Latin America’s new birth of democracy

The continent’s own founding fathers—including Andrés Bello, Simón Bolívar, Juan Bautista Alberdi, Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, and José María Luis Mora—took inspiration from those of the United States. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson were still alive when Latin Americans achieved independence from Spain, and the region’s first constitutions duly recognized the essential elements of any republic: separation of powers, the rule of law, civil liberties, a free press, and regular elections.

While some of these republics were more enduring and successful than others (those in Chile, Uruguay, Colombia, Costa Rica, and, for long periods, Argentina), all ultimately proved unstable and fragile. There were many ruptures, not so much because the founding ideals were abandoned, but because three other baleful influences prevailed.

The first factor was political leaders’ craving for personal power. The wars of independence left Latin America with various caudillos who wielded both political and military power. Then came a series of outright dictators (Juan Manuel de Rosas, José Antonio Páez, José Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia, and Gabriel García Moreno) who were followed by a succession of caesars (Porfirio Díaz and Juan Vicente Gómez) in the late 19th century and the first decades of the 20th century. While only a few of these rulers were enlightened, most were tyrannical. Finally, in the 20th century, militarism was consolidated across the region, with Juan Perón’s regime in Argentina deploying fascist methods of control.

The second factor was social and political violence. Although there weren’t many wars between Latin American countries, coups d’état, insurrections, revolts, rebellions, and revolutions were all too common. Rather than renouncing constitutionalism, however, the victors often sought to continue the republican legacy, at least in a formal sense—as in the case of the 1910 Mexican Revolution.

But things changed with the Cuban Revolution in 1959. Fidel Castro’s regime ushered in the continent’s first unalloyed and unashamed dictatorship, inspiring a wave of communist and left-wing guerrilla movements throughout the continent. Whatever their differences, they all opposed democracy.

Perhaps the damage done to the region’s politics would not have been so profound had it not been for a third external factor: US imperialism. Latin America’s historical grievances with the US are almost endless. For example, in the Mexican War of 1846-48, what we now know as California, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, most of Arizona and Colorado, and parts of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Wyoming were all taken and eventually annexed by the US. In 1973, Chile’s president, Salvador Allende, was overthrown and replaced by the US-backed military dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet. A comprehensive list of America’s misdeeds would include almost every country in the region.

US diplomacy—blind to its own long-term interests, attentive only to commercial gain and an “America First” concept of security, and often ignorant, dismissive, and racist—never accommodated, and in some cases openly betrayed, the region’s liberals and liberal traditions. Instead, America preferred to support dictators. As President Franklin D. Roosevelt allegedly said of the Nicaraguan strongman Anastasio Somoza, “He may be a son of a bitch, but he’s our son of a bitch.”

Given this history, it is almost miraculous that many liberal administrations had any staying power in the region. But liberal values remained strong. In defiance of the 19th-century dictators, the press always rose up with fierce caricatures, satirical verses, incendiary articles, and gifted prose writers.

Many suffered imprisonment and ostracism, others death. In the 20th century, freedom of expression had great intellectual exponents in figures such as Daniel Cosío Villegas, Octavio Paz, and Mario Vargas Llosa. Some Latin American newspapers have operated for up to a century and a half without interruption, becoming living monuments to freedom of thought—to freedom itself.

In Argentina, the murderous generals were put on trial; in Chile, Pinochet left power not through a coup d’état but through a plebiscite. Nicaragua turned away from the Sandinista commanders’ revolutionary path and elected as its president Violeta Chamorro, the widow of the man who led the struggle for freedom from the Somoza dictatorship. El Salvador held peace conferences. Even Mexico’s Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), which dominated the country’s politics for three-quarters of a century, and which Vargas Llosa called “the perfect dictatorship,” gave way to a democratic regime in 2000. Only Cuba remained enslaved.

This democratic wave seemed like a new dawn, but it was a mirage. Soon enough, the first two factors mentioned above—megalomania and social conflict—fused in the figure of a populist leader endowed with abundant oil. The Venezuelan people handed power to a caudillo, Hugo Chávez. A military colonel originally inspired by Che Guevara, Chávez chose instead to follow Che’s spiritual father, Castro, in building a “Socialism of the 21st Century.” In practice, this meant using Venezuelan oil money to subsidize Cuba’s failing economy. Chávez’s anointed successor, Nicolás Maduro, is a violent despot who has presided over the greatest economic implosion in Latin American history.

Meanwhile, a new populist wave crashed over Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, Colombia, and Mexico. But the tide seems to be turning once again. First in Peru and Ecuador, and now in Bolivia, people are waking up to their populist rulers’ lies and misdeeds. Notably, this does not imply a defeat of the left in countries that have been spared from populist regimes. The rule of law still prevails in those places, with strong support from a committedly democratic left. This is the case not only in Brazil but, even more so, in Chile and Uruguay.

This apparent retreat of populism reflects a growing awareness of the suffering inflicted by the Cuban and Venezuelan regimes, both of which have been irreversibly discredited. Despite the presence of Cuban intelligence agents across the continent (and their dominance in Venezuela), the reconquest of freedom is more achievable now than in decades.

For freedom in the Americas to become a reality, however, Venezuela must restore democracy with the inauguration of Edmundo González, its legitimate president. That would vindicate the opposition leader María Corina Machado as the architect of an extraordinary feat of liberation. Fortunately, the criminal autocracy that currently rules Venezuela, where drug traffickers have seized power, may soon be forced out, owing to extraordinary pressure from inside and outside the country.

As rich as it is in oil, Venezuelan society is even richer in courage and resilience. After years of repression, its people remain determined to rid themselves of their criminal rulers. With Maduro’s fall, millions of Venezuelans will return to their country to rebuild it. Families will reunite.

Venezuela’s people have learned their lesson. They now know the true meaning, and the price, of freedom, because they have experienced the reality of its loss. Moreover, their example would drive similar changes in Nicaragua and Cuba, as well as preventing Latin America’s remaining populist governments—from Colombia and Mexico to El Salvador—from weakening the rule of law, violating civil liberties, and undermining free elections.

But autocrats are always playing their own games. The Maduro regime’s symbiosis with drug trafficking has led the Trump administration to apply greater pressure on it, which could aid in the liberation of the Venezuelan people. The aim should be for the peaceful removal of the regime and an orderly transition—free of revenge or rancor—toward a political and economic system that the entire hemisphere can support.

It is hard to imagine that Americans, under Trump, will find common ground to celebrate next year’s 250th anniversary of the US Declaration of Independence together. The return of democracy in Latin America, however, could inspire us all to uphold the shared ideals of the founding fathers across the Americas.

Enrique Krauze is an historian, essayist, publisher, and the editor of the cultural magazine Letras Libres. His books include Mexico: Biography of Power, and Redeemers: Ideas and Power in Latin America.