Regime transitions are contagious according to the diffusion-of-democracy literature: a country's regime is affected by others' through various predefined networks (e.g. geographical proximity), as well as by the country's own political, economic and social attributes (e.g. GDP levels). My account departs from the existing diffusion theory by allowing for countries' self-selection into peer regime networks based on their democracy levels in the past. For example, a country can form stronger dependency ties with countries that demonstrated similar democracy levels in the past (homophily). In the longitudinal setting, the traditional diffusion mechanism with the presence of self-selection generates the "co-evolutionary dynamic" between country networks and democracy levels. With this recursive feedback process between tie formation and democracy levels, it becomes extremely difficult to evaluate empirically how each country's level of democracy is determined, because we need to distinguish the following three processes statistically. First, country-specific attributes determine the level of democracy as in the earliest democratization studies. Second, other states' democracy levels also predict a country's regime as demonstrated in the conventional diffusion studies. Finally with my theory of endogenous network formation, the seeming diffusion effect is partially a consequence of their self-selection into peer networks. A newer spatial econometric model, an "M-STAR + Co-Evolution" model, is one of the first that allows us to test for all of these three dynamics behind democratization. In my first-cut analysis, I find that all three processes indeed exist.

This paper develops a new, change-point model of democratic consolidation that conceives of consolidation as a latent quality to be inferred rather than measured directly. Rather than assuming that consolidation occurs, the present model estimates both whether and when consolidation occurs. Consolidation is hypothesized to occur when a decline in the risk of a democratic breakdown is i) significant and ii) durable. This approach is applied to new data on democratic survival that distinguish between two processes by which an overwhelming majority of authoritarian breakdowns occur: coups d’´etat and incumbent takeovers. I find that the risk of authoritarian reversals by each of the two processes differs both in its dynamic and determinants. Crucially, new democracies appear to consolidate against the risk of coups but not the risk of incumbent takeovers. These empirical findings suggest that separate theoretical mechanisms account for the vulnerability of new democracies to these alternative modes of
breakdown.

(Part 1 of possibly several, depending on time and mood)

A couple of months ago, I set up a democracy ranking website using the Allourideas software as part of a class project to crowdsource a democracy index (which has now been completed; more on that project in an upcoming post). The site works by presenting the user with a random comparison between two countries, and asking them to vote on which of these countries was more democratic in 2010 (click here if you can't see the widget below):

The 100 or so students in my class started the ball rolling, and their responses generated an initial democracy index that had a correlation of about 0.62 with the Freedom in the World index produced by Freedom House: respectable but not great. The post describing the initial results got some links from Mark Belinsky, the Allourideas blog, and Jonathan Bernstein, which increased the number of votes substantially. In fact, as of this writing, the website has registered 4402 (valid) votes, from about 203 different IP addresses, mostly in the USA, New Zealand, and Australia:

4,402 valid votes means at most 4,402 distinct comparisons out of a possible 36,672 potential comparisons of 192 countries (most comparisons have appeared only once, but a few have appeared a couple of times), or about 12% of all possible comparisons. How has the increase in the number of voters changed the generated index? And how does it compare to the current Freedom House index for 2010? As we shall see, the extra votes appear to have improved the crowdsourced index considerably.

Here is a map of the scores generated by the "crowd" - i.e., voters in the exercise (darker is more democratic, all data here):

And here's a scatterplot comparing the generated scores to Freedom House's scores for 2010 (click here for a proper large interactive version):

FH vs. Crowdsourced democracy index
Powered by Tableau
The Y axis represents the score generated by the Allourideas software: basically, the probability that the country would prevail in a comparison with a randomly selected country. For example, the Allourideas software predicts that Denmark (the highest ranked country) has a 96% chance, given previous votes, of prevailing in a “more democratic” comparison with another randomly selected country for 2010, whereas North Korea (the lowest ranked country) only has a 5% chance of prevailing in this comparison. The X axis represents the sum of the Freedom House Political Rights and Civil Liberties scores for last year (from the “Freedom in the World 2011” report), reversed and shifted so that 0 is least democratic and 12 is most democratic (i.e., 14-PR+CL). The correlation between Freedom House and the crowdsourced index is a fairly high 0.84 (which is about as high as the correlation between the combined Freedom House score and the Polity2 score for 2008: 0.87). But how good is this, really? What do these scores really represent?

At the extremes, judgments of democracy appear to be “easy”: Freedom House and the crowd converge. For example, among countries that Freedom House classifies as “Free,” only six countries (Benin, Israel, Mongolia, Sao Tome and Principe, and Suriname) receive a score of 40 or below from the “crowd,” which is the highest score that any country Freedom House classifies as “Not Free” receives (Russia). But in the middle there is a fair amount of overlap (just as with expert-coded indexes, whose high levels of correlation are driven by the “extreme” cases – clear democracies or clear dictatorships). Some of these disagreements could further be attributed to the relative obscurity of some of the countries involved, given the location of the voters in this exercise (few people know much about Benin, and anyway the index got no votes from Africa), but some of the disagreements seem to have more to do with the average conceptual model used by the crowd (e.g., the case of Israel). The crowd would seem to weigh the treatment of Palestinians more heavily than Freedom House in its (implicit) judgment of Israel’s democracy. This is unsurprising, since the website does not ask participants to stick to a particular “model” of democracy; the average model or concept of democracy to which the crowd appears to be converging seems to be slightly different than the model used by Freedom House.

We can try to figure out where the crowd differs the most from Freedom House by running a simple regression of Freedom House’s score on the score produced by the crowd, and looking at the residuals from the model as a measure of “lack of fit.” This extremely simple model can account for about 69% of the variance in the crowdsourced scores on the basis of the Freedom House score (all data available here); we can improve the fit (to 72%) by adding a measure of “uncertainy” as a control (the number of times a country appeared in an “I don’t know” event, divided by the total number of times it appeared in any comparison). What (I think) we’re doing here is basically trying to predict Freedom House’s index on the basis of the crowdsourced judgment plus a measure of the subjective uncertainty of the participants. The results are of some interest: for example, participants in the exercise appear to think Venezuela, Honduras, and Papua New Guinea have higher levels of democracy than Freedom House thinks, and they also appear to think that Sierra Leone, Lithuania, Israel, Mongolia, Kuwait, Kiribati, Benin, and Mauritius have lower levels of democracy than Freedom House thinks.

A more interesting test, however, would be to do what Pemstein, Meserve, and Melton do here with existing measures of democracy. Their work takes existing indexes of democracy as (noisy) measurements of the true level of democracy and attempts to estimate their error bounds by aggregating their information in a specific way. I might try do this later (I need to learn to use their software, and might only have time in a few weeks), though it is worth noting that a simple correlation of the crowdsourced score for 2010 with the “Unified Democracy Scores” Pemstein et. al. produce for 2008 by aggregating the information from all available indexes is an amazing 0.87, and a simple regression of one on the other has an R2 of .76. So the crowdsourced index seems to be doing something much like what the Unified Democracy Scores are doing: averaging different models of democracy and different "perspectives" on each country.

This all assumes, however, that there is something to be measured – a true level of democracy, which is only loosely captured by existing models. On this view, existing indexes of democracy reflect different interpretations of the concept of democracy, plus some noise due to imperfect information and the vagaries of judgment; they each involve a “fixed” bias due to potential misinterpretation of the concept, plus the uncertainty involved in trying to apply the concept to a messy reality whose features are not always easy to discern (try figuring out the level of civil rights violations in the Central African Republic compared with Peru in 2010, quick!). The crowdsourced index actually goes further and averages the different interpretations of democracy of every participant, just as the Unified Democracy Scores aggregate the different “models” of democracy used by different existing indexes. To the extent that the crowd’s models converge to the true model of democracy, then the crowdsourced index should also eliminate that “bias” due to misinterpretation. But it is not clear that there is a true model, or that the crowd will converge to it even if it existed: the crowdsourced index may have a higher bias (total amount of misinterpretation of the concept) than the indexes created by professional organizations. (And this conceptual bias might shift if more people from other countries voted; I’d really love to get more votes from Africa and Asia).

Even if there is no true model of democracy, it would be interesting to “reverse-engineer” the crowd’s implicit model by trying to figure out its components. (What do people weigh most, when thinking about democracy? Violations of civil liberties? Elections? Opportunities for participation? Economic opportunities?). One could do this, I suppose, by trying to predict the crowdsourced scores from linear combinations of independently gathered measures of elections, civil liberties, etc.; some form of factor analysis might help here? My feeling is that the crowd weighs economic “outcomes” more than experts do (so that crowdsourced assessments of democracy will be correlated with perceptions of how well a country is doing, like GDP growth), but I haven’t tried to investigate that possibility.

It would also be interesting to repeat the exercise by asking people to stick to a particular model of democracy (e.g., Freedom House’s checklist, or the checklist developed by my students – more on that later). It would also be great if the allourideas software had an option that allowed a voter to indicate that two countries are equal in their level of democracy (I think one could do this, but then I would have to modify the client; right now, the only way of signalling this is to click on the “I don’t know” button). Perhaps next year I will try some of these possibilities. All in all, it seems that crowdsourcing a democracy index produces reasonable results, and might produce even better results if the crowdsourcing is done with slightly more controls. (E.g., one could imagine using Amazon's "Mechanical Turk" and a specific model of democracy for generating data on particular years). I would nevertheless be interested in thoughts/further analysis from my more statistically sophisticated readers.

In an upcoming post I will explain how my students produced an index of democracy for 2010, 1995, and 1980, and how that crowdsourced effort compares w[…]

(Continues the discussion in this post, with more graphs, more data, more theory, and more verbiage. Mostly exploratory, considering further research. Statistician General’s warning: all statistical analyses in this post should be taken with large heapings of salt, since they have not been produced by a trained and licensed statistician and do not provide appropriate guidance regarding the uncertainty of any estimates. If you don’t mind a spot of quantitative social science from someone who was not trained in these dark arts but who is overly excited about learning to produce pretty graphs, go on.).
In an earlier post, I discussed some recent models of the relationship between inequality, political regime types, and democratization (e.g., Acemoglu and Robinson or Boix). The basic ideas in these models are pretty simple, even simplistic. In democracies, governments are (ideally, at least) responsive to the interests of the majority of the population, and in particular to the interests of the “median” voter (the voter in the middle of the distribution of income among voters), whereas in dictatorships governments are more responsive to the interests of smaller – sometimes much smaller – groups. To the extent that dictators are responsive to the interests of constituencies where the median income is higher than the median income in society (the typical case), we should expect that dictatorships will tend to redistribute less (to lower income groups) and have higher levels of income inequality than democracies, other things being equal (and other things are not always equal!). Moreover, these models indicate, the higher the level of inequality, the higher the degree of social conflict over the level of redistribution and ultimately over the type of regime, since “one off” redistribution in the face of occasional protest or other contentious action is not sufficiently “credible.” Hence we should expect that in the long run, democracy should be unsustainable at very high levels of inequality, and the only stable regime outcomes should be forms of dictatorship: “leftist” dictatorships where the poor (or rather, people claiming to act in their name) expropriate the rich, and “rightist” dictatorships where richer elites restrain redistributive demands by non-elites through coercive means. Finally, we should observe more regime change at higher rather than lower levels of inequality, more stable regimes at lower rather than higher levels of inequality, and more transitions to stable democracy at middle levels of inequality.
Using data on inequality from the University of Texas Inequality Project (1960-1996) plus data from the World Bank (which I didn’t use in my previous post but extends the UTIP data to 2008 for some countries), and data on political regimes by Cheibub, Gandhi, and Vreeland (1956-2008), we can see that some of these theoretical expectations appear to be reasonably well validated.[1] Here is a plot of the distribution of inequality, as measured by the gini index, in democracies and dictatorships (reproducing the first plot in my earlier post, but with World Bank inequality data added):The median gini for democracies is 38.6; the median gini for dictatorships is 45.6. (means 40.1 and 44, respectively, with N= 3,321 observations between 1963 to 2008; similar patterns appear if we look only at particular periods, like the post cold war era). If we could add the vast majority of non-democratic systems in human history, the pattern would be even more obvious; as Lindert, Milanovic, and Williamson have argued, ancient non-democratic societies (i.e., the vast majority of all ancient agricultural societies) were at the “inequality possibility frontier” – elites extracted the maximum surplus from society.
But as I mentioned in my earlier post, it is obvious that the distribution of inequality in both democracies and dictatorships is very wide: lots of democracies have high gini values, and lots of dictatorships have low gini values. We do not see two clearly defined “peaks” in the distribution; rather, the distribution of inequality in both democracies and dictatorships appears to be “bimodal” – with distinct high inequality and low inequality peaks.
This is relatively easy to explain in the case of dictatorships: most of the dictatorships with low inequality appear to be communist countries, though there are fewer of these – exactly what we would expect from the theoretical models. (It is, after all, easier to organize a coup than a social revolution). Here’s a picture of the distribution of inequality in dictatorships only, split among communist and non-communist dictatorships: The communist dictatorships are clustered narrowly at a low level of measured inequality (median gini 28.9; more on the “measured” bit in a minute), while the non-communist dictatorships have a somewhat broader distribution centered around a larger level of inequality (median gini 45.9).
The bimodal distribution of inequality in democracies is harder to explain; like dictatorships, democracies appear to have both a low inequality and a high inequality equilibrium. Why?
One factor that might seem to matter is simply the length of time a democratic regime has been in existence: redistribution capable of affecting the level of inequality in a society seems to take time. Here’s a plot of the distribution of inequality in democracies, split between those democracies that have endured for less than 10 years and those democracies that have endured for more than 10 years:
Younger democracies appear to have larger levels of inequality (median gini for established democracies: 36.2; median gini for new democracies: 44.4). In fact, while democracies appear to become more equal with time, dictatorships appear to become less equal:  And while it seems that democracies become more equal as they become richer, dictatorships appear to remain as unequal as before: I won’t put too much stress on these graphs; the patterns in individual countries do not always or even often bear out the apparent overall pattern, and it is possible that this is just an artefact of the sparseness of the inequality datasets and the general badness of the data from dictatorships. Most “old” democracies in the dataset start at low levels measured inequality but appear to increase their level of inequality over time (e.g., the USA, France), whereas most “new” democracies start at high levels of inequality and appear to decrease these levels of inequality over time. Since there are more “new” democracies than “old” democracies here, it is possible that we are merely seeing is a kind of cohort effect, though one that is consistent with the basic theory: new democracies start at high levels of inequality, and many don’t last long (because of opposition to redistribution by elites), which skews the right hand panel so that it looks as if democracies become less unequal over time. Most dictatorships transition to democracy at a gini of around 45 (which is high for democracies), but that’s because that’s the median gini for dictatorships; similarly, most democracies transition to dictatorship at a gini of around 45 (perhaps because most new democracies are less stable, and they transition to dictatorship before engaging in significant redistribution?).
Moreover, it is obvious that democracies do become quite unequal sometimes. The USA is an obvious case. Here it is interesting to note that the USA is not a new democracy and is clearly quite rich, so (given the previous graphs) we would predict inequality to go down, but it seems to have been on an upward trend even looking at the long run (not just at the last decade):(Similar patterns are visible in many rich democracies – France, for example). More on why this might be the case in a minute. But let’s think of different possibilities for why democracies might (or might not) decrease inequality. Consider what happened in Poland after the collapse of communism (similar trends are visible in Hungary, Bulgaria, and other communist countries that transitioned to democracy): In this case, it seems that the transition to communism triggered the wholesale conversion of political access (the main inequality in these societies) into monetary assets, leading to a higher equilibrium level of measured income inequality. Measured income inequality was actually misleading about the distribution of power in communist countries; just because they were “equal” societies in income terms did not mean they were “equal” societies in the things that income can buy elsewhere, and when the basis of the regime changed, the “true” inequality in society reasserted itself in income terms, though it still remained relatively low in comparative terms. (An alternative story: perhaps with the to a market economy, people in Poland and other communist countries had the opportunity to trade off more income against increased inequality, and they took it. This is also plausible, but not my focus here; it is less plausible in places where wholesale conversion of communist apparatchiks to well-connected biznesmeni took place, as in Russia).   Sometimes democracy is, in a sense, too successful at an earlier time in redistributing income, prompting a reaction from elites. Consider Chile: Inequality decreases fast until the 1973 coup, partly because of redistributive policies pushed by the left, at which point it increases again greatly. The interpretation is obvious: the elite could not stomach so much redistribution, and returns Chile to a higher level of inequality by coercive means. (The military Junta led by Pinochet made this point rather explicitly: their mission was to destroy communism and its leftist sympathizers in Chile. So they arrested and sometimes killed the leaders of leftist parties and coercively defanged or banned labor unions). After the t[…]

(Sorry for the recent neglect of the blog. I just started teaching again, and that tends to absorb all my energy. So here’s a teaching-related post on something I’ve been doing in one of my classes).
One of the things my students are doing in my “Dictatorships and Revolutions” class this term is constructing a democracy index/regime classification like those produced by Freedom House, the Polity project, or the DD dataset of political regimes I’ve used in this blog in the past (see, e.g., here and here).[1] We are looking at examples of how different regime classifications can be constructed, discussing some of their problems, and then collectively constructing a set of criteria for classification, which we will ultimately use to actually code all 192 or so countries in the world at intervals of about five years for a couple of decades. (If you are interested in the actual details of how the exercise is organized, e-mail me; this whole thing is still quite experimental, so I would not mind some feedback. It’s turning out to be a bit complex). Since there are over 100 students in the class (around 120, in fact), this means that we can achieve full coverage (and even some overlap) if each student codes just 2 countries (at various points in time), and I am planning to assign 4-5 countries to each student (so each country gets at least 2 coders).  We will then examine how our crowdsourced index or regime classification compares to some of the other indexes and regime classifications.
As a warm-up exercise, I set up a democracy ranking website using allourideas.org, which I learned about some time ago via the good orgtheory people. Basically, this is a webpage where you are presented with a comparison between two countries, and asked which one is more democratic (you can answer “I don’t know,” and give a reason). The results of the pairwise comparisons can be used to generate a ranking, which represents something like the probability that a given country would be more democratic than a randomly selected country. (But rather than read this explanation, why not go play with it? It can be addictive, and it’s basically self-explanatory once you see it). I asked the students to go to this website in the first class of the term, and to vote; a lot of them voted (an average of about 14 times, i.e., 14 comparisons). I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I was sort of hoping for a “wisdom of crowds” effect. And there is, indeed, something like that, but the effect is small. Here’s a graph (link for full screen):Sheet 1

Powered by Tableau
The y axis represents the sum of Freedom House’s political rights and civil liberties scores: 2 is most free, 14 least free. The x axis represents the “ranking” of the countries as calculated by the Allourideas software, ranging from 4 (North Korea has only a 4% chance of prevailing in a “more democratic” comparison against a randomly selected country) to 93 (Australia; New Zealand scored 92, and was for a time in first position, which is to be expected from a group from New Zealand; see the complete ranking here). Note that these numbers do not reflect the judgments of “individual” students, but the calculated probability of prevailing in a comparison against a randomly selected country, given the information available from previous pairwise comparisons. (No student or set of students actually “ranked” North Korea last or Australia first). The size of the bubbles is proportional to the class’ subjective “uncertainty”: basically, the number of times a country was involved in an “I don’t know” answer divided by the total number of times the country appeared in any comparisons. There were 1250 votes submitted, but since there are 192 countries, the number of possible comparisons is 36,672, which means that a relatively large number of potential comparisons never appeared. (Which is part of the reason I am posting this here – I want to see what happens if lots of people engage in this informal ranking exercise).
There’s clearly a correlation between the rating by Freedom House and the informal rankings generated by the pairwise comparisons produced by the students – about -0.62, which is pretty respectable. (Some of the correlations between Freedom House and other measures of democracy are not much higher than this). A simple regression of the Freedom House ratings on the rankings generated by the students gives a coefficient of -0.11 (highly significant, not that that matters much in this context), which means that an increase of 10 points in the student-generated ranking is associated with a decrease of about 1 point in the combined Freedom House PR+CL score. (A more thorough analysis could be undertaken, but I don’t feel qualified to do it; I’ve put up the data here for anyone who is interested in doing some more exploration, and will update it later if enough other people participate in the ranking exercise).

Most of the “obvious” cases appear at the extremes – developed, well-known democracies get a high ranking, while obvious dictatorships mostly get a low ranking. Many of the countries that seem to be misplaced, however, appear to be either small and little talked about in the news or not especially well-known to students; see, for example, Ghana (which is ranked lower than it should be, if Freedom House is right) and Armenia (which is ranked higher than it should be, if Freedom House is right). Would this change if more people contributed to the ranking, especially people from a variety of countries around the world (I know this blog gets a small readership from a number of unlikely countries –could my kind readers send this link around to people who might be interested, e.g., students?). Here's a heatmap of the student-generated rankings (darker is more democratic):

The map seems reasonable enough to the naked eye. It seems that even a simple informal ranking exercise can be a reasonable approximation to a professional ranking (like that generated by Freedom House) if the people doing the ranking have some knowledge of the countries being compared, so I would expect that more people participating would probably move the informal ranking closer to Freedom House’s measure. (Maybe this is a most cost-effective method of generating a democracy index – “the people’s democracy index,” as it were). But it could also be the case that the ranking would diverge more from the Freedom House ranking as people from diverse countries participated, with different understandings of democracy. Perhaps global opinion about which countries count as most democratic would diverge sharply from the opinions of Freedom House’s expert coders. Or perhaps it would be affected by national biases – people from particular countries would have a tendency to rank it higher/lower than a more “objective” ranking would. It would be interesting to know – so it would be great if you could spread the word by sending  this link around!
(I have also wondered whether this method would work for generating “historic” data on democracy. But the obvious way of doing this would introduce many very unlikely or difficult comparisons– e.g., could we meaningfully compare democracy levels in 1964 Gambia vs. 1980 Angola using this method? – and the less obvious way would require one to set up a website for each distinct year).
[1] Technically, an index of democracy and a regime classification are two different things. The Economist and Freedom House produce indexes of democracy/freedom – an aggregated measure of the degree of democracy in a given country at any particular point in time, ranging from 0 to 100. A regime classification instead takes regimes as types, and attempts to determine whether a given country should be categorized as one kind or another.

Democracy and contention are back on the front page, thanks to the uprisings in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA).  As always, Chuck Tilly provided some important insights into today's events based on his depth analysis of several hundred years of contentious politics.  The relevant work on the intersection between democratization and contention is Contention and Democracy in Europe, 1650-2000 (2004).  As the history of contentious politics demonstrates, nothing in the nature of social contention leads necessarily to a demand for greater democracy; in fact, nineteenth century observers tended to believe that "revolutionary contention" and democracy were antithetical to each other. So democratization and contention are interweaving subjects rather than different aspects of the same process.

As always, Tilly is interested in using historical comparisons to shed light on the processes of contention and democratization, and the history that they focus on in this volume is that of modern France and Britain.
To explain similarities and differences in French and British experience since 1650 constitutes a reasonable start toward more general explanations of variation within Europe as a whole. Since European polities and their immediate transplants originated most of the contemporary institutions we recognize as democratic, furthermore, any explanation that gets right the last few centuries of European involvement in contention and democracy offers some promise of helping to identify likely origins of democracy elsewhere. (7)So comparison is one key methodological pillar.  The other is the framework of mechanisms and processes that he and his colleagues developed in Dynamics of Contention and in other subsequent works.  "[This book's] claim to attention resets instead on the identification of mechanisms and processes that promote, inhibit, or reverse democratization" (ix).  This places Tilly's approach in direct opposition to several other theories of largescale social change -- theories that look for common structural factors that explain large outcomes such as democracy or revolution, and theories that look primarily to the intentions of the actors.
My inquiry guesses, furthermore, that the social world’s order does not reside in general laws, repeated large-scale sequences, or regular relationships among variables.We should not search for a single set of circumstances or a repeated series of events that everywhere produces democracy. Nor should we look for actors having democratic intentions, seeking to discover how and when they get chances to realize those intentions. We should look instead for robust, recurrent causal mechanisms that combine differently, with different aggregate outcomes, in different settings. (9)If we are to attempt to understand the factors that are conducive to (or inhibitive of) greater democracy, we need to have a fairly specific idea of what we are thinking of under the concept of democracy.  Tilly provides this definition of democratization:
Democratization means increases in the breadth and equality of relations between governmental agents and members of the government’s subject population, in binding consultation of a government’s subject population with respect to governmental personnel, resources, and policy, and in protection of that population (especially minorities within it) from arbitrary action by governmental agents. (13-14)Remarkable in this definition is the fact that Tilly does not chiefly highlight institutions such as representative voting or separation of powers, but rather several more general features of a polity: equality between government and the subject population, binding consultation of the subject population, and protection of the subject population from arbitrary action.  Each of these dimensions has a strong theoretical relationship to the concept of democracy; the equal worth of citizens favors the first point, the idea that citizens should contribute to the formation of government's policies finds expression in "binding consultation"; and the idea of the rule of law is expressed in the idea of protection from arbitrary action.  Greater democratization means increasing one or more of these three dimensions in the given society.  Tilly refers to this as a "political process" approach to the conceptual problem.  And he folds this definition into a substantive historical hypothesis:
Only where positive changes in trust network integration, inequality insulation, and the relevant internal transformations of public politics all intersect does effective, durable democracy emerge. Most changes in public politics, on the contrary, produce undemocratic outcomes. (17)So what are the high-level factors that work on the state's side to influence the state's ability to crush popular contention?  And what external factors might bring about abrupt changes in these factors?  Tilly refers to a state's command of "coercion, capital, and commitment" as a measure of its ability to enforce its will -- including the ability to repress popular movements demanding social and political change.  Coercion has to do with the apparatus of the military and police, and the administrative infrastructure through which these are controlled.  Capital has to do with the amount of wealth the state is able to summon to its purposes.  And commitment has to do with the networks of committed partners the state can call upon throughout the population within its scope of control -- what he refers to as the "trust networks" of the state.  When the state's ability to marshall these forms of power is great, contentious movements are unlikely to succeed.  But specific, concrete social factors can work to undermine each of these aspects of the state's power.  Those factors can be internal -- a food crisis that greatly undermines the loyalty of the state's agents, for example -- or external -- the stresses of international efforts by the state.  In particular, he singles out revolution, conquest, confrontation, and colonization as large stresses for the state that can significantly change its ability to enforce its will (40).  And all of this leads Tilly to a fairly strong hypothesis:
Regional variation in the accumulation and concentration of coercion, capital, and commitment strongly affected the sorts of governmental institutions that formed in different parts of Europe through the centuries, but the presence of certain sorts of regimes in a region shaped what kinds of regimes formed later. (45)These factors give some insight into how a regime can be more or less capable of resisting contentious challenges; but what factors influence the likelihood of such challenges themselves? Tilly's analysis takes an important step towards greater specificity through his construction of three tables of concrete mechanisms in these areas of political process: "mechanisms segregating categorical inequality from public politics," "mechanisms integrating trust networks into public politics", and "mechanisms increasing breadth, equality, enforcement and security of mutual obligations between citizens and government agents" (18-20). Examples from each group of mechanisms are highly relevant to the processes currently underway in Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya:
Adoption of devices that insulate public politics from categorical inequalities; for example, secret ballots, payment of officeholders, and free, equal access of candidates to media forward formation of cross-category coalitions (18) 
Disintegration of existing segregated trust networks; for example, decay of patrons’ ability to provide their clients with goods and protection promotes withdrawal of clients from patron-client ties (19) 
Central co-optation or elimination of previously autonomous political intermediaries; for example, regional strongmen join governing coalitions, thus becoming committed to governmental programs (20)
These tables amount to a detailed micro-analysis of mechanisms and processes that can occur more or less independently, and that have impact on the democratic issues of categorical inequalities, consultation, and protection.  Here is a causal model in which Tilly attempts to capture the meso-level causality that he finds in the comparison of British and French contentious politics over three centuries:

Tilly encapsulates his key findings in these thirteen hypotheses:
Differing combinations of coercion, capital, and commitment in various regions promote the formation of significantly different kinds of regimes, and different directions of regime change, within those regions.
Trajectories of regimes within a two-dimensional space defined by (a) degree of governmental capacity and (b) extent of protected consultation significantly affect both their prospects for democracy and the character of their democracy if it arrives.
In the long run, increases in governmental capacity and protected consultation reinforce each other, as state expansion generates resistance, bargaining, and provisional settlements, on one side, while on the other side protected consultation encourages demands for expansion of state intervention, which in turn promote increases in capacity.
At the extremes, where capacity develops farther and faster than consultation, the path to democracy (if any) passes through authoritarianism; if protected consultation develops farther and faster than capacity and the regime survives, the path then passes through a risky zone of capacity building.
Although the organizational forms – elections, terms of office, areal representation, deliberative assemblies, and so on – adopted by democratizing regimes often emulate or adapt institutions that have strong precedents in villages, cities, regional jurisdictions, or adjacent national regimes, they almost never evolve directly from those institutions.
Creation of citizenship – rights and obligations linking whole categories of a regime’s subje[…]

Bryan Caplan defends democracy against a terrible sounding argument from Amy Chua.

I have two reflections on events this week and last.
Five years from now, there will either be a very stable or a very unstable regime in Egypt. The regime may be relatively open and secular, or it may look like a theocracy. Anything seems possible.
My first thought is that only one thing is for sure: analysts will look back at events today and say “such-and-such event caused the mess we’re in today” or “we can thank so-and-so’s action for what we see now”.
We like to see the world from a deterministic view, where causes lead to effects. We seem to be hardwired to think in narratives. A probabilistic world, where outcomes are driven by invisible or chance events, is somehow unfathomable.
This is our biggest political fallacy. In my mind, in moments like these, any outcome is possible. There are a dozen possible equilibria to which the system might move. Impalpable and improbable acts will push Egypt in one direction or another. That is the terrible and amazing character of these moments. Egyptians and Americans and anyone else with a stake in this contest will do well to remember this in the coming weeks and years.
A few weeks ago, reacting to Cote d’Ivoire and outsiders’ ambitious plans for regime change, I wrote that democratic change has to come from within, not without. I pointed to Claude Ake, a Nigerian political scientist, who reminded us that democracy is never given, it must be seized.
Protesters in Egypt have done some seizing today. This brings me to my second reflection: It remains to be seen how soon the seizing will translate into democracy. The shortest distance between autocracy and democracy is not necessarily a straight line.
Don’t read this as disapproval of events. As much as I fear for Egypt’s near future, I don’t see any other path to emancipation than the one they’ve taken.
We just need to remember that the world has seen very few velvet revolutions. The more usual path is windy, bloody, and full of backtracks. Today the fight was not won. It was just begun.

We study the impact of the introduction of local elections in rural China (1980-2005). We exploit variation in the timing of the top-down introduction of elections and use a unique nationwide survey on the history of electoral reforms to show that elections significantly increased the de facto powers of newly elected leaders, decreased the enforcement of unpopular policies, increased household land allocation and the provision of appropriate public goods. Our results provide evidence that even imperfect elections can increase leader accountability and that marginal shifts towards democracy can significantly improve the well-being of constituents.
A new paper from Nancy Qian, Gerard Padro-i-Miquel, Yiqing Xu and Yang Yao.

Happy new year! I've wanted to blog this for a while, but sickness intervened. May all your new years be free of bacterial warfare. At any rate, here's my small contribution to the burgeoning Ngram literature:

(Link for a bigger picture.)

The Google corpus seems to be pretty sparse before 1800, so I would not take the big spike of "tyranny" of around 1760 as evidence of much. But I'm curious about the slow decline of "tyranny" and the slow increase of "dictatorship" as a catch-all term for the pathologies of political regimes.

"Tyranny" is the older, Greek term. Originally a more or less neutral designation for a "usurper" (as opposed to a legitimate heir in a dynasty) it was later transformed into the term for the worst form of government in Plato and Aristotle, and the sense stuck. Tyranny, however, was never precisely characterized by any institutional features; though there was a loose association between tyranny and "lawless" or "arbitrary" monarchy, ultimately the tyrant was simply the unjust ruler. Thus all regimes can become tyrannical; the distinction between tyrannical and non-tyrannical government is moral rather than institutional.

By contrast, "dictatorship" is a Roman term that is far more directly tied to a particular set of institutions. (For a quick and useful potted history of the term, see Jennifer Gandhi's "Political Institutions under Dictatorship"). The dictator was originally a magistrate chosen by the Senate for a limited time (six months) and formally empowered to act extralegally in situations of crisis. The term acquired a bad connotation after Sulla and later Caesar abused the office in various ways, but it still retained an association with a particular institutional context: the dictator is a sole ruler, typically acting extralegally and commanding substantial force, and so on. It is not used to refer to a distinct political regime by any of the early modern political thinkers I'm aware of, even those like Montesquieu who are interested in classification matters (Montesquieu prefers despotism to tyranny as well), but it is revived by Marx in a sort of paradoxical turn of phrase: the "Dictatorship of the Proletariat." (I imagine the paradox was intentional: in the Roman context, the dictator had often been the instrument of the ruling class to put down revolts from below). What distinguishes the dictator from other rulers is not the justice or injustice of his actions, but the fact that he can "dictate" - impose a command on others.

With Marx we also see a return to the more "neutral" original sense of dictatorship; and though the term still carries a sting - to call someone a dictator is typically to imply something bad about them - it typically needs to be qualified or intensified with some adjective ("brutal" or "totalitarian" dictator, for example). In political science, in fact, some people use "dictatorship" to mean simply non-democracy. (This is not to say that they ignore variation within non-democracy; they use dictatorship as an umbrella term that encompasses everything from Mexico under the PRI to the Soviet Union under Stalin, but they do pay careful attention to some forms of institutional variation within this vast array of regimes).

But why does the more "institutional" term - in fact, a range of such terms, from autocracy and totalitarianism to authoritarianism - seem to displace the more "moral" terms (like tyranny, and to a lesser extent despotism, which also seems to have been popular in the 19th century) as labels for political pathology? Part of this must be the rise of democracy as the recognized "good regime" - even if, in actual practice, democracies often disappoint (but they disappoint less!). If the good regime is institutionally identifiable, then the bad regime might also be institutionally identifiable. Here's another Ngram:

Around 1900, the term "democracy" rises enormously in popularity, while the usage of older terms for different kinds of political regime decrease significantly in English. (Here's the Ngram for the Spanish corpus: some interesting differences, similar broad pattern). It's like the distinctions between non-democratic political regimes "flatten," as Norberto Bobbio argued in his "Democracy and Dictatorship" (though I think he got this from Hans Kelsen): the key dimension of difference we see today among political regimes is whether authority is imposed from above ("dictatorially") or emerges from below ("democratically"). (In social science practice, the key dimension tends to be whether executive recruitment happens through genuinely competitive elections, but it is not clear that this always corresponds well to the contrast between "imposed" authority and "consent" just mentioned).

I also wonder whether this sort of phenomenon is a problem: do the Ngrams tell us anything about the potential loss of conceptual distinction, or merely about words? The conceptual distinctions need not go away: if political scientists start using "dictatorship" as an umbrella term for non-democracy, this does not mean they ignore all variation among non-democracies. (In fact, regime classifications have proliferated in recent years). But if the terms themselves incorporate important conceptual distinctions, their decline suggests a loss of conceptual variety. And then we might ignore, for example, the moral dimensions of variation among political regimes to focus on institutional variations that do not have sufficient moral relevance. But my thoughts on this point are still too muddled, so best to stop here.

In his classic Exit, Voice, and Loyalty Albert Hirshmann suggested that “voice” and “exit” are the two basic responses to organizational problems. When someone is dissatisfied with an organization, they can either express their dissatisfaction (voice) or try to leave (exit). Whether one takes one or the other course of action depends both on the relative costs of voice and exit (sometimes voice is punished, or exit is difficult) and on the strength of “loyalty.” (More loyal people may forgive faults in the organization more easily, though they may also prefer complaining to leaving). But these responses are not independent of one another: if lots of people “exit” an organization, the efficacy of voice is typically reduced, partly because the possibilities for coordinating are also reduced (though under some conditions, exit can serve as a “signal” that temporarily enhances “voice”: for a modern example taken from the dissolution of the GDR, see this earlier post). By contrast, a lack of exit options seems to boost voice; in more economic terminology, when the cost of exit relative to voice is low, exit will be the predominant response to dissatisfaction with an organization and vice-versa.
Now, democracy can be roughly conceptualized as a form of voice in organizations. Democracy is, to be sure, more than voice; for one thing, democratic voice is always at the very least formally equal (one person one vote, for example), and those with voice in a democratic organization are supposed to include the vast majority of its members. But for most of the history of the state, political voice of any kind did not really exist (at least not much – there are always exceptions); the usual response to oppression appears to have been “exit,” as James C. Scott documents in his The Art of Not Being Governed. Yet this was only possible because the pre-modern state had a limited reach: one could always take to the hills if one did not like the current ruler.
First query. Could one then argue that modern political democracy was made possible by the greater difficulty of exit in the modern state system? There does seem to be a correlation between the development of the modern state system and the emergence of institutions of voice, though this correlation is typically explained in terms of the “taxation bargains” that monarchs had to strike with their subjects; but what if the key parameter here is the increasing cost of exit from the state system? (The increasing wealth of state spaces relative to nonstate spaces may also play a role here.) And could democracy become less common if exit from the state system became more easily available? (This could take many forms: the emergence of more “ungoverned spaces” like the hills of Yemen, or the success of projects like “seasteading”). Does anybody know of work in this vein?
Second query. I did some reading on the Yugoslav workers’ councils for the post below, and it struck me as odd that similar organizational forms are not more popular in market economies. (The councils appear to have been quite popular while they lasted, despite their limited autonomy). Sure, “voice” exists in firms as labor unions, “codetermination” arrangements, “company unions,” and other such things; and I’m sure there’s a ton of literature on this problem, but I was idly wondering if the structure of a competitive capitalist economy hinders the development of voice within organizations because it lowers the cost of exit for the worker. In a well-functioning market economy, the dissatisfied worker can often go to another job, so voice might seem less important (though perhaps where workers have scarce skills, the costs of both voice and exit are lowered; the total effect might be indeterminate). Conversely, should we expect that in economies where unemployment is high or in firms where workers do not have scarce skills, exit costs would be higher, thus boosting the prospects for voice? (But perhaps the weaker bargaining position of workers there would increase the costs of both exit and voice, so that the overall effect would depend). Any pointers here? 
Third query. Is there a "moral reason" for preferring voice to exit? That is, should one work for voice even where exit is easily available? Or are voice and exit perfect "moral substitutes"?

Steve Haber and I are intrigued by the fact that the world can be divided into three groups: stable democracies such as the U.K., persistent autocracies, such as Oman, and countries that cycle back and forth between regime types, but create neither stable democratic institutions nor durable authoritarian institutions, such as Peru. Why have some countries remained obstinately authoritarian despite repeated waves of democratization while others have exhibited uninterrupted democracy?

When we inquired into why this is the case, however, we grew dissatisfied with existent explanations that lacked consistent empirical support. These include differences in wealth and education across countries, which Acemoglu and Robinson have shown are only spuriously associated with regime types. Similarly, we have shown that an explanation based on reliance on natural resources also suffers from the same problem. In other work I have shown that the high levels of inequality are not necessarily an impediment to democracy—as several Latin American countries such as Costa Rica, Chile and Colombia attest to. Although both countries’ colonial legacy and factor endowments (such as the quality of the soil and the supply of labor) appear to be systematically related to whether they are democratic today (Engerman and Sokoloff), evidence for these explanations exclude Europe,  the Middle East, North Africa and Central Asia, Japan, and Thailand.

That made us wonder…

In order to make sense of these patterns, in “Rainfall and Democracy” we argue that settled agriculture requires moderate levels of precipitation, and that settled agriculture eventually gave birth to the fundamental institutions that under-gird today’s stable democracies. Although all of the world’s societies were initially tribal, the bonds of tribalism weakened in places where the surpluses associated with settled agriculture gave rise to trade, social differentiation, and taxation. In turn, the economies of scale required to efficiently administer trade and taxes meant that feudalism was eventually replaced by the modern territorial state, which favored the initial emergence of representative institutions in Western Europe. Subsequently, when these initial territorial states set out to conquer regions populated by tribal peoples, the institutions that could emerge in those conquered areas again reflected nature’s constraints. We use an instrumental variables approach that demonstrates that while low levels of rainfall cause persistent autocracy and high levels of rainfall strongly favor it as well, moderate rainfall supports stable democracy. This econometric strategy also shows that rainfall works through the institutions of the modern territorial state borne from settled agriculture, institutions that are proxied for by low levels of contemporary tribalism.

Like many other people, when reading the political blogosphere I am often struck by the prevalence of expressions of contempt. It is not simply that the “political public sphere” in the internet hardly corresponds to the Habermasian ideal of deliberation in which only the force of the better argument prevails; rather, expressions of contempt for the views and sometimes persons of others thoroughly pervade political argument. It is common to find claims that certain others have no (moral) “right” to speak on certain issues, or that their views should be ridiculed or ignored rather than engaged.

I am less interested in condemning this state of affairs (a pointless exercise anyway) than in trying to understand whether contempt is inextricably linked with public political argument. The thought crossed my mind while reading Don Herzog’s interesting book Poisoning the Minds of the Lower Orders, which I discovered via Adrian Vermeule’s Law and the Limits of Reason. Herzog’s book could be described as a look at the political blogosphere in the British Isles circa 1817; he seems to have looked at every political pamphlet, newspaper, minor novel, and even popular song published between 1789 and 1834, and examined how coffeehouses, alehouses, and hairdressers' shops functioned as sites of political debate. It’s impressive, though I do not envy the undertaking (just imagining trying to write the contemporary version of this book makes me nauseous). 
As Herzog makes clear (at sometimes excruciating length, in fact), the political public sphere of the time was as filled with expressions of contempt, or perhaps more so, than the current political public sphere. Contempt was directed towards women, blacks, Jews, workers, rich people, poor people, politicians, hairdressers, etc.; reading Herzog, in fact, one gets the impression that most political argument at the time was simply composed of expressions of contempt by contending parties. (So much for the good old days before the internet). Moreover, though Herzog stresses that contempt was tightly linked to the “conservative” project of preserving hierarchies and preventing the transformation of “subjects into citizens,” the book makes it clear that contempt was deployed both to sustain hierarchy and deference on the part of subordinate groups and to undermine such hierarchy and deference; it was not the specific property of particular parties or groups (though conservatives and radicals typically expressed contempt in different ways, and made use of it for different purposes).
What makes the book interesting, beyond its account of the historical debates that shaped the emergence of a distinctively modern “conservatism” in Britain during those decades, is the way Herzog links the question of contempt with questions about epistemic authority: who is worth listening to, and who is not, and what norms should apply to apply to political debate.
Norms of political debate are not neutral with respect to epistemic authority. The Habermasian ideal of deliberation, for example, implicitly grants all citizens equal epistemic authority: all arguments are to be judged on the merits, not with respect to any characteristics of the person making them. This may imply, among other things, that one should deploy arguments sincerely rather than strategically, be open to correction, and extend interpretive charity to the positions of others (at least ideally).
But what if one thinks that the characteristics of some people – e.g., people who are far from me politically – are useful proxies for the likelihood that their arguments are worth listening to? (Life is short, after all – do I really have to listen to what everyone has to say?) And what do we do about people who violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the norms of debate – deploying arguments dishonestly or strategically, “concern-trolling,” refusing to accept evidence, etc.? Do we engage with them or punish them through expressions of contempt etc.? (And it is not always possible to determine who is behaving strategically and who is not; what looks like trolling to some may look like perfectly reasonable argument to others). Or how about people who have more influence than their (actual, rather than perceived) epistemic authority warrants? (What if we think, for example, that particular bloggers we dislike are more influential than their arguments warrant?) Do we engage with their views sincerely, in the confidence that “the truth will out,” or try to diminish their influence by attacking their epistemic authority by other means – ridicule, contempt, ad hominem argument, etc.? (Consider here debates about climate change or creationism in schools).
Herzog’s key idea (and here I sense a criticism of Habermas, though AFAIK Habermas is not mentioned in the book) is that distinctively political debate is always in part about the distribution of epistemic authority, i.e., about who has a “right” to speak and whose views are worth being listened to. Conservatives and radicals in the England of 1817 disagreed not merely about the merits of particular proposals (about suffrage, etc.), but about whether certain groups of people were worth taking seriously. And there is no neutral standpoint to determine who can or cannot be admitted to the public sphere, no neutral view that reveals the true distribution of knowledge and indicates what the true distribution of political influence should be; political debate is always (among other things) the attempt to shape the distribution of epistemic authority, and this attempt seems to be inescapably accompanied by the deployment of contempt. (Consider, by contrast, debates where epistemic authority is relatively uncontroversial, as in some purely scientific debates: the debate is non-political to the extent that the standards for evidence and argument are widely shared among participants, and hence to the extent that there is wide agreement among participants regarding who is or is not worth listening to).
The point I am trying to get at goes beyond the observation that party boundaries in politics are typically policed by expressions of contempt, and partisanship is inescapable in democratic politics (and at any rate there are good things to be said for partisanship in the public sphere). The question is whether one can one imagine a deliberative form of politics that is not underpinned by the deployment of contempt towards those who are not considered to be worth listening to? Are judgments that some people are not worth listening to necessarily expressions of contempt? And are the sanctions that we may think are necessary to keep debate healthy necessarily contemptuous?
I do not know the answers to these questions, but I suspect that it is impossible to police any set of norms of debate without using sanctions that express contempt. To the extent that the public sphere is a political sphere, it will be pervaded by contempt (though to a greater or lesser extent), and hence the lamentations about the quality of our public discourse will always be with us. Democracy, in other words, may be structurally unsatisfying, no matter how deliberative it may be; a public sphere without contempt would be a public sphere from which politics properly has been excluded, either because of an accidental harmony of interests among its participants, or through the kind of coercion that prevents certain people from participating in it.