reduction; equally significant improvements in education, housing and infrastructure; a slight drop in inequality; a deepening of democracy and the dismantling of Pinochet's political legacy; a settling of accounts (although not of scores) regarding human rights violations of the past; and a strong, mature relationship with the US, including a free-trade agreement and Washington's support for the Chilean candidate to head the Organisation of American States. US-Chilean ties have continued to prosper despite Chile's unambiguous opposition in the UN to the US invasion of Iraq.

In Uruguay, Tabaré Vázquez ran for president twice before finally winning last year. His coalition has always been the same: the old Uruguayan Communist party, the Socialist party and many former Marxist Tupamaro guerrillas. There was reason to expect Vázquez to follow a radical line once elected—but history trumped ideology. Although Vázquez has restored Uruguay's relations with Cuba and every now and then rails against neoliberalism and Bush, he has also negotiated an investment protection agreement with the US, sent his finance minister to Washington to explore the possibility of a free-trade agreement, and stood up to the "anti-globalisation" groups in neighbouring Argentina on the construction of two enormous wood-pulp mills in the Uruguay river estuary. His government is, on substance if not rhetoric, as orthodox as any other. And with good reason: a country of 3.5m inhabitants with the lowest poverty rate and the least inequality in Latin America should not mess with its inheritance.

Brazil is a different story. Even before his inauguration in 2003, Lula had indicated that he would follow most of his predecessor's macroeconomic policies and comply with IMF targets. He has done so, achieving impressive results in economic stability (Brazil continues to generate a hefty fiscal surplus every year), but growth has been disappointing, as have employment levels and social indicators. Lula has compensated for his macroeconomic orthodoxy with social initiatives—particularly his "zero hunger" drive and land reform. Perhaps his most important achievement here will be the Bolsa Familia (family fund), which was copied directly from the anti-poverty programme of Mexican presidents Ernesto Zedillo and Vicente Fox. This is a successful, innovative welfare programme, but it is also thoroughly neoliberal.

On foreign policy, Brazil, like just about every Latin American country, has had its run-ins with the Bush administration over issues including trade, UN reform and how to deal with Bolivia, Colombia, Cuba and Venezuela. The best expression of the current state of US-Brazilian relations today was the scene in Brasilia last November, when Lula welcomed Bush at his home, while across the street demonstrators from his own party burned the US president in effigy.

The Workers' party, which Lula founded in 1980 after a long metalworkers' strike in São Paulo, has largely followed him on the road toward social democracy. Many of the more radical cadres of the party have become moderates, despite lingering emotional devotion to Cuba. (Lula shares this devotion, but it has not led him to subservience to Castro.) Lula and many of his comrades are emblematic of the transformation of the old guerrilla-based Castroist or communist left. The conversion is not complete, as the corruption scandals that have rocked Brazil's government have shown. Still, the direction is clear and Lula seems poised for re-election this autumn.

Overall, this makeover of the radical left is good for Latin America. Given the region's inequality, poverty, still-weak democratic tradition and unfinished nation-building, this left offers precisely what is needed for good governance in the region. If Chile is any example, this left's path is the way out of poverty, authoritarian rule and, eventually, inequality.

The leftist leaders who have arisen from a populist, nationalist past with few ideological underpinnings—Chávez with his military background, Kirchner with his Peronist roots, Morales with his coca-leaf growers' militancy and agitprop, López Obrador with his origins in the PRI—have proved much less responsive to modernising influences. For them, rhetoric is more important than substance and the fact of power is more important than its responsible exercise. The despair of poor constituencies is a tool rather than a challenge, and taunting the US trumps promoting their countries' real interests in the world. The difference is obvious: Chávez is not Castro; he is Perón with oil. Morales is not an indigenous Che; he is a skilful and irresponsible populist. López Obrador is neither Lula nor Chávez; he comes straight from the PRI of Luis Echeverrìa, Mexico's president from 1970-76, from which he learned how to be a cash-dispensing, authoritarian-inclined populist, as shown by the way he has sought to overturn the July election result. Kirchner is a true Peronist, and proud of it.

All of these leaders are intent on maintaining popularity at any cost, picking as many fights as possible with Washington and getting as much control as they can over revenue sources. Argentina's Kirchner is a classic—though somewhat ambiguous—case. The governor of a small province, Santa Cruz, at the end of the world, he was elected in the midst of a monumental economic crisis and has brought his country out of it quite effectively. Inflation has been controlled, growth is back and interest rates have fallen. Kirchner also renegotiated Argentina's huge foreign debt skilfully, if perhaps a bit too boldly. He has become a darling of the left and seems on a roll, with approval ratings over 70 per cent.

But despite the left-wing company he keeps, Kirchner is a die-hard Peronist, more interested in bashing creditors and the IMF than in devising social policy, in combating the free trade area of the Americas (FTAA) than in strengthening the Mercosur customs union, in cuddling up to Morales, Castro and Chávez than in lowering the cost of importing Bolivian gas. No one knows what will happen when Argentina's commodity boom busts or when the country is forced to return to capital markets. But for now Kirchner will hand out money, expropriate whatever is needed and lash out at the US.

Chávez is doing much the same in Venezuela. He is leading the fight against the FTAA. He is making life increasingly miserable for foreign—above all American—companies. He is supporting left-wing groups and leaders in neighbouring countries. He has established a strategic alliance with Havana that includes the presence of nearly 20,000 Cuban teachers, doctors and cadres in Venezuela. He is flirting with Iran and Argentina on nuclear technology. Most of all, he is attempting, with some success, to split the hemisphere into two camps: one pro-Chávez, one pro-American.

At the same time, Chávez is driving his country into the ground. A tragicomic symbol of this was the collapse of the highway from Caracas to the Maiquetía airport a few months ago because of lack of maintenance. Venezuela's poverty figures and human development indices have deteriorated since 1999, when Chávez took office. A simple comparison with Mexico—which has not exactly thrived in recent years—shows how badly Venezuela is faring. Over the past seven years, Mexico's economy has grown by 17.5 per cent, while Venezuela's has failed to grow at all. From 1997-2003, Mexico's per capita GDP rose by 9.5 per cent while Venezuela's shrank by 15 per cent. From 1998-2005, the Mexican peso lost 16 per cent of its value while the value of the Venezuelan bolivar dropped by 292 per cent. Between 1998 and 2004, the number of Mexican households living in extreme poverty decreased by 49 per cent, while the number in Venezuela rose by 4.5 per cent. In 2005, Mexico's inflation rate was 3.3 per cent while Venezuela's was 16 per cent.

Although Chávez does very little for the poor of his own country (among whom he remains popular), he is doing much more for other countries: giving oil away to Cuba and other Caribbean states, buying Argentina's debt, allegedly financing political campaigns in Bolivia, Peru and perhaps Mexico. He also picked fights with Fox and Bush and is buying arms from Spain and Russia. Most importantly perhaps, he has micro-managed the Bolivian natural gas nationalisation process, attended summits between Bolivian leaders and their Brazilian and Argentine neighbours and sent legal and technical experts to the gas fields. He is to Evo Morales what Fidel is to him: a mentor, coach and manager.

The populist left leaders who are waiting in the wings look likely to deliver much the same. Morales in Bolivia has already made it to power. López Obrador in Mexico came within an ace of winning and—once his street protests are over—will pressure Felipe Calderón's minority government every moment of every day. Morales and Ollanta Humala (the opposition leader in Peru) both said they would attempt either to renationalise their countries' natural resources or renegotiate the terms under which foreign companies extract them; Morales is doing it already, Humala will have to wait. López Obrador stated that he would not allow private investment in Pemex, Mexico's state-owned oil company, or in the national electric power company; even in opposition, he will certainly make it impossible for Calderón to change course. Morales has deftly played on his indigenous origins to ingratiate himself with the majority of his country's population, to whom he is promising much but delivering little.

There is not much Washington or anyone else can do to alter the course of events in Latin America. The Bush administration could make some difference by delivering on its promises to incumbents in the region on matters such as immigration and trade, thereby supporting continuity without interfering in the electoral process. A sensible strategy would involve actively supporting the "right left" when it is in power: signing free trade agreements with Chile, taking Brazil seriously as a trade interlocutor, engaging these nations' governments on issues involving third countries (such as Colombia, Cuba and Venezuela) and bringing their leaders and public intellectuals into the fold. The right left should be able to show not only that there are no penalties for being what it is, but also that it can deliver concrete benefits.

The international community should also clarify what it expects from the "wrong left," given that it is not going to disappear in a hurry. The first point to emphasise is that all Latin American governments must abide by their countries' commitments on human rights and democracy. The second point is that all governments must continue to comply with the multilateral effort to build a new international legal order, one that addresses, among other things, the environment, indigenous people's rights, international criminal jurisdiction (despite Washington's rejection of the international criminal court), nuclear nonproliferation, WTO rules and norms, regional agreements and the fight against corruption, drug trafficking and terrorism. Europe and the US have enormous leverage in many of these countries on at least some of these issues. They should use it.

Finally, Washington and other governments should avoid the mistakes of the past. Some fights are not worth having: if Morales wants to squabble with Chile over access to the sea, with Argentina over the price of gas, with Peru over indigenous people, stand aside. If Chávez really wants to acquire nuclear technology from Argentina, let him, as long as he does it under IAEA supervision. Under no circumstances should we accept the division of the hemisphere into pro and anti-US camps, as happened over Cuba in the 1960s and Central America in the 1980s. So instead of arguing over whether to welcome or bemoan the advent of the left in Latin America, it would be wiser to separate the sensible from the irresponsible and to support the former and contain the latter.

Meanwhile, everyone should prepare for what could be the most earth-shaking event for the Latin American left since the Cuban revolution—Fidel Castro's passing. The Latin American left should also prepare for the end of the Bush era and the advent either of a moderate Republican or the return of the Democrats. It should take as much advantage as possible of both events to begin or consolidate its reconstruction; the timing could not be better.