Welcome Back, Señor Presidente
by Luciano D'Orazio
Of all the fine, upstanding gentlemen who have presided over military regimes in Latin America, few have such a stellar resume as Efrain Rios Montt of Guatemala.
Taking control in a military coup in March 1982, Rios Montt, a brigadier general and evangelical pastor, began a crusade of his own, launching a new crusade against a purported leftist insurgency, and instituting a state of siege that wreaked havoc on the native Mayan population. The Guatemalan congress was disbanded; the constitution was annulled. Villages were burnt and villagers massacred. By the end of Rios Montt's rule in August 1983, anywhere from 20,000 to 60,000 Guatemalans were dead or, in the standard euphemism of murderous Latin American dictatorships, "disappeared."
And in the Nov. 9 election, 16.9 percent of Guatemalans thought he should be president again.
Even though he did not make the runoff for the Guatemalan presidency, Rios Montt garnered almost a fifth of the vote in a year of extremely high voter turnout. And it wasn't his first attempt, either. Rios Montt tried for the presidency before, but the constitution explicitly forbade coup plotters from seeking the high office. In typical strongman fashion, he packed the Supreme Court with his cronies to have the sanction overturned. This time around, many feared that the former dictator would not accept the results, causing supporters to push for another coup.
How did he manage to raise such support? Put simply, voters felt he could bring law and order and stimulate a stagnant economy. "People are tired of so much violence. [Rios Montt] is the only one who can control Guatemala," corn farmer Juan Hernandez told the Associated Press.
Nor is Rios Montt alone. All over Latin America, former military leaders and coup plotters are trying their hand at democracy. The results are a mixed bag, but the number of success stories is alarming.
Take Hugo Banzer of Bolivia. In the 1970s, he was a right-wing military dictator of the worst order. His regime fell, but in 1997 he was elected to the presidency promising to restore order and revive the economy through neo-liberal reforms, before succumbing to cancer in 2001. His claim to fame was waging an all-out war against coca, backed by US support. Not surprisingly, his popular plan involved uprooting many of the same rural peasants he afflicted in the '70s. Not exactly a change in stripes.
On the left, there's Hugo Chavez and Lucio Gutierrez. Chavez, a colonel who led two unsuccessful coups in Venezuela, was elected president in 1998 by an astounding 75 percent. The colonel has since managed to pack the assembly and the courts with favorites, slowly crushing opposition and flirting dangerously with authoritarianism.
Ecuador's Col. Gutierrez was more successful as a coup leader: In 2000, rather than suppress indigenous revolts in Ecuador, he set up soup kitchens for the protesters and launched a coup that toppled the sitting president. He placed a veteran banana magnate, Alvaro Noboa, in the palace and promptly trounced him in the 2002 elections. So far, he hasn't exhibited the worst tendencies of military leaders. But it's early.
Not all have been successful. Daniel Ortega tried to lead three unsuccessful bids for the presidency in Nicaragua after democracy was restored in 1991. Roberto D'Aubuisson, a brutal army officer responsible for the "death squads" in the civil war in El Salvador, rose to preside over the National Assembly, even running for president unsuccessfully in 1984, in the end blaming fraud for his loss to Jose Napoleon Duarte.
These men cover the spectrum, from the Marxist Ortega to the fascist D'Aubuisson. All have either attempted or succeeded in toppling the government through military means. All have attempted or succeeded in reviving their careers through constitutional means. And all have received significant levels of popular support.
Why do people support them? Often, the alternative to dictatorship is even less appealing: economic stagnation, unemployment, civil chaos and national malaise. Almost all these men have promised to restore order and national dignity and to revive the economy. They play on a constant chord, like that of the Guatemalan farmer, of being "fed up" with things as they are.
Though all avow to respect the constitution, many people don't buy it, especially in Central America. But then again, many don't seem to care. If it involves a return to curfews and midnight arrests, so be it, the attitude seems to be. Anything to be able to walk the streets again. Anything to stabilize prices. Anything to bring jobs.
Fundamentally, though, what is most troubling is not that ex-dictators are elected or even that they garner a lot of votes. That's politics. What is most troubling is that these people either attempted or succeeded in toppling a constitutional established government, and are now positioning themselves as legitimate politicians. Chavez and Gutierrez have shown a willingness to pack the system with cronies; given the dangerous nexus of anti-democratic pasts and surging public popularity, what will stop them from destroying the system yet again?
In the case of Rios Montt and Guatemala, it was voters who turned back the tide. On Tuesday, the Rios Montt campaign publicly accepted its defeat. His running mate, Edin Barrientos, said in a radio interview that "The results are clear, and we have nothing to dispute them. The people have the right to choose, and for us this is democracy. Everyone knows that to run for office is to put forth your proposals and if they aren't received, you can't be sad about it." Although it was a gracious concession, history has shown that elegance in defeat for a dictator is an exception, not the rule.
E-mail Luciano D'Orazio at loudogs1@aol.com.
