Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy: Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and Tibet

Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy

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Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and Tibet Susan J. Henders

TERRITORIALITY, ASYMMETRY, AND AUTONOMY

Copyright © Susan J. Henders, 2010. All rights reserved. First published in 2010 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978–1–403–97062–6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Henders, Susan J., 1960– Territoriality, asymmetry, and autonomy : Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and Tibet / Susan J. Henders. p. cm. ISBN 978–1–4039–7062–6 (alk. paper) 1. Autonomy—Case studies. I. Title. JC327.H43 2010 320.4⬘049—dc22

2009022973

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: March 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

CON T E N T S

Acknowledgments

vii

One

Introduction

1

Two

Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy: Key Concepts, Historical and Contemporary Perspectives

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Three The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements

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Four

Catalonia as an Autonomous Community

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Five

Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute

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Six

Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region

125

Seven

Central Tibet from the Sino-Tibetan Seventeen-Point Agreement to the Tibet Autonomous Region

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Conclusions

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Eight Notes

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Sources Cited

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Index

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AC K NOW L E DGM E N T S

Many people read all or parts of earlier drafts of the manuscript for this book and offered invaluable insights, expertise, and support. They include Jim Sharpe, Colin Mackerras, Robert Agranoff, the late Michael Aris, Steve Tsang, the late Vincent Wright, Farimah Daftary, Andrew Fischer, Ananya Mukherjee-Reed, Daniele Conversi, André Laliberté, Marc Lateigne, Jennifer Jackson Preece, Ken McRoberts, Ronald Watts, Vernon Bogdanor, Peter Ferdinand, and Laurence Whitehead as well as autonomous reviewers. The errors and weaknesses that remain are entirely my own responsibility. My thanks also to Philippe Pesteil, Elisa Roller, Josh Fogel, and Steve Tsang who assisted me in locating important source materials. I wish to acknowledge the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the British Overseas Student Research Award, which funded my DPhil dissertation research, the starting point for the present study. Jim Sharpe of Nuffield College, Oxford, was tremendously supportive when he served as my dissertation supervisor. I extend my warmest thanks to colleagues at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, in Belgium, where I was fortunate to spend a fruitful sabbatical year during the preparation of the manuscript. I also wish to express my sincere gratitude to York University, in Toronto, particularly to my colleagues at the York Centre for Asian Research, Peter Vandergeest and Alicia Filipowich, for their support, to Dean Bob Drummond, who provided me with teaching release time, and David McNally, who was supportive during his term as chair of the Political Science department. I also thank Lisa Williams, Jennifer Catallo, and Lauren Turner, who provided invaluable research and editorial assistance. Finally, I owe a boundless debt to my family, whose patience, understanding, and love have seen me through from the beginning.

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CH A P T E R

ON E

Introduction

This book is part of an expanding literature analyzing the role of asymmetry in the territorial politics of contemporary states. Its specific focus is on special status arrangements. These are grants of formally asymmetrical territorial autonomy to territorially concentrated minority communities. Special status arrangements challenge the modern territorial state and citizenship model, which in its purest form implies a standardized distribution of territorial political authority and equal citizenship rights across a state. Despite these tensions, the governments of a number of states have used special status concessions to accommodate the demands of mobilized, or mobilizeable, minority communities. Special status concessions have been made in both federal and unitary states and those of diverse regime types. They have also been made in societies with distinctive histories and a range of cultural, social, political economy, geopolitical, and other characteristics (see Henders 1997; Steiner 1991; Hannum 1990; Lapidoth 1997; see also Heraclides 1992; Heisler 1990; Laponce 1987). Special status arrangements exist for Quebec in Canada and Scotland in the United Kingdom, in Muslim areas of Mindanao in the Philippines, and the Atlantic coast regions of Nicaragua, to name a few examples. Special status arrangements have been part of recent peace agreements for Aceh in Indonesia and southern Sudan. As Michael Keating has commented: “There is no model of the asymmetrical state to replace the old paradigm, but there is a variety of experiences to support it” (1999a: 71; see also Ortino 2005). The present study aims to contribute to our understanding of the diversity of the asymmetrical state experience and its implications for order and justice. It focuses on special status arrangements in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and Western Europe. These areas

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are the site of some of the most innovative forms of territorial asymmetry to emerge in recent decades. The political, historical, cultural, and socioeconomic differences between the two areas also allow for comparison of special status arrangements in diverse contexts. The specific cases examined include the special status arrangements for central Tibet beginning in the 1950s and for post-1997 Hong Kong in China, for Catalonia in post-Franco Spain, and for Corsica in France from the early 1980s. The cases are examined using a common analytical framework. The comparative findings aim to shed light on the strengths and weaknesses of special status arrangements as means of articulating difference with universality within the nation-state. The need to extend our comparative analytical gaze to experiences of minority territorial autonomy outside the liberal-democratic West is compelling. As we have seen, special status arrangements have been key components of recent efforts to resolve long-standing conf licts in parts of Africa and Asia. Indeed, since the collapse of the Soviet bloc, territorial autonomy arrangements have been more prominent in the tool boxes of international organizations involved in minority conf licts around the world (see Jackson Preece 1997; Wolff and Weller 2005). Territorial autonomy arrangements are likely to be part of any serious attempt to address the underlying causes of the civil war in Sri Lanka. They were integral to efforts to reconcile Kurdish residents to being part of Iraq following the 2003 U.S.-led invasion. Meanwhile, PRC governments, although sensitive to perceived challenges to their sovereignty, have since 1949 strategically used special status concessions to smooth expansion of the state territorially, to maintain state legitimacy in minority nationality areas, and to articulate the economy with global capitalism. Outside the liberal-democratic West, as within it, special status and other minority territorial autonomy arrangements are transforming the ordering of identity, political authority, territory, and production associated with the standardized and centralized rule associated with the modern territorial state and citizenship model. Yet, most of the comparative literature on minority territorial autonomy still focuses on the experience of democracies, especially in the West. Territorial autonomy arrangements in culturally plural states elsewhere have, to date, garnered insufficient comparative attention, although there have been some important exceptions (e.g., Horowitz 1986; Brown and Ganguly 1997; He, Galligan, and Inoguchi 2007; Kymlicka and He 2005). There has also been relatively little comparative examination of minority autonomy arrangements in democratic and non-democratic contexts, although the work of Will Kymlicka

Introduction

3

(2002; 2004) in this area suggests that there is much to be learned. There is a small comparative literature on minority territorial autonomy that brings in examples from outside the democratic West and includes some discussion of authoritarian contexts (e.g., Hannum 1990; Montville 1990; McGarry and O’Leary 1993; Lapidoth 1997; Safran and Máiz 2000; Weller and Wolff 2005a). However, these works give little explicit attention to asymmetry. It is here that the contribution of the present study lies. There are many reasons for the relative neglect of minority territorial autonomy in non-democratic contexts. Perhaps the most important is the assumption that, due to their authoritarian context, these autonomy arrangements have been mere formalities, offering minority communities no meaningful self-rule. These concerns are legitimate and should be taken seriously. Nevertheless, they should not turn attention away from examination of the roles that asymmetrical and other territorial autonomy policies have had in building and maintaining states and political economic orders in non-democratic contexts. Moreover, the political and normative effects of special status arrangements in any context, democratic or otherwise, need to be studied empirically rather than assumed. As Watts (1999) has pointed out, we should not judge such arrangements based on their presumed (in)compatibilities with such values as equality, democracy, state sovereignty, or minority self-government. With respect to the post-1949 PRC, we should not assume that the Leninist nature of political system, including its lack of rule of law, legislative and judicial checks on executive power and authority, and other constitutionalist features, completely accounts for the origin, character, political dynamics, and outcomes of its special status policies. A comparative study of examples of special status arrangements in both democratic and nondemocratic contexts potentially enhances understanding of the effects of regime type, while also exposing other factors that have shaped the arrangements and their impact on order and justice. The Structure of the Book With these aims, the present book is structured as follows. The first two chapters set out the concepts and propositions that make up the analytical framework used in the study. Chapter two focuses on and conceptualizes asymmetry and autonomy as modalities of imperial rule historically and of state-building and state maintenance in more

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recent times. It sets out what is meant by minority territorial autonomy arrangements and special status arrangements and identifies various types of asymmetry relevant to their analysis. It also sets out key debates over the practical political and normative implications of asymmetry and autonomy with respect to minority territorial autonomy arrangements. Chapter three focuses on the key concepts, indicators, and propositions that will be used to assess the origins, nature, political dynamics, and outcomes of the case studies. It also introduces the specifics of the comparative study in more detail, including its research questions, method, sources, and cases. Chapters four through seven contain the studies of Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and central Tibet. These chapters use the analytical framework developed in chapters two and three to analyze why state decisionmakers agree to special status arrangements, the nature of these arrangements, their political dynamics, and their consequences for order and justice. Chapter eight contains the comparative conclusions with respect to each of these dimensions. The conclusions shed light on the circumstances in which special status arrangements can enhance state stability, while also advancing the collective citizenship of minority territorial communities in the state, but without becoming vehicles for dominant groups within these communities to exclude vulnerable internal minorities from socioeconomic and political belonging. To borrow from Lister (2007), can special status arrangements help maintain the culturally territorialized state while also advancing the emancipatory ideal behind modern citizenship’s universalist promise?

CH A P T E R

T WO

Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy: Key Concepts, Historical and Contemporary Perspectives

In recent years, the literature on territorial politics and decentralization has paid more attention to asymmetry in the distribution of territorial political authority within states (e.g., McGarry 2007a; 2007b; Conversi 2007; Ortino et al. 2005; Watts 2000; 1996; Keating 1999a; 1999b; Agranoff 1999b; de Villiers 1994; Elazar 1994; 1987; McGarry and O’Leary 1993; Coakley 1993). This interest has coincided with renewed attention to and to some minds greater legitimacy for ethnic and ethnonationalist mobilization and for minority autonomy arrangements in general. Yet, as this chapter makes clear, asymmetry and autonomy have been important to the actual functioning of polities for a much longer period, both historically and in the contemporary state system. They have long been modalities of imperial rule and of state-building and state maintenance in both China and the democratic West. At the same time, minority territorial autonomy arrangements in general and special status arrangements in particular have been tensionwracked. This has been due to a number of factors, including the challenges they pose to the modern territorial state and citizenship model as understood in dominant versions of liberalism and Marxism. The following chapter explains concepts key to the present study, namely minority territorial autonomy and special status arrangements, and sets out the main variations in the latter. It also provides a perspective on asymmetrical territoriality in China and Europe historically and in recent decades.

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Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy Historical Perspectives: The Experience of Western Europe and China

Territoriality refers to the organization of political space and the spatial extent of political authority. Political rule always has a spatial dimension, but territoriality has not always taken the form of the modern territorial state. It has not always been based on a formal, legal claim to exclusionary spatial boundaries nor the standardized organization of political space (see Caporaso 2000). It is, perhaps, unsurprising that historians and political analysts appear not to have identified asymmetry as an analytically distinct feature of territoriality until the modern era. It was then that pre-modern practices of unbounded and uneven spatiality, overlapping political authority, and nonstandardization were seriously challenged by the standardized, universal, and exclusionary modes of territorial political authority claimed by many modern statebuilders. As such, in pre-modern times asymmetry may not have had the significance and meanings given to it since the rise of the modern territorial state. With this caveat, the history of territoriality, asymmetry, and autonomy suggests that asymmetrical distributions of territorial political authority were comparatively common in pre-modern times and in empires. Modern states have also exhibited more asymmetry in practice than the model and formal state institutions would suggest. The modern territorial state and citizenship ideal arose during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Europe. It has been used to legitimate the claims of a single ruler to exclusive jurisdiction over a discrete territory and territorially bounded population. It also has legitimated the formally standardized and centralized institutions used to rule them. The modern territorial state emerged as the rulers of these nascent political communities used war and other means to coopt, weaken, or eliminate competing elites and competing identities based on local and medieval privileges and allegiances (Tilly 1985, 1975). Later, state authorities and other agents sought to forge the homogeneous national identities and citizenries associated with the nation-state and the needs of capitalism and industrialization. Standardized state rule and citizenship norms encouraged efficiencies of rule and of goods, capital, and labor f lows. Their association with claims of universality also obfuscated differences of class, gender, and culture and related hierarchies of power within the modern territorial state (see Sack 1986). Although never fully realized and always internally and externally contested, the modern territorial state and citizenship model was distinct from previous patterns of territorial governance. In medieval Europe,

Key Concepts and Perspectives

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rulers ruled people, not territories. The political map was marked by entangled and overlapping inter-elite relationships, allegiances, and alliances, along with particularized local privileges. Governing rights were partial and overlapping, juridical jurisdictions were stratified, and the landscape a quilt of “plural allegiances, asymmetrical suzerainties and anomalous enclaves” (Anderson 1974, 37–38; see also Caporaso 2000). Pre-modern forms of belonging tended to be simultaneously local and interpersonal as well as religious (whether attachments were to local saints and/or Christendom). By contrast, modern citizenship, termed nationality in international law, divided the world into discrete territorial states and populations. The relationship between the sovereign and the individual was the primary form of belonging, understood in formal legal terms. The state had sole authority over the criteria of membership, or nationality, and the rights and duties that accompanied it (see Desforges et al. 2005). Individuals had other identities and affiliations too, but these were deemed secondary and often relegated to the private realm.1 The idea of the modern territorial state was not born in the abstract and, as noted, never a pure form in practice. It emerged out of the often violent processes by which the agents of emergent states attempted to expand their military and extractive control over territories and populations by defeating political rivals. When this failed, Tilly (1975: 77) has argued, agents of the emergent state sometimes used “anti-state institutions” to co-opt competitors. One method was to allow quasisovereign rival power centers to keep their medieval privileges and statuses. Such concessions contradicted the general standardizing thrust of processes of building modern states and citizenries, but they facilitated state-making. In France, one focus of the present study, centralized governance dates back to efforts by monarchs to build a unified state from the hierarchical, overlapping, and personalized system of feudal political obligation and belonging. Under the inf luence of the Jacobin movement of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the assertion of a strong, centralized state with standardized practices of rule was seen as essential to establishing the power of the republican state and achieving liberty, equality, and popular sovereignty. However, as the Corsica case demonstrates, some feudal privileges survived, creating pockets of special status in tension with modern state and republican ideals. In Spain, strong territorial identities and some medieval regional statuses and privileges also survived the building of the state from late medieval times. This was particularly so in Catalonia, the Basque territories, and

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Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy

Galicia. Although the protection of these medieval vestiges was functional for building the modern state, by Tilly’s analysis, they clashed with the Jacobin ideals claimed by Spanish liberal republicans in their struggles against decentralization and regionalization in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Keating 1993). Decades later, from the 1960s, France, Spain, and other Western European states experienced an accentuation of territorial differentiation in conjunction with the weakening of the nation-state associated with European integration and globalization (Keating 1999a). There was a revitalization of substate ethnonationalist movements and attempts to reinvent and reclaim historical territorial statuses, privileges, and identities, including in Corsica and Catalonia. The special status arrangements granted to these two minority territorial communities by the French and Spanish governments from the late 1970s, can be regarded as contemporary versions of Tilly’s “anti-state institutions.” They were concessions that contradicted standardized patterns of rule and citizenship in order to cement the territories and their populations in the state. Meanwhile, in the overseas territories of European empires, territorially differentiated governance was more the norm than the exception. There, rulers often managed their culturally diverse and far-f lung realms in ways that contradicted the modern state ideal of uniformity of rule and of belonging. Indirect rule was common. Under its practices, imperial authorities allowed established local elites and local political institutions, or those created by imperial rulers, to function relatively autonomously so that their power and authority could help legitimate and facilitate imperial rule (see Fisher 1991; Gocking 1994). As Ernst Gellner put it, indirect rule gave imperial authorities “greater effectiveness and diminution of both offence and expense” (Gellner 1987: 558). Indirect rule, like special status arrangements in more recent times, reduced standardization. By allowing local elites and institutions to function relatively autonomously, patterns of political organization were more ref lective of spatial variations in socio-economic and political organization, customs, institutions, power, interests, and forms of political legitimacy. For its part, what we now term China had a distinctive history of territoriality and asymmetrical governance. The modern territorial state model did not arrive in China as a coherent and relatively effective set of political claims, institutions, practices, and discourses until the 1949 establishment of the People’s Republic of China (PRC). Premodern territorial governance in China significantly diverged from its counterparts in pre-modern Europe and in European empires. To

Key Concepts and Perspectives

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the extent that China had a feudal period akin to medieval Europe, it ended as early as 221 BC. Subsequently, a series of imperial states ruled parts of what is today China. These polities had marked, but variable degrees of unity, centralization, and civilizational continuity, as well as f luctuating territorial extents. A (neo-)Confucian political ideology became inf luential over time and was in key respects hostile to the premises of the modern territorial state and citizenship model that was to emerge in Europe (Fairbank 1992, 1968). It did claim unity under a single unchallenged ruler, the emperor, or Son of Heaven, akin to the claims of emerging early modern European sovereigns. However, the Emperor’s realm, termed “all under heaven” (tianxia), was territorially unbounded with belonging defined ethically rather than territorially. There were practical, territorial limits to effective imperial rule. However, these limits were understood as soft, f luid buffer zones intermittently important for trade and defense. They were not hard territorial limits. In neo-Confucian thinking, what mattered was the moral quality of human relationships. As such, all peoples and lesser rulers were expected to pay tribute to the emperor, receive his benevolence (ren), and conform to proper social and political moral codes (Ibid.). In practice, imperial Chinese territorial governance was asymmetrical, though the degree varied over time and space. For one, imperial authorities could not always enforce their rule. They tended to be weaker further from the capital and outside areas dominated by the Han Chinese culture of the imperial heartland. During the last imperial dynasty, that of the Qing (1644–1912), China intensively confronted the imperial and commercial agents of modern European states and societies. Yet, its emperors still saw themselves presiding over a world whose constitution did not conform to the modern territorial state and citizenship model. Rather, it was organized into a concentric hierarchy of ethically differentiated peoples and polities with fuzzy territorial borders. At the center was Han Chinese civilization. Outside it was a Sinic zone of peoples strongly inf luenced by the ethical precepts of Han Chinese culture, including the peoples of what are now termed Korea and Vietnam. Then came the Inner Asian zone of nomadic and seminomadic non-Han peoples, such as the Mongols and Tibetans. The most ethically distant from the Han Chinese center was the “outer barbarian” zone, which included, eventually, the Japanese and nonSinic southeast Asia, south Asia, and Europe (Fairbank 1968: 2–3). If ethical criteria formally differentiated the concentric spheres from one another, in practice so did factors like propinquity, economic value, and potential security threats. In imperial thinking, each concentric

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sphere required particular strategies for interacting with and controlling peoples and competing power centers. One such strategy, in effect, was indirect rule, a practical way of dealing with peoples and rulers beyond the day-to-day reach of imperial armies, administrative structures, and law. Amongst these peoples were the herding and horse-based societies of the Mongolian steppe and the Tibetan plateau, which did not practice the sedentary agriculture of the Han nor follow the Confucian norms and rituals that were the ethical underpinning of imperial authority in the Han Chinese heartland (Fairbank 1968; Mackerras 1994). Indirect rule often meant that the relationship between the emperor and local elites was based on little more than ceremonial allegiances and military alliances. By the Ming (1368–1644) and early Qing dynasties, China’s imperial authorities also attempted to impose the administrative practices and institutions of the Han heartland onto some neighboring nonHan societies, particularly those that practiced sedentary agriculture, including in parts of what is now southwest China (see Herman 2006; Mackerras 1994; Naquin and Rawski 1987). By contrast, in the nomadic and semi-nomadic areas of Muslim Inner Asia west and northwest of the Han heartland, the Qing imperial center usually compromised, appointing local chiefs and religious leaders as governors and allowing them to settle disputes by Islamic law (Naquin and Rawski 1987; Fairbank 1992). However, by the late nineteenth century, Qing officials made attempts to run Xinjiang as a province, with administrative institutions akin to those in the Han heartland. They also tried to bring standard modes of administration to some ethnic Tibetan areas closest to the Han heartland in an attempt to pacify local Tibetan elites and to stop British and Russian imperial expansion (Mackerras 1994). The significance of these early attempts by Qing rulers to extend standard administrative institutions into non-Han areas should not be exaggerated. Even in Han Chinese areas at this time, imperial rule was mainly indirect and superficial, although it was more centralized and standardized than in non-Han areas. Ineffective below the county magistracy level, imperial administrative bureaucracy meant little even in the villages of the Han heartland. There, the imperial center relied on the local scholar-gentry classes to maintain political and social order. With their common training in the neo-Confucian classics, arts, rites, and ceremonies, these men (women were not eligible to take imperial degrees) were socialized to their duty to inculcate Confucian orthodoxy in common people and, with it, the legitimacy of imperial

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rule. However, even here, the imperial state used the legitimacy of local cultural symbols and rituals to strengthen its rule and integration, making these local elements into markers of imperial orthodoxy (Fairbank 1992; 1968; Naquin and Rawski 1987). By the late Qing period, a proto-national Han Chinese culture began to emerge, due to people having greater mobility, the expansion of an integrated market, increased urbanization, and improvements to printing and education (Naquin and Rawski 1987). In the Republican era from 1912, national culture gained some coherence in Han areas with the emergence of a nation-state ideology, national political institutions, and mass politics. However, the notion that there was a single nation, China, was still weak by the time the Communists declared victory in 1949 (Naquin and Rawski 1987). Moreover, although Republican governments, like those of the imperial Qing before them, had claimed sovereignty over vast tracts of central Asia, including central Tibet, in addition to the Han heartland and Taiwan, in practice their rule was often weak or nonexistent. It was in these same claimed territories that the rulers of the new People’s China aimed to build a socialist version of a modern territorial state and citizenry. They were confronted with the challenge of extending their rule into territorial communities that were culturally different from the Han Chinese and were de facto independent or semi-autonomous. Central Tibet was one of these. Some half century later, when the PRC party-state took over Hong Kong and Macau from the British and Portuguese, it faced an analogous situation, albeit one where cultural difference appeared less a challenge to statebuilding than colonial histories and liberal capitalist ways of life. As we shall see, the special status policies deployed by the Chinese authorities in response to these predicaments were, again, akin to Tilly’s “anti-state institutions.” They affirmed preexisting statuses and elite privileges in order to bring under the rule of the central authorities of the expanding state (potentially) unruly territorial communities with a history of de facto independence or autonomy. Special Status Arrangements and Minority Territorial Autonomy Thus, contemporary special status arrangements echo historical practices of states using “anti-state institutions” and indirect rule to enhance their ability to govern competing power centers associated with territorial communities said to have distinctive identities. Since the end of

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World War I, the use of special status arrangements has been growing, albeit not evenly across time and space. Minority Territorial Autonomy Most broadly, territorial autonomy refers to the authority of a territorial political unit within a state to be self-administering or self-ruling, such that it has some formal authority to make decisions about the substance and/or implementation of locally important policies. Grants of autonomy in response to the claims of mobilized, or mobilizeable, minority territorial communities create what might be termed minority territorial autonomy arrangements.2 Special status arrangements are a subset of the latter. Minority territorial autonomy arrangements are important modalities of many culturally territorialized states, both federal and unitary, that contain minority territorial communities. They are institutionally diverse and offer a range of levels and types of self-rule. At one end, they can involve grants to substate territorial authorities of limited administrative authority in a narrow range of policy areas. At the other end, they can involve grants of executive, legislative, and/or judicial autonomy and control over many policy areas (see Hannum and Lillich 1980). Minority territorial autonomy often permits self-rule in cultural matters important to protecting territorially distinct identity, such as language, education, communication, and/or religious policy. Cultural policy levers give territorial authorities tools for defining and protecting collective identities and for mobilizing residents. However, minority territorial autonomy arrangements also grant self-rule in matters well beyond culture, narrowly defined. These may include policy areas important to the ability of a community to protect its values and way of life, such as economic development, environmental protection, and social policy. State-wide governments typically retain control of defense and foreign affairs due to the close association of these policy realms with sovereignty. Nevertheless, increasingly, autonomous territory authorities have external affairs competencies too, such as the authority to make international agreements or participate in inter-governmental organizations and processes in their areas of functional competence. Regardless of form or degree, territorial autonomy is not independence, and it cannot do away with interdependence. Autonomous territories are subject to the authority of state-wide governments in some policy areas. Its people also have common citizenship rights with the population of the state as a whole, even if they also possess distinctive rights connected with the substate territory. Moreover, territorial

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autonomy is not only about separation, in the sense of protecting the minority territorial community from external preferences that can harm its distinctive values. Territorial autonomy is necessarily also a means of organizing relations of interdependence with the wider state and other political communities within and beyond (Henders 2005). As such, territorial autonomy arrangements often include the sharing of some competencies with state or other substate authorities. Increasingly, given the growing role of interstate organizations in policymaking, territorial autonomy arrangements often include the sharing of competencies with public authorities beyond the state. Asymmetry and Special Status Arrangements Robert Agranoff tells us, and the histories of China, France, and Spain suggest, that asymmetrical territorial autonomy arrangements emerge because of de facto territorial asymmetries. The latter refer to spatial differences in geostrategic, political, cultural, or socioeconomic attributes or in administrative and financial capacity that are not erased during, and may even be intensified by, the state-building process (Agranoff 1999b; see also Watts 1999). De facto territorial asymmetries ref lect and produce territorial differentiation in the distribution of power in the state. They are often also associated with claims of territorialized identity difference. In some cases, substate territorial elites claiming to represent a minority territorial community demand distinctive forms and degrees of self-rule to protect local power, preferences, and interests. Sometimes state decisionmakers agree to grant formally distinctive forms of autonomy in response, creating what are termed here special status arrangements. De facto asymmetry can also result from the territorial authorities governing minority territorial communities using their standard self-governing authority in distinctive ways. Special status arrangements involve grants by the government of a federal or unitary state, of formally distinctive self-governing status to one or more substate territorial authorities said to have a distinct identity.3 Extrapolating from Agranoff (1999b), the formal asymmetry that results creates differentiated status and rights amongst similar substate territorial political units such that one or more have distinctive relationships to the state and/or to each other. Typically, special status arrangements create territorial authorities with more formal autonomy than their counterparts with ordinary status, whether this is the case in practice. Special status arrangements also create special forms of territorial citizenship, or territorial forms of what Kymlicka has termed “group-differentiated rights.” That is, they recognize distinctive forms

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of belonging and entitlements for the residents of the minority territorial community, over and above the citizenship rights these individuals have as nationals of the state (Kymlicka 1996: 26–27).4 As noted earlier, imbalances in the territorial distribution of power due to social, economic, cultural, political, or geostrategic differences across space are normal within states. It is also common for such asymmetries to result in de facto heterogeneity in the policies and capabilities of substate territorial authorities (Agranoff 1999b). However, the de jure asymmetries associated with special status arrangements are less common. This is perhaps because their formal nature makes them more politically and normatively controversial. They more directly and visibly challenge the ideals of the modern territorial state and citizenship model. As stated earlier, in its purest nation-state form, the model legitimates a state with a single sovereign with authority over a single, internally coherent citizenry, or nation. This nation is assumed to be the primary locus of citizen identity and loyalty. Competing identities and loyalties are deemed secondary and unworthy of formal institutional recognition. In this way, the model makes normal the idea of a unitary, monolithic citizenship based on equal and undifferentiated individuals. Such an understanding of citizenship necessitates and legitimates a standardized distribution of territorial political authority throughout the state. However, special status arrangements challenge these singular, monolithic understandings of state, nation, and citizen (see Keating 1999a, 1999b; Elazar 1987; Agranoff 1999b). They do so by legitimating competing centers of power and recognizing and institutionalizing territorialized economic, social, political, cultural, or geostrategic differences that could not be ignored, suppressed, or eliminated. They potentially challenge the claim of the state to be the only significant locus of citizen loyalty and belonging, of rights and responsibilities. The implications of these challenges for the political dynamics of special status arrangements will be discussed later. Varieties of Special Status The asymmetry associated with special status arrangements takes a variety of forms. Special status arrangements also differ in their directionality and their temporality. Asymmetry Type Special status arrangements can be distinguished by whether their asymmetry is functional, political, institutional, and/or symbolic. In addition,

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some special status arrangements exhibit what we might call regime asymmetry. Any of the above types of asymmetry can inf luence the degree to which a territorial authority has de jure or de facto scope to deviate from standardized policies. Functional, or horizontal, asymmetry occurs when special status authorities have a distinctive breadth of autonomy. That is, they have self-rule in functional areas of decisionmaking authority that have not been devolved to other similar territorial authorities in the state. As the case studies will show, functional asymmetry may exist with respect to a myriad of competencies ranging from policing (in Catalonia) to monetary and fiscal affairs (in Hong Kong) (see Hannum 1990; Davis 2001). Political, or vertical, asymmetry (see also Wolff 2005) occurs when the depth of the autonomy of the special status authority is distinctive compared to other similar territorial authorities in the state. Political asymmetry refers to the extent to which the special status authority has political self-rule with respect to its functional competencies. More will be said below about the factors that affect the degree of political self-rule of a territorial authority. Institutional asymmetry occurs when a special status territory has political institutions with distinctive names, design, or rules in comparison with institutions in counterpart substate territories in the state (see also Palermo 2005). Extreme institutional asymmetries can amount to regime asymmetry. Some forms of institutional asymmetry also have symbolic qualities. Both regime asymmetry and symbolic asymmetry are discussed further on. Symbolic asymmetry refers to distinctive ways of recognizing territorial identity claims in comparison with similar territorial units in the state. Some of the most controversial involve legal or constitutional recognition of a territorial community as a “nation,” “nationality,” “people,” or “distinct society.” They may include such measures as giving distinctive names to territorial political institutions or giving distinctive recognition to territorial f lags, emblems, anthems, or sports teams. Finally, regime asymmetry exists when the economic and/or political regime of the special status territory is different from that of the state as a whole, such that the two rest on differing principles of political legitimacy and/or understandings of the appropriate constitution of the public and private realms. The experiences of central Tibet and Hong Kong allow examination of the implications of regime asymmetry in practice.

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Directionality A second way of distinguishing special status arrangements concerns their directionality, that is, whether they are devolutionary or integrative. Devolutionary special status arrangements emerge through the transfer of authority by state-wide authorities to an existing territorial authority with jurisdiction over a minority territorial community that is already part of the state. Devolutionary special status arrangements typically aim to accommodate the demands made on behalf of that community in order to encourage members to accept as legitimate their inclusion in the state. Both Catalonia and Corsica are examples of devolutionary special status processes. Special status can also be integrative. In these cases, the special status arrangement emerges as a territory is being incorporated into a state and aims to ease that process. The special status arrangements for Tibet in the 1950s and Hong Kong after 1997 are examples of integrative special status arrangements. Over time, integrative special status arrangements may develop the characteristics of devolutionary arrangements, if territorial autonomy comes to be seen as a devolutionary grant from the state and not the non-relinquishment of elements of the territory’s prior independent or semi-independent status. Devolutionary special status arrangements may also have some of the characteristics of integrative arrangements to the extent that the institutions of self-rule are regarded by the parties as recognizing a minority territorial community’s claim to having been independent or separate from the state in the past. Temporality Special status arrangements can also be distinguished by their temporality, that is, whether their status and form of self-rule are formally permanent or impermanent. Temporality does not refer to whether the arrangements endure in practice, a matter discussed later with respect to the durability and stability of arrangements. Temporality also does not refer to whether a precise end date is specified for the arrangement (see Watts 1999). Temporary special status arrangements would include some versions of what Weller (2005: 159–60) calls “interim” settlements, by which he means an autonomy arrangement formally specified to last until the longer-term status of the territory is determined, as occurred with respect to Kosovo and southern Sudan under recent peace agreements. The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, examined in this book, is a temporary special status arrangement with a specified end date—July 1, 2047. Central Tibet when it was first incorporated into the PRC in the 1950s was given temporary special status, but with

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no specified end date. Permanent special status arrangements have no formal limit on their duration. This does not mean that they cannot change or collapse. In the present study, the special status arrangements for Catalonia and Corsica are examples of permanent arrangements. One purpose of the present study is to explore the effects of variations in temporality, directionality, and forms of asymmetry on the political dynamics and outcomes of special status arrangements. Tensions Related to Autonomy and Asymmetry According to the literature, special status arrangements raise a number of normative and political concerns, some of which also plague minority territorial autonomy arrangements more generally and others which are specific to asymmetrical autonomy. The concerns relate to state security, stability, and territorial integrity; social solidarity; equality; democracy; and economic modernization and development. Although the following representation of the issues wherever possible distinguishes special status arrangements within the broad discussion of minority territorial autonomy arrangements, the literature largely does not explicitly single out special status arrangements. The tensions that preoccupy the literature ref lect a level of discomfort in dominant social theories and political practice, with asymmetrical territoriality and with the institutional recognition of cultural diversity. For minority territorial autonomy arrangements not only require the state to give up some of the prerogatives ascribed to it by the modern territorial state model, but imply that some substate identities are politically salient and have intrinsic social value, making them worthy of distinctive institutional recognition (see Requejo 1999; Gagnon and Gibbs 1999). Social Theory and Minority Autonomy Dominant versions of liberal and Marxist theory, and their associated laws, policies, and politics, tend largely to reinforce the modern territorial state and citizenship model. They have mainly assumed that territorial identity cleavages would decline in salience with socioeconomic and political modernization. These processes are thought to bring the development of mass politics and create citizenries with relatively similar identities, ways of life, and interests. Historically, both liberal and Communist state-builders have seen standardized citizenship norms

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across the state as a counterweight to the locally produced injustices and inequalities that arise from the recognition of territorially based and other substate privileges (see Sack 1986). Classical liberal thought asserted the desirability and inevitability of a single nation of formally equal citizens, whose rights were protected through institutions with state-wide jurisdiction as well as through a standardized distribution of formal territorial political authority. For Marx, capitalist social relations meant that legal equality was a myth. However, socialist progress would transform social relations and material distribution such that all humans could enjoy full, equal, and universal citizenship according to the Aristotelian ideal (Ignatieff 1995). A Marxist understanding of citizenship also supported a preference for standardized political economic institutions across actual Communist states, ref lecting a concern that institutionalized ethnic and territorially based identities fragmented class consciousness and undermined the building of state-wide socialist citizenship. In practice, however, Communist states often allowed some formal territorial-political heterogeneity and some recognition of group-differentiated rights. These tended to be seen as a temporary measure on the road to building a socialist state and society (see Connor 1984; Moseley 1966). Liberal democratic states, for their part, were often less willing to allow formal concessions that appeared to undermine formally equal, universal citizenship and the homogeneity of state rule it seemed to require. Nevertheless, because de facto asymmetries continued to exist in social life, they sometimes permitted group-differentiated citizenship and other asymmetries in practice. Tully (1995: Chapter 4) has termed these the “hidden constitutions” of these states. As we have seen, the dominance of the modern territorial state and citizenship ideal in recent centuries was not accidental, but a product of political and economic struggle and conf lict. To the political elites and dominant classes of many emergent states in Europe, homogeneity and standardization in citizenship norms and territorial governance appeared advantageous for war-making, economic development, and political legitimacy. Standardization eased tax collection, conscription, and the prevention of rebellion (Scott 1998; see also Sack 1986). Modern citizenship’s assertion of shared identity amongst residents of the entire state helped leaders mobilize people for war and economic goals. It increased mutual trust amongst citizens as well as citizen trust in government and law (Miller and Hashmi 2001). The rise of nationalism further reinforced the model. According to the “modernist” school of nationalism theorists, such as Ernst Gellner (1983), the requirements

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of industrial, capitalist economies fostered the relatively unified statewide identities that nationalist ideologies legitimated (see Hearn 2006: Chapter 4). Later, as Miller and Hashmi have noted (2001), democratization and the expansion of the state into new social realms led to demands by voters for legal and distributive equality. Formalized liberal citizenship norms encouraged the view that equality required homogeneous citizenship rights and symmetrical territorial governance, for only then could society overcome the preexisting differentiated, hierarchical rights and privileges for social groups based on class, gender, religion, and residency. The emergence of universal welfare states and Keynesian state programs further encouraged the view that equality required standardization, particularly prior to the 1960s in the industrialized West. Modern territorial state citizenship claimed to fuse the identities and loyalties of state majority communities with those of substate minority territorial communities. This shared identity in the “nation” increased the sense of mutual responsibility, or social solidarity, amongst citizens necessary to legitimate redistributive measures and the political economic order (see Alfonso 1997; Van Parijs 2004). The claimed political and normative advantages of standardized territorial governance and a singular, undifferentiated citizenship are at the heart of many contemporary disputes over autonomy and special status arrangements. These claims obscured the continuing importance to people’s identity and life chances of social boundaries associated with culture, class, race, gender, place, and history. In liberal states, the formal equality provided by modern territorial citizenship was gradually expanded to include new groups, eliminating formal discrimination based on class, gender, ethnicity, and race. However, these social boundaries still too often determined who had substantive citizenship, in its broadest sense, meaning full social, economic, and political participation in the state and nation. At the same time, modern territorial state and citizenship often delegitimized and encouraged the devaluing and suppression of human identities and belonging in communities other than the nation-state. Thus, minority autonomy and special status arrangements remained suspect, whether in terms of justice or order. State Security, Stability, and Territorial Integrity Some of the literature emphasizes that state actors see special status and minority territorial autonomy arrangements as threats to state sovereignty and related issues of state security, stability, and territorial integrity, because demands for the recognition of and self-rule for minority

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territorial communities are, at heart, struggles for self-determination, understood as independence. From this perspective, autonomy concessions put states on a slippery slope. If minority territorial communities are given a little autonomy, their political leaders will demand more selfrule, if not outright secession. The danger may be even greater when self-rule is asymmetrical, for special status would seem to recognize the territorial community as “a place apart” (McGarry 2007b: 108, 112). If the community in question has identity links with groups with similar identity claims in nearby states, grants of autonomy may also empower irredentist claims. Autonomy arrangements are also thought by some to foster separatism by giving political entrepreneurs tools that enable them to mobilize mass publics: ready-made administrative borders with functional and symbolic significance, state-like institutions including public mass media, and institutionalized territorial identities (Fearon and Laitin 2000; see also Friedlander 1991; Frye 1992; Heisler 1990; Brzezinski 1989/90). By some accounts, minority territorial autonomy arrangements may actually constitute the very substate collective identities they purport to protect (Brubaker 1996), with negative effects on the political stability and territorial integrity of states. Special status arrangements have also been considered harmful to territorial integrity and stability because they seemingly generate demands for similar autonomy concessions elsewhere in the state. This concern is directly related to the asymmetry of these arrangements. In liberal democratic contexts, where formal individual and territorial equality are emphasized, demands that all territorial authorities be given the same prerogatives can be represented as more equitable and fair (see Agranoff 1999b). Granting one part of the state distinctive autonomy may actually lead to irresistible pressure on the state to devolve similar authority to other substate governments, a contention that is explored in the Catalan and Corsican case studies. According to analyses inf luenced by realist international theory, state leaders are likely to perceive demands by minority territorial communities for recognition and self-rule as especially threatening when state leaders see their geopolitical environment as strongly competitive and zero-sum (Ryan 1990). In such circumstances, state leaders will be more reluctant to make autonomy concessions, out of fear that they will be taken advantage of by threatening outside actors. In this light, the relatively high levels of perceived geopolitical threat may help account for why debates over minority autonomy in the societies of the former Soviet bloc have centered on security and state rights concerns, whereas they have focused on justice issues in Western democracies (Kymlicka

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2002; 2004). Hannum (1990) has argued that territorial autonomy is emerging as a principle of international law, as a legitimate compromise between state and minority rights with the potential to protect vulnerable communities while simultaneously reinforcing the state system. However, the governments of many states, China being one example, have strongly opposed recognizing territorial self-rule as an international legal principle. This is despite the fact that the Chinese government has used formal minority self-rule as a modality of state-building several times. Perceived geopolitical threats and the fear that external enemies might use substate ethnonationalist movements as fifth columns, may help explain this apparent paradox. At the same time, we need to be cautious about simplistic conclusions. As Kymlicka reminds us (2002: 15), even in Western liberal democracies the legitimacy of territorial autonomy and other concessions to minorities “is hedged with ambivalence and reservations” from both minorities and majorities. Contentious identity politics and minority secessionist movements do not disappear, even if a distancing from the assumption of “one state, one nation, one language, one identity” in Western liberal democracies, has often increased state legitimacy within these same communities (Ibid.). The claims that special status and other minority territorial autonomy concessions cause political instability and threaten territorial integrity have not gone unchallenged. In addition to Kymlicka, many writers (e.g., McGarry 2007b; Ghai 2000; Gurr 1994; Nordquist 1998) have argued that the denial of such concessions is what threatens the state, not the reverse. Denial increases the risk of protest, serious human rights violations, violent conf lict, and secessionist sentiment, while territorial autonomy arrangements potentially avert or help end ethnonationalist conf lict. Rothchild and Hartzell (2000) have concluded that territorial autonomy arrangements can help build stability and secure vulnerable groups if combined with other measures, particularly rules limiting coercion by the state and an agreement on the issues underlying the conf lict between the state and the minority territorial community. Others have also tried to specify the conditions in which minority territorial autonomy arrangements can positively inf luence state security, stability, and territorial integrity (see Weller and Wolff 2005b). Because autonomy is not independence, if minority territorial autonomy arrangements are effectively to bolster the state, territorial residents need to see the state-wide authorities as legitimate. To this end, integrative measures matter, such as institutionalized mechanisms for resolving state-territorial conf licts in which both levels of authority

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are fairly represented and the right of territorial residents to use territorial languages when dealing with state institutions anywhere in the state, to participate in state-wide elections, and to access education and other social entitlements state-wide. Protecting individuals from human rights infringements by state authorities can also bolster state legitimacy, as can the right to appeal the decisions of state courts to international tribunals (Ibid.). Social Solidarity As noted earlier, minority special status and other territorial autonomy arrangements have been accused of threatening the shared identity thought foundational to social solidarity in contemporary states. This concern grows out of the view that the universalist aspirations underlying modern citizenship requires the state to redistribute wealth from richer to poorer areas and individuals, and that shared identity in the nation-state enhances its ability to do so. Asymmetrical citizenship, by reinforcing separate identities and recognizing differentiated rights and duties, may legitimate the defection of territorial identity communities from the state as the primary community of social solidarity, even if unintentionally (see Banting and Kymlicka 2004). Schnapper (2004) suggests the danger is especially serious in the current historical conjuncture. Social solidarity is already under attack from the rise of market citizenship and the disempowering of the state due to economic globalization and regional interstate integration. The implications are potentially dire when a defecting special status territory is a net contributor to the financing of state social programs, as with the Flemish region of Belgium and Catalonia, the latter amongst the cases examined here. Special status concessions to poorer territories, by contrast, may be dangerous for the opposite reason. They potentially erode the willingness of the wider nation-state community to transfer resources to the special status territory in order to protect the social citizenship of its residents. The latter may be perceived as wanting autonomy, but shirking financial responsibility, an attitude apparently evident in Danish society with respect to the people of the Faroe Islands (Lyck 1995). The erosion of social solidarity by special status arrangements may not be inevitable, however. Indeed, Banting and Kymlicka (2004) have asserted that, in practice, there is no consistent statistical relationship between the erosion of the welfare state and the adoption of multicultural policies. The experience of multinational federations, such as

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Canada with respect to Quebec and First Nations self-government, suggests that state-wide social solidarity can coexist with deep, asymmetrical forms of minority and indigenous autonomy, although not without significant tensions. Equality In Western liberal-democratic contexts, many conf licts over special status revolve around the defense of formal equality and its links with democracy and liberty in much of liberal thought. Especially in its U.S. and Jacobin French versions, liberalism stresses the centrality of state guarantees for formal individual rights. As such, special status is normatively problematic because it appears to create two classes of citizens, with special status territory residents having more rights than others in the state (Barry 2001; Safran 2000). Also, special status and other minority territorial autonomy arrangements appear to create a legal framework in which the rights of vulnerable individuals within the minority territorial community—women, internal ethnic minorities, and the poor, for instance—can be legitimately denied to protect community purity and solidarity (Shachar 2001; Peterson and Parisi 1998; Anthias and Yuval-Davis 1989; Kandiyoti 1996; Eisenberg and Spinner-Halev 2005). Therefore, demands for territorial autonomy and special status have been deemed illegitimate and suspect where all members of minority communities do not completely support them or differ over the values self-government should promote. Heisler (1990: 43) has argued that “in all but the strongest, most clear-cut cases of ethnoregional cohesion,” special status and other minority autonomy arrangements institutionalize backwardness and unjustifiably supersede the social contract between individuals and the state (see also Ra’anan 1990). Consistent with modernization theory, Heisler assumes that “ethnoregional cohesion” is more common outside the industrialized West. In the latter, he says, ethnic identities are “chosen affiliation[s]” rather than the “essentially given . . . functionally and structurally comprehensive, inclusive societal divisions they constitute in other settings” (Heisler 1990: 26; see also Horowitz 1986). By contrast, in non-Western states, if cultural affiliations are salient and the territorial community relatively homogeneous, autonomy can reduce friction by converting intercommunal tension into elite bargaining at the state level (Heisler 1990). However, liberal multicultural perspectives, most inf luentially framed by Kymlicka (2001; 1996), have argued that group and individual rights

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are not necessarily antagonistic, even in the industrialized West. It can be justifiable within a liberal framework to recognize collective identities through group-differentiated rights when citizenship and territorial politics based on formal equality result in inequalities for minority communities and their individual members. For Kymlicka (1996: 7), the “external protection” dimension of these rights—the autonomy provisions that permit territorial authorities to protect the community from harmful external preferences—are consistent with liberal values if they do not limit the choices of community members. Keating (1999a; 1999b) suggests that this harmonizing of individual and collective rights is not only theoretically possible, but the actual practice in Western liberal democracies, where minority territorial communities are as capable of upholding liberal-democratic values vis-à-vis vulnerable internal minorities as are state-wide majorities. In this way, unlike classical liberal thought, liberal multicultural approaches see collective identities other than those of the nationstate as normal, even in the liberal democratic West. The challenge is to manage the tensions between individuals as bearers of both individual and collective rights. Special status arrangements and groupdifferentiated citizenship protect freedom, equality, and dignity by recognizing the distinctive collective identities through which individuals find meaning and pursue their material needs (Requejo 1999). In the same vein, some feminist writers have departed from the view that minority autonomy arrangements necessarily subordinate women’s rights to those of the community. Kabeer suggests that the defense of collective identity is actually important to the citizenship of individual women and other vulnerable internal minorities. For it is through community obligations and claims that such individuals meet many of their primary material and identity needs. Thus, women who are members of minority territorial communities are often unwilling to define their struggles solely in terms of individual rights and equality at the expense of the collective social context in which they understand themselves and their oppression. Consequently, rather than denying minorities autonomy in the name of protecting women and other vulnerable members, Kabeer says the challenge is to construct forms of autonomy that presume patriarchy, classism, racism, and other internal oppression are just as corrosive of citizenship as the exclusionary state-level practices that harm the citizenship of the minority community as a whole (Kabeer 2005). As the next chapter explains, this double citizenship challenge is a major focus of the present study.

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Democracy The implications for democracy of special status and other minority territorial autonomy arrangements, have also been widely debated in the literature. To begin, the liberal-democratic version of the modern territorial state model tends to be majoritarian and to associate sovereignty with the democratic popular will of a singular, internally coherent demos. The shared territorial identity (whether ethnic or civic) underpinning such a demos is thought necessary to produce the depth of trust, solidarity, and social communication that make democratic institutions and processes work (Kymlicka 1996). This contention is not new. John Stuart Mill (1998 [1859]) famously argued a century and a half ago that free institutions and representative government require a country with a single nationality. Nearly 40 years ago, Rustow (1970) inf luentially claimed that democratization only works if the great majority of citizens accept the boundaries of the political community as legitimate. Special status and other minority autonomy arrangements, given that they recognize a community with its own democratic rights and legitimacy within the larger state-wide demos, challenge majoritarian assertions (Lijphart 1984). By this logic, denying special status demands can be seen as protecting democracy. The claim that special status arrangements are anti-democratic has also given rise to the so-called West Lothian question. The term refers to the presumed anti-democratic outcome of Scottish autonomy within the United Kingdom, due to state-level legislators from the territory having the right to participate in state law and policymaking in areas where Scotland has devolved authority (see Bogdanor 1999). However, as Lijphart and others have pointed out (e.g., Dahl 1989; 1986), democracy does not have to be majoritarian and should protect minorities. Furthermore, special status and other autonomy arrangements demanded by minorities are themselves typically based on democratic claims. Where there are sharp territorial asymmetries, the desire for democratic freedom leads communities to seek local control over policymaking processes that affect their distinctive social environments (Sack 1986). The right to choose, including to choose the territory in which particular collective political choices are made, is a democratic claim. In fact, the choice of territory may be the prior choice. For the principle of majority rule says nothing about the territorial unit in which majority will should be enforced. By making a state-wide minority into a majority at the substate level, territorial autonomy can be democratic even in the majoritarian sense (Dahl 1986; 1989). In addition, the decentralization of territorial governance has been seen as

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democratic because of its potential to more directly represent people in political processes, although the claim is contested (Sharpe 1993a). What then of non-democratic states? If many of them have poor records with respect to individual civil and political rights, do they do any better with respect to collective rights? Safran (2000) says no. He and others have argued that a democratic political system is a prerequisite for the satisfactory protection of minorities (see also Jovanovic´ 2002). At the same time, we might expect that authoritarian states would in some respects be less constrained in their responses to demands for special status than their liberal-democratic counterparts. This is because they are less constrained by the norms and practices associated with formal individual equality and majoritarian democracy. The cases in the latter half of the book allow examination of this hypothesis. Economic Modernization and Development, Globalization and Regional Integration Finally, special status and other territorial autonomy arrangements have also been contentious with respect to issues of economic modernization and development, and of economic globalization and regional integration. Often, the desire of minority territorial communities for autonomy go beyond demands for the control of cultural policy. They seek meaningful self-rule across a range of functional areas that affect ways of life, livelihoods, and relations with land and the wider natural environment. On the one hand, the opportunity to be schooled in and earn a decent living in minority territorial languages both would seem to improve individual life chances and enhance collective identity. On the other hand, critics assert that minority autonomy arrangements isolate minority communities and their members, reinforcing and institutionalizing local characteristics that hamper participation in wider socioeconomic and political processes (see Cornell 2002). From this perspective, autonomy arrangements preserve old, backward, stif ling ways of life and languages, including those that repress vulnerable individuals within minority territorial communities. Majority ways of life and languages are assumed to embody modernity, progress, economic development, and opportunity. This way of thinking is one dimension of why, despite their contrasting understandings of capitalist economic modernization and development, liberal and left-leaning analysts have both often preferred more centralized, economically assimilationist policies. From some Marxist-inf luenced perspectives, minority autonomy arrangements risk making class identity and other

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economic interests secondary to culturally based territorial identity. To Nancy Fraser, the concern is that “[c]ultural domination supplants exploitation as the fundamental injustice. And cultural recognition displaces socioeconomic redistribution as the remedy for injustice and the goal of political struggle” (1995: 68). The “redistribution-recognition dilemma,” as she terms it, occurs because the affirmation of group identity required to address cultural exclusion and discrimination undermines the group deconstruction and transformation required to achieve economic equality (Fraser 1997: 31). Others suggest that recognition and redistribution are not necessarily antagonistic in practice. This is because material deprivation and oppression tend to reinforce cultural discrimination and exclusion and vice versa. While agreeing with Fraser that scholarship on the politics of identity and multiculturalism sometimes ignores the political economy dimension, Iris Marion Young has suggested that “issues of justice involving recognition and identity inevitably [have] material and economic sources and consequences, without thereby being reducible to market dynamics or economic exploitation and deprivation” (Young 1997: 154). For Young, most subordinated groups do not seek identity recognition as an end in itself, but a means to multiple ends, including economic development and material justice and equality. For instance, the struggles of indigenous peoples for land, resources, and improved living conditions are also struggles for cultural meaning because development policies and capitalism sometimes devalue indigenous identities and means of cultural affirmation. An uneven distribution of representational and discursive resources undermines the ability of groups effectively to articulate their identities, interests, and needs, both material and cultural (Ibid.). From dominant liberal perspectives, modernization and development also involve overcoming social hierarchies and inequalities, but through institutionalizing formal equality and ending territorially and nonterritorially defined legal privileges. In the European context, this view of modernity is a consequence, in part, of its historical association with the struggles of French revolutionaries against the hierarchical ordering of group-differentiated rights and duties of the ancien régime, a legacy discussed later with respect to Corsica. The important point here is that dominant strands of political liberalism and liberal economic theory both advocate the ending of formal inequalities, distinctions, and privileges. For (neo)liberal economic theory, removing barriers to the free f low of trade, investment, and other productive factors brings the maximum benefit to the maximum number of people.

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(Neo)liberal economic theory would, in its pure form, regard special status arrangements as harmful to the extent that they enable territorial authorities to impede these f lows or require that the state give the territory special tax treatment or subsidies. Yet, not all analysts think that minority autonomy arrangements are entirely antagonistic to a neoliberal political economic order. As Michael Keating (1996) has presciently argued, contemporary Catalan, Scottish, Quebecois, and Flemish regional nationalist movements have sought self-rule partly to make their territories economically competitive in global capitalism. They have aimed strategically to deploy collective identity and self-government claims to attract investors, open up external markets, attract desirable workers, and mobilize territorial populations around economic goals that advance economic growth within the existing capitalist order. They have also sought effective participation in international inter-governmental decisionmaking processes affecting their economies and interests. The experience of these territories suggests that the class base of the elites that dominate the institutions of special status—and the position of the territory in global capitalism— will affect how the institutions of territorial autonomy are used with respect to that political economic order, and in whose interest. In the literature on Latin America, there is also an emerging debate about whether neo-liberalism limits the possibility of strong territorial self-government for indigenous and minority territorial communities (see Gonzalez 2008). Charles Hale (2002) has argued with reference to indigenous self-government in Guatemala that statesupported multiculturalism policies may actually enhance the neoliberal global order. While they provide indigenous communities with some substantive rights, the neoliberal order in which such rights are embedded helps ensure that these rights are recognized and enjoyed in ways that do not disrupt the status quo with respect to economic redistribution and meaningful local control over lands and resources. “Neoliberal multiculturalism,” as Hale terms it, is a “package of rights that both constitute[s] newly opened political space and ‘discipline[s]’ those who occupy that space” (Hale 2002: 490). This argument draws our attention back to Western Europe, where fiscal off loading by the state was one motivation for the devolution of authority to “meso-governments,” including those associated with minority territorial communities, in the 1970s and 1980s (Sharpe 1979; 1988). To what extent and under what circumstances, given economic globalization and (neo) liberal development models, special status arrangements can enhance the socio-economic dimensions of citizenship for territorial identity

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communities and their internal minorities, is an important question meriting the continuing attention of researchers. Having provided an account of key debates concerning minority territorial autonomy and special status and of the historical and recent use of asymmetrical territoriality in China and Western Europe and having set out basic definitions and varieties of special status, the next chapter turns to the analytical tools required to understand the origins, nature, political dynamics, and outcomes of special status arrangements.

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CH A P T E R

T H R E E

The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements

Collective identity claims play an important role in the constitution of political power, whether in the making of states or of special status arrangements. This political side of collective identity is important to understanding citizenship deficits and political conf licts in all states. It is particularly central to making sense of the political effects of the modern territorial state and citizenship model in states with territorialized minority communities. This chapter continues to develop an analytical framework for the study of special status arrangements, a task begun in chapter two. The focus now turns to the concepts, indicators, and propositions needed to analyze the origins, nature, political dynamics, and justice and order outcomes of these important modalities of the contemporary state. The Origins and Political Dynamics of Special Status Arrangements Constitutional Ruptures and Shifts Why, given the biases of the modern territorial state and citizenship model, and under what circumstances, do some state decisionmakers agree to special status arrangements? The starting point in answering this question is the observation by several writers that territorial autonomy arrangements often emerge at times of actual or impending constitutional rupture, such as during or in the aftermath of wars or during

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or after regime changes. Gurr (1994: 347) argues that “the main issue of the fifty most serious current ethnopolitical conf licts is contention for state power among communal groups in the immediate aftermath of state formation, revolution, and efforts to democratize autocratic regimes.” Horowitz (1986) has noted that war and general constitutional changes can be catalysts to minority autonomy agreements. Van Cott (2001: 32) has argued that indigenous people in Latin America made autonomy claims more successfully during “discussions of fundamental regime issues,” such as in the context of peace talks or “debates on constitutional reform generated by larger crises of governability and legitimacy.” At the same time, special status arrangements also emerge in consolidated democratic states. At these times, they are, by definition, not associated with regime change. In such contexts, special status concessions have sometimes followed the election of governments intent on making major shifts in the constitutional order of the state. Examples are the special status arrangements for Scotland and Wales following the 1997 election of a Labour government in the United Kingdom (Henders 1997), as well as the statut particulier for Corsica examined in chapter five. At the same time, it would appear that broader constitutional ruptures and shifts are not usually the immediate cause of special status concessions. Rather, they facilitate state policymakers’ willingness to accept formal asymmetry. Why would this be so? To recall, Tilly has identified the paradoxical importance of “antistate institutions” in the construction of states in early modern Europe. Moreover, Tully (1995: 99) has identified the more recent prevalence of “hidden constitutions,” meaning deviations from the homogeneity and uniformity of institutions and political practices associated with modern constitutionalism. The term refers to discursive and institutional mechanisms that reduce the exclusionary effects of the modern territorial state and citizenship model, while formally retaining its logic. Tilly and Tully have focused initially on European and North American contexts, respectively, but cultural asymmetry and related competing power centers have encouraged governments elsewhere to use mechanisms analogous to “anti-state institutions” and “hidden constitutions.” For instance, ref lecting on the experience of Indonesia, Brown (2004) has argued that states often maintain their boundaries and coherence through a creative ambiguity between the symmetry and equality assumed by formal constitutions, laws, and regulations, and the deviations from these formal prescriptions in everyday politics. The present study is concerned with why state elites sometimes formalize these deviations in special status arrangements.

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Foucauldian understandings of identity, agency, and power offer some insight. This approach sees identity as inherently political, a part of regimes of knowledge and truth that produce, and are themselves sustained by, power. By this account, there is no “true” self, collective or individual, in the sense of a pure identity that existed prior to politics and is discoverable through processes uncorrupted by power. Identity is never a consequence of an entirely free will. Rather, all identities are the effects of power and its complex and shifting configurations, just as power is an effect of identity (see Mackenzie and Stoljar 2000; see also Henders 2004a). This political understanding of identity helps reveal the processes at work when special status arrangements emerge in the context of constitutional ruptures and shifts. To be perceived as legitimate, political movements, leaders, and governments must make convincing claims about their ability to defend and advance collective values. Claims about shared values imply the existence of a collective identity. Movements, leaders, and governments invoke collective identities instrumentally to create the sense of shared purpose needed to mobilize populations for collective political and economic goals. For sure, they are enabled and constrained by the previously existing repertoire of collective identity claims that script popular and elite imaginings of who they are as individuals and collectivities. However, the claims of elites about collective identities and values, in turn, contribute to how nations, citizenries, and minority territorial communities are imagined.1 If it is normal for political elites to make collective identity claims, these claims should be especially explicit and politically salient at times of constitutional rupture and shift. After all, these are times when political elites need to legitimate new configurations of power and mobilize populations to support new norms, practices, and institutions. It should be no surprise, then, that nationalist and other collective identity claims are integral parts of remaking political economic orders following wars and during state takeovers of new territory. The establishment of new regimes, such as during democratization or the establishment of Communist states following revolutionary wars, also requires especially intense collective identity claims to legitimate new power configurations, mobilize populations, and establish new constitutions. Regime change typically involves the renegotiation and legitimization of new constitutions and laws, which contain claims about the core values of and membership criteria for the state, nation, and demos. Collective identity claims also underlie constitutional provisions and laws on electoral systems, representative institutions, electoral and

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administrative boundaries, and the membership criteria for and the rights and duties of citizens. They are additionally necessary for (re) producing electoral and other political coalitions and interest groups (see Linz and Stepan 1996; see also Snyder 2000; Gladney 1998). As Chang (2004: 83) has observed, “the ‘uses’ of nation in real politics and regime transformation processes must be normal and prevalent.” Collective identity claims will also accompany the establishment and legitimization of a new government in a consolidated democracy, all the more so if the government aims at a significant shift in constitutional norms. “Individualistic” Approaches to Identity The invoking of collective identities during constitutional ruptures and shifts has implications for minority territorial communities because the process of making and reproducing collectivities is inherently exclusionary. This is an especially great risk when collective identity claims are based on the modern territorial state and citizenship model, which assumes identities are unitary and atomistic, or what Mackenzie and Stoljar (2000: 3) term “individualistic.” These terms will be used interchangeably in the present study. Individualistic approaches assert that identities are relatively fixed, internally coherent, monodimensional, territorially bounded, and prior to politics and other social interaction. Much of contemporary social theory rejects this approach. It instead understands identities to be f luid, internally incoherent or heterogeneous, multidimensional, territorially unbounded, and both political and relational. Identities are socially produced in the sense of being the product of ongoing social interaction and evolving shared understandings. They are political processes in that the social interactions and understandings that give rise to identities involve actors with unequal power. Moreover, they are political because they are internally contested and because any particular understanding of a shared identity will have uneven political effects, benefitting some individuals and groups more than others. The heterogeneity and multidimentionality of identities also have important implications. Tully speaks of identities as “intercultural” to draw attention to the cultural differences internal to individual and collective selves, not just those between them. Individuals are “intercultural” because of their multiple and f luid attachments to overlapping collectivities (Tully 1995: 13–14, 56). Individual and group identities are fragmented by the ties of individuals to multiple, hierarchically ordered

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groups defined by such attributes as gender, class, ethnicity, race, sexual orientation, and religion. From the late eighteenth century, assertions of “nation” gradually emerged as the dominant collective identity claim underpinning the modern territorial state and citizenship model. This collectivity has primarily been understood individualistically. “Nation” is asserted to have boundaries that do or should neatly coincide with those of the state. It is said to be composed of individuals with more in common than divides them, minimizing the importance of differences of gender, class, ethnicity, race, religion, and sexual orientation. Over the past several centuries, through processes to varying degrees violent, we have come to divide people and territory across the globe into discrete nation-states that are, in effect, institutionalized collective identity claims. Claims about unitary, atomistic identities attached to discrete territories are, thus, integral to the deep structure of the state system and global politics. One consequence of this modern territoriality has been citizenship institutions and practices that have exclusionary effects for minority territorial communities. In the nation-state, there is little room for these groups as collectivities. Their demands for recognition and protection have often been unrecognized, downplayed, or suppressed. The result has often been disaffection, protest, rebellion, and, occasionally, secession attempts. Sometimes, the elites of minority territorial communities have demanded a relaxation of the modern territorial state and citizenship model to allow for territorial-political recognition of and protection for the distinctive values of the community they claim to represent. Typically, they demand some measure of distinctive selfrule. In this way, the exclusionary citizenship associated with individualistic conceptions of the nation contributes to generating demands for departures from the standardized approaches to citizenship and territorial governance that produced the exclusion. Paradoxically, individualistic understandings of identity also often shape the ways that standardization is weakened in order to accommodate differences. This occurs to the extent that minority territorial communities, like nation-states, are treated as if their identities and values were fixed, internally coherent, monodimensional, territorially bounded, apolitical, and prior to social interaction. As Merry (2001: 41–42; see also Sieder and Witchell 2001) has pointed out, individualistic conceptions of collective identity take on hard structural characteristics when institutionalized in international and domestic legal documents and “common sense” ways of talking and

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thinking about identity. Consequently, the leaders of distinctive territorial communities—indigenous communities, in her example—will be more likely to gain recognition and entitlements for their communities if they portray them as having identities that are internally uncontested, clearly demarcated from other communities, and eternal. Gains are made, and the power of community elites reinforced, by hiding, ignoring, downplaying, and delegitimizing the complex lived experience of identity as f luid, internally contested, multiple, spatially unbounded, and cleft by multiple internal differences. At the same time, the choices of indigenous and minority community elites ref lect their relatively weak power position in external decisionmaking processes and the oppression by states and other powerful external agents that their communities confront. For these and other reasons, paradoxically, the processes of making and maintaining minority territorial communities can be just as exclusionary as the making and remaking of nation-states. Just as individualistic conceptions of the nation can contribute to exclusionary citizenship institutions and practices with respect to minority territorial communities, individualistic conceptions of the minority community can contribute to exclusionary citizenship with respect to vulnerable groups and individuals within that community. The latter are termed internal minorities in the present study. This raises the question of how special status arrangements can be designed so that this danger is minimized. We might hypothesize that when individualistic understandings of the minority territorial community are entrenched in the institutions and processes of special status, it is more likely that the arrangement will contribute to exclusionary citizenship with respect to internal minorities. The specific nature of the institutionalized collective values will affect the harm experienced by vulnerable groups and individuals. The Dual Axes of Contention So, individualistic approaches to identity, when institutionalized in the political systems of states and special status arrangements, potentially create exclusionary citizenship. Two main axes of political contestation—state-territorial and intraterritorial—result, as individuals and groups, or the elites claiming to represent them, challenge the resulting exclusion. State-territorial contestation is well recognized in the literature. Political conf lict associated with this axis involves the struggles of members of minority territorial communities for more inclusive terms of citizenship in the state, including through recognition

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and protection for their distinctiveness through special status arrangements and other group-differentiated rights. By contrast, intraterritorial conf lict involves struggles by internal minorities, or their representatives, for inclusive citizenship within the minority territorial community. These two axes of contestation are intertwined with others related to the ties of state and minority territorial community actors to communities and decisionmaking processes beyond the state, but these are largely bracketed by the present study.2 The political dynamics associated with state-territorial and intraterritorial contestation have a dialogic or, more accurately, multilogic character (Tully 2000; see also Linklater 1998). To Gladney (2004: 6), the political dynamics involved in such contexts are less dialectical than a complex dialogue, for “identities do not always emerge antithetically to the old: new identities may surface, old ones may be reinvented, and each will be in constant dialogue with the other.” The collective identities constituted by governmental institutions and practices will always be unjust because they will always fail to recognize and represent some members, or some dimensions of identity. As such, they constitute their own challengers, who will, in turn, seek recognition and accommodation, producing new exclusions. The resulting chains of struggle, negotiation, and accommodation are multiple and interconnected. The contestation observed is often connected to the issues identified in chapter two—state security, stability, and territorial integrity, social solidarity, equality, democracy, and economic modernization and development as well as economic globalization and regional integration. Outcomes The present study uses both order and justice criteria—specifically, stability and inclusive citizenship—to assess the outcomes of special status arrangements. The aim is to understand whether and under what conditions special status arrangements can bolster both order and justice when deviating from some of the institutionalized patterns of the modern territorial state and citizenship model. The aim is, thus, to investigate two contentions: that of Hannum (1990), who asserts that territorial autonomy arrangements are a compromise between state and minority rights that can help simultaneously advance both (see also Wolff and Weller 2005) and that of Kymlicka (1996), who asserts that minority autonomy arrangements can provide external protection to

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vulnerable minorities without being inherently hostile to the individual freedom of members of those communities. Stability First, the study examines whether the special status arrangements enhanced stability and under what circumstances this was likely to occur. Both the stability of the state and the special status territory are considered, and, drawing from Lustick (1979) and Arel (2001), both minimal and maximal stability are assessed. Minimal stability refers to whether there was continuity in the most important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain the political institutions of the state and special status arrangement. Minimal stability says nothing about the nature of state or special status political institutions, though their character, including the regime type, may be one factor inf luencing the political behavior of the relevant actors. Maximal stability sets a higher bar. It refers to whether political contestation related to the special status arrangement was institutionalized in the sense that politics was not characterized by mass violence or other extra-institutional political action, or by state repression or its threat. State stability is related, but not reducible to durability. The latter refers to whether the state remained territorially intact, its external borders unchanged by successful secessionist movements. It also refers to whether the special status arrangement was durable. Extrapolating from Nordquist (1998: 66), the durability of a special status arrangement is indicated by whether it “continued to exist on the basis of an operative political document after at least one constitutional change of government/head of government in the central state” and, given the focus of the present book, at least one constitutional change of government/administration within the territory. Note that durability does not require that the political documents setting out the institutions and processes of special status be static. However, to be consistent with maximal stability, any change must be achieved through institutionalized processes, as outlined earlier. Inclusive Citizenship The study also examines the impact of special status arrangements on the quality of citizenship for minority territorial communities and their internal minorities. Drawing from several authors, inclusive citizenship

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refers to fullness of belonging with respect to the multiple political and social processes, public and private, that enable or limit political participation, social inclusion, cultural recognition, and economic security and well-being in a political community. Citizenship is affected by the legal relationship between the individual and the state, based on formal rights and duties. However, it is also affected by the norms and practices of public authorities at multiple levels and of markets, communities, and families. All of these can negatively affect the identity and political and socio-economic positioning of individuals and groups (see Kabeer 2005; Wong 2002; Young 1990; Fraser 2003; Lister 2007). Citizenship has material dimensions, too. The distribution of economic, social, and political resources affects who fully belongs. Distribution is affected by markets, but also by the strength of and access to public and private protection systems. Citizenship is also about norms, practices, meanings, and identities (Isin and Turner 2002). It is affected by the dominant discourses and representational practices that exert social power through their capacity to tell people and communities who they and others are (see Williams 2007; see also Fraser 1997). In liberal terms, struggles for citizenship in the state have involved demands for equal, universal access to civil, political, and social rights for individuals, regardless of gender, age, ethnicity, religion, race, sexual orientation, or ideology. Historically, this has been achieved through extending formal citizenship rights and formal equality to expanding numbers of previously excluded groups (see Marshall 1973). More broadly, the strengthening of citizenship has involved struggles to establish supportive norms, practices, and institutionalized cultural values in all areas of life and spaces that impinge on the ability of individuals and communities to have equal respect and recognition and equal opportunities to achieve social esteem and material well-being (Fraser 2003). The struggle for inclusive citizenship has additionally come to encompass the demands for recognition, participation, inclusion, security and well-being by collectivities, including minority territorial communities. As we have seen, these struggles have involved demands for collective self-government and other group-differentiated rights over and above formal state-based individual citizenship rights. Achieving substantive as opposed to only formal equality has involved establishing institutions and practices that recognize differences of identity, needs, and positioning in hierarchies of gender, class, ethnicity, race, religion and sexual orientation. The territorial state is still the main space in which citizenship, understood as legal status or nationality, is realized. There are still relatively

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few citizenship laws made by suprastate authorities. However, if citizenship is understood in the broader sense outlined earlier—where it refers to fullness of belonging with respect to multiple political and social processes that affect political participation, social inclusion, cultural recognition, and economic security and well-being—a myriad of actors and processes beyond the state potentially inf luence its quality (see Lister 2007). Similarly, relatively few substate authorities have the autonomy to set their own formal citizenship norms and practices. However, when citizenship is understood to encompass more than formal status, then special status and other minority territorial authorities emerge as important sites where the terms of belonging are contested and negotiated. Like states, special status territories confront three particular challenges in this regard. First, the increasing mobility of people challenges the meanings and entitlements of citizenship, understandings of community, and efforts by public authorities to regulate people and territory (Desforges, Jones, and Woods 2005). Second, the contest for global economic competitiveness pressures public authorities and firms and other private realm actors at all levels to cut costs and inefficiency through practices that can diminish the quality of citizenship. Finally, as already discussed, the citizenship norms and practices of territorialized polities—both states and special status territories—enhance belonging for some individuals and groups and some dimensions of identity, but are simultaneously tools of exclusion (see Isin and Turner 2002). Indeed, the very territorial dimension of both states and special status territories as political communities appears to accentuate the potential for exclusion. As Campbell asserts, any territorial form of political authority will always fail to recognize and represent some individuals and/or some dimension of their complex identities. However, the more authority is based on the bounded territoriality of the individualistic “nationalist imaginary,” the greater the risk that it will marginalize some residents (Campbell 1998: 143; see also Young 2000). One purpose of the present study is to examine the challenges to citizenship posed by the intersection of territory and identity in particular cases of special status. As Young (2000: 197) wrote, “[s]patial group differentiation . . . should be voluntary, f luid, without clear borders, and with many overlapping, unmarked, and hybrid places.” If this is so, what factors contribute to its development? As Tully asserts, there is no ideal configuration of institutions, discourses, and resources that will satisfy the identities and needs of the contending parties forever. Given the f luidity and intercultural complexity of individual and collective identities, given the persistent

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exclusion caused by territorialized political institutions and by processes associated with economic globalization, citizenship conf licts cannot be permanently solved. Rather, Tully says the aim should be to maintain institutions and practices that accommodate ongoing, free, and openended contestation over identities and belonging at multiple levels. For Tully, freedom is the goal, “the freedom of the members of an open society to change the constitutional rules of mutual recognition and association from time to time as their identities change” (2001: 4–6). The cases studied here permit analysis of the effects of regime type on the open-endedness of special status arrangements, including but not limited to contexts of democratization. As Wanda Dressler (2002: 9) has put it with respect to the experience of democratization in postSoviet Europe, the central question is what “level of institutionalisation and f luidity of cultural difference must be allowed so that what is regarded as an advance in representative democracy does not turn into its opposite.” A further clarification about the uses of the term “democracy” in the present study is necessary. Unless otherwise modified, it refers to formal democracy, understood in procedural terms as a political system with regular, competitive, free, and fair multiparty elections based on universal adult suffrage, backed by protection for individual civil and political rights, where the elections are used to select an executive and/ or legislature with binding decisionmaking authority. Formal democracy is characterized both by elections and a range of liberal institutions such as free speech, freedom of association, and the rule of law and other elements of constitutionalism. However, after Young (2001), the study takes the position that even societies that are not formally democratic may still possess some democratic and/or liberal elements. Hong Kong is an example of such a polity. A later section will specify how the notion of inclusive democracy as applied to minority territorial communities and their internal minorities is operationalized in the present study. The Study Method The study uses a case-oriented comparative approach broadly based on what Alexander George (1979) has called “structured, focused comparison.” This comparative approach involves asking generalized questions of a small number of cases of the same phenomenon and formulating

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in terms of generalizable factors, accounts of outcomes that interest the researcher. George has argued that structured, focused comparisons are appropriate for exploratory studies of phenomena about which we know relatively little and may be particularly useful for identifying subsets of the phenomenon under study. As George and Fredrickson have explained (1981), structured, focused comparison looks at uniqueness against a background of similarity amongst cases. The researcher aims to identify and explain some of the complexity of the phenomenon and the discrete causal patterns evident in a few cases that may indicate key variations within the wider set. In the present study, structured, focused comparison is used to identify and explain both the commonalities and differences in the special status arrangements examined. This includes analogous characteristics that may have distinctive origins as well as patterns that may, if studied across a larger set of cases, prove generalizable across all special status arrangements or within a subset of them. Case Selection The diversity of the cases studied—Catalonia, Corsica, Hong Kong, and central Tibet—serves several purposes. It allows comparative study of some of the important contexts of constitutional rupture or shift in which special status arrangements have arisen since World War I (see Henders 1997). The four contexts of origin examined here include: democratization, democratic maintenance, decolonization and postcommunist marketization, and communist state-building. Further research is needed to determine the extent to which the cases studied are typical of all instances of special status associated with these particular contexts. The following paragraphs brief ly outline the constitutional rupture or shift associated with the emergence of the cases studied in this book. Democratization: The agreement that permitted Catalonia to become an Autonomous Community (Comunidad Autonoma) with distinctive features was part of the constitutional pacts that led to the democratization of Spain following the death in 1975 of dictator Francisco Franco. Democratic Maintenance: The territorial authority created under the 1982/83 statut particulier for Corsica was an instance of a special status arrangement emerging during a constitutional shift within a consolidated democracy. The shift involved changes associated with statewide decentralization reforms made by the newly elected socialist

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government of the time and that aimed to revitalize democracy and the economy both in Corsica and across France. Decolonization State-building and Post-Communist Marketization: The Sino-British Joint Declaration paved the way for British Hong Kong to become a Special Administrative Region within China in 1997. The agreement emerged out of the efforts of post-Mao Chinese leaders to end British colonial rule of the territory, while advancing China’s market-led economic modernization. Communist State-building: The unusual degree of special status permitted central Tibet in the 1950s was a state-building technique deployed by the leadership of the newly established People’s Republic of China (PRC) in a hostile Cold War climate. The second reason for focusing on such diverse cases is to extend to non-Western and non-democratic contexts the “new debate on minority rights,” which has had Western liberal democracies as its principal focus (Kymlicka and Norman 2000: 2). The cases allow for the comparison of two examples of special status in Western democratic/ democratizing states—Corsica and Catalonia—with two in authoritarian China—central Tibet and Hong Kong, permitting preliminary observations on the effects of regime type. Third, the choice of cases permits comparative study of polities and societies inf luenced by liberalism and communism. As we have seen, both social theories have, in their dominant forms, been hostile to asymmetry and the recognition of cultural difference. The cases allow consideration of why special status arrangements arise in what would appear to be normatively inhospitable environments. They also permit the study of prospects for outcomes supportive of stability as well as inclusive citizenship in such circumstances. Fourth, the case selection permits examination of special status arrangements with differing directionality and temporality. It permits the comparison of cases that are integrative and temporary (Hong Kong and central Tibet) with cases that are devolutionary and permanent (Catalonia and Corsica). In addition, the case selection allows for comparison of special status in relatively wealthy territories (Catalonia and Hong Kong) with relatively poor ones (Corsica and central Tibet). Nevertheless, the choice of such divergent cases raises questions about their comparability. Some will question whether special status arrangements in authoritarian states are the same phenomenon as those in democratic states. This is a legitimate concern. Nevertheless, the phenomenon of special status arrangements must be broadly defined if

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we are to study them in contexts beyond the democratic West. A broad definition of special status arrangements is also necessary if we are to study the effect of regime type on the use of asymmetrical territorial governance in contemporary states. A second difficulty with respect to the comparability of the cases concerns their historical time frame. Central Tibet’s special status under the Seventeen-Point Agreement spanned the 1951 to 1959 period, while the Corsica, Catalonia, and Hong Kong special status arrangements were all negotiated in the late 1970s and early 1980s and implemented in the years following. The situation is unavoidable if we are to include in the comparison an instance of special status associated with Communist state-building. Minority territorial autonomy arrangements were widely used in the building of the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, China, and Vietnam in the twentieth century (Connor 1984). However, all of these arrangements emerged prior to the late 1970s. To help address the lack of common timeframe across the four cases studied here, the analysis of central Tibet is extended beyond the collapse of the SeventeenPoint Agreement in 1959 to include the Tibet Autonomous Region, the territorial autonomy arrangement subsequently applied to central Tibet and which took on particular importance following the Cultural Revolution, precisely in the period in which the other three special status arrangements were established. A third issue with respect to comparability concerns variations in the nature of the dominant identity claims associated with the cases. This will be most obvious with respect to Hong Kong, whose special status arrangement primarily protects the territory’s liberal capitalist way of life, according to dominant representations. By comparison, the other special status arrangements are normally represented as protecting minority communities whose distinctiveness is ethnolinguistic and also religious in the case of central Tibet. However, in practice, there are multiple and competing identity discourses associated with each of the four arrangements. Moreover, in addition to protecting liberal capitalism, the Hong Kong arrangement also protects the territory’s distinctive Cantonese and English ethnolinguistic identifications, for instance. In the case of Corsica, the special status arrangement protects the Corsican language and culture, but also is a response to the territory’s island status and its associated socio-economic vulnerability. For central Tibetans, in addition to ethnolinguistic and religious identity claims, contestation over autonomy and special status also arises from the poverty of Tibetans and the vulnerability of Himalayan ecosystems. In all cases, the special status arrangement is associated with a territorial

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community claimed to have an identity distinct from the core of the state. The specific nature of this identity and its associated values are, in each case, multiple and contested political claims, regardless of their attribute of focus. The study will consider on how this contestation plays out in the political dynamics of each arrangement and how the particular characteristics of dominant identity claims affects the outcomes, particularly with respect to inclusive citizenship. Sources This book relies mainly on English-language secondary literature by academic writers specializing in the study of each of the four territories. It makes some use of English-language primary documents and more limited use of Spanish, French, and Chinese-language primary and secondary sources. Interviews were conducted by the author in Catalonia, Corsica, and Hong Kong. These were mainly for background purposes and only a few have been explicitly cited here. The data for the study were, with a few exceptions, gathered before autumn 2006. The primary and secondary sources available on central Tibet were more limited than those for the other cases, due to the barriers to conducting independent research on a politically sensitive topic in an authoritarian state. The sources available say little about the actual operations of political institutions within China’s central party-state and central Tibet or their impact on Tibetan society. The case study on central Tibet will discuss this issue further. The limitations on media freedom and on conducting independent academic research in the PRC also restricted the relative availability of primary and secondary source material on central government decisionmaking with respect to Hong Kong. Research Questions In accordance with the method of structured, focused comparison, the study asks generalized questions of each case, derived from the analytical framework presented in chapters two and three. The aim is to understand the similarities and differences in the special status arrangements in terms of their origins, nature, political dynamics, and outcomes. The questions are as follows. Origins: The study asks why state actors agreed to the special status concessions, identifying both facilitating factors and immediate causes.

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Nature: The study asks what features were associated with each special status arrangement. It identifies their normative and institutional characteristics, but also their type and degree of asymmetry, directionality, and temporality. In addition, it identifies the dominant discourses of identity associated with each arrangement. Political Dynamics: The study asks what political dynamics were associated with each arrangement. Specifically, it identifies the key tensions related to asymmetry and autonomy, associated with both the stateterritorial and the intraterritorial axes of conf lict. Particular attention is paid to tensions related to state security, stability, and territorial integrity; social solidarity; equality; democracy; and modernization and economic development as well as economic globalization and regional integration, as outlined in chapter two. Outcomes: In keeping with its focus on order and justice, the study asks whether the special status arrangements contributed to enhancing stability for both the state and special status arrangement and to enhancing inclusive citizenship for both the minority territorial community and its internal minorities. The indicators of stability used were detailed earlier in the present chapter. The indicators of inclusive citizenship are outlined below. First, the study will use the strength of the political autonomy of the territorial authority as an indicator of the strength of the inclusive citizenship of the minority territorial community within the state, recognizing that this is but one albeit critical ingredient in full belonging. The study will examine four factors that contribute significantly to the degree of political autonomy of the territorial authorities: de jure and de facto final decisionmaking authority; de jure and de facto fiscal autonomy; de jure and de facto external effectiveness in state decisionmaking; and de jure and de facto scope for asymmetrical policies (see Agranoff 2004). The indicators are general enough to permit the comparative assessment of the strength of political autonomy in arrangements in both democratic and non-democratic contexts. At the same time, they allow examination of the effect of democratic elections and constitutionalist institutions, norms, and processes on political autonomy. A number of studies suggest that political autonomy will be greater in democratic constitutionalist polities than in their non-democratic, nonconstitutionalist counterparts (e.g., Agranoff 2004; see also Davis 1989). Final decisionmaking authority refers to the extent that the territorial executive, legislature, judiciary, and other public bodies have the de jure and de facto authority to make their own decisions in their areas of competence without state interference or oversight. Final

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decisionmaking authority is closely connected to what Agranoff has termed the “power of immunity” of territorial authorities vis-à-vis the state (Agranoff 2004: 30, 40, 58–59). Fiscal autonomy also affects the strength of political autonomy. It includes both the degree of formal fiscal authority of the territorial authorities and their de facto fiscal autonomy, particularly their actual fiscal capacity. Political autonomy will be strengthened to the extent that territorial authorities have the authority to raise and keep locally generated tax revenue, set tax rates, and determine how revenue is spent. However, formal authority will mean little if the society is poor and unable to generate tax revenue commensurate with the policy authority and needs of the special status territory government. State revenue transfers are critical. A third factor affecting political autonomy concerns the degree to which the territorial authority is “externally effective” (Davis 1989: Chapter 5). “External effectiveness” refers to the extent to which the territorial government has the authority to participate in and the ability to inf luence external decisionmaking processes that potentially affect its competencies or otherwise harm territorial values and interests. The decisionmaking processes of concern exist both within and beyond the state in both the private and public realms. However, the present study mainly examines the de jure and de facto external effectiveness of territorial authorities in state decisionmaking processes. It will focus primarily on two indicators of external effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes: the strength of territorial representation and/or inf luence in state executives, legislatures, judiciaries, and political parties and whether territorial authorities or voters have an effective veto over processes for amending state laws or constitutions that affect the status and prerogatives of the territorial authorities or the group-differentiated rights of territorial residents (see Beramendi and Máiz 2004; Wolff 2005). We might expect external effectiveness to be considerably reduced if autonomy provisions in laws or constitutions can be revoked without the consent of territorial residents or their locally elected or chosen representatives. This suggests that the strongest political autonomy will be available in federal states or in special status arrangements that allow federal-style constitutional protection to the territorial authority. Scope for asymmetrical policies is the final factor contributing to territorial political autonomy, to be examined in the book. Scope for asymmetrical policies refers to the extent that the territorial authority can, de jure and in practice, deviate from the policies standardized

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elsewhere in the state. Without this possibility, the choices available to the territorial authorities will be constrained. With respect to internal minorities, the specific vulnerable groups examined are: in Catalonia, women, native Castilian-speakers, and immigrants, especially those from North Africa; in Corsica, women and immigrants, especially those from North Africa; in Hong Kong, women, the poor, including poor recent mainland immigrants, nonHan Chinese, and the democratic opposition; and in central Tibet, the poor, mostly rural ethnic Tibetan majority, poor non-Tibetan minority nationalities, and Tibetan dissidents. The study aims to determine to what extent and in what ways, if at all, the exclusion experienced by these vulnerable groups was attributable to or aggravated by the special status arrangement including its institutions, discourses, and political dynamics. Because the published data on internally inclusive citizenship is generally weak and is very uneven across the cases, the conclusions offered will be particularly tentative. As noted earlier, inclusive citizenship, in its fullest terms, refers to the fullness of belonging with respect to the multiple political and social processes, public and private, that enable or limit political participation, social inclusion, cultural recognition, and economic security and well-being. The focus in the present study will be on the following indicators of inclusive citizenship: whether vulnerable individuals and groups had the right to participate as voters, candidates, and elected officials in territorial executives and legislatures; the extent to which they were represented in the ranks of elected officials and territorial administrators; whether the material distribution of resources disproportionately disadvantaged members of these groups, judged by such indicators as poverty rates, income distribution data, and human development indices as well as by the availability of public social protection schemes; and whether the values and membership criteria for the minority territorial community were exclusionary, as expressed in institutions and dominant discourses. As the available published information varied across the cases, not all of these indicators have been assessed for all of the cases. Chapters four through seven, which follow, provide case studies of the four special status arrangements of focus.

CH A P T E R

FOU R

Catalonia as an Autonomous Community

The building of a state composed of autonomous regions is our only way out of Spain’s current problems, but it is also the principal risk that threatens our fragile democracy. Spanish Prime Minister Adolfo Suárez, 1980 By means of this Statute, Catalonia wishes to progress towards an improved form of democracy. Preamble, Proposal for Reform of the Autonomy Statute of Catalonia, Catalan Parliament, 2005 The post-communist transitions from authoritarian rule in post-Cold War East and Central Europe refocused attention on the sometimes problematic relationship among state, nation(s), and democratization, or what Linz and Stepan (1996: 16) have called “stateness.” This often conf lict-ridden triad has confounded attempts to establish stable democratic regimes in some states with minority territorial communities. Not so for post-Franco Spain. Following the 1975 death of General Francisco Franco, Spanish political elites successfully secured a democratic transition partly by agreeing to give special status to Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia, the so-called historic regions. A region of northeast Spain, Catalonia had active nationalist movements claiming the territory had a distinct identity due to its language (Catalan), economic and social dynamism, and history of autonomous political institutions. A few nationalists demanded independence, but most were moderates calling for the reestablishment of Catalonia’s earlier autonomous political status within a democratic Spain.

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This chapter argues that the decision by Spanish elites to grant Catalonia special status was closely connected to the democratization process itself, due to the close relationship between the struggles for democracy and for ethnic minority recognition. Franco-era elites needed the support of Catalan nationalists and voters if they were to maintain power while successfully negotiating a transition to democracy for Spain. They also needed to placate the even more highly mobilized Basque nationalists, some of whom had resorted to violent tactics. The Catalan special status arrangement in many ways is an example of the successful use of special status by political elites attempting to negotiate a complex and fragile transition from authoritarian to democratic rule. It also points to the limits of the ability of special status arrangements to enhance inclusive citizenship within a liberal democratic and a capitalist order. The arrangement has contributed to the stability of the Spanish state. However, conf licts over perceived incompatibilities between asymmetrical autonomy and Spanish national unity, equality, and social solidarity have restricted the degree of asymmetry permitted Catalan authorities. Market forces and European integration also restricted the ability of Catalan governments to protect Catalan culture and depart from standardized norms, even if, comparatively speaking, their political autonomy has been significant. In addition, the arrangement’s record for enhancing inclusive citizenship was mixed, even if the exclusion experienced by these groups largely did not originate with the arrangement. Background Spain has experienced ongoing conf licts over the territorial distribution of political authority due to asymmetries of history, language, identity, socioeconomic factors, and geography. As one of Europe’s oldest states, Spain encompassed all of its present-day territory by 1512. The fact that state-building occurred under monarchical government prior to the rise of nationalism helps explain the continuing salience of territorial identities and the periodic willingness of the political center to permit territorial elites to retain some prior privileges and separate laws (Linz 1973; see also Comas 2003). In the past two centuries, territorial identity claims, intertwined with conf licts over secularization and class interests, continued to be politically salient in Spain, including with the emergence of the first explicitly Catalan nationalist program in the late nineteenth century. By this time, the central state had been weakened

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by ideological conf licts, the loss of empire, economic stagnation, and uneven development. It could offer little to the minority territorial communities, and its nationalist projects could not fully integrate them into the Castilian core. With the emergence of the Spanish state, Catalonia experienced periods of relative political and cultural autonomy interspersed with central government attempts at centralization and, in later years, assimilation. The territory lost many of its autonomous political institutions and some of its distinct private law system in 1714, following the War of Spanish Succession. Catalan authorities regained some of their autonomy under the Mancomunitat (1913–23) and again during the Spanish Second Republic (1932–36). Following plebiscites, the central government agreed to draft autonomy statutes for Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia. By the time the Spanish Civil War began in 1936, only the Catalan statute had been implemented, establishing the Generalitat, made up of a Catalan parliament, president, and executive council. After the war, the Franco regime abrogated the autonomy statutes. It also made the suppression of public expressions of territorial identity a pillar of its political program. During the harshest period, from 1939 to 1943, the regime banned Catalan from public use, including in the work place and street conversations; destroyed Catalan books and patriotic monuments; fired or transferred outside the territory teachers sympathetic to the Catalan cause; prohibited university classes and institutions dedicated to Catalan culture and purged university staff; banned the Catalan f lag, anthem, national dance, and songs; and even censored private correspondence in Catalan. It also fired, fined, jailed, or forced into exiled many individuals who resisted (Conversi 1997). In later years, the regime allowed public expressions of Catalan identity in only specified controlled circumstances. In 1973, there were only two hours of Catalan-language television programming permitted monthly (Argelaguet 2003). At the same time, like Spanish governments before it, the Franco regime used selective departures from standardized territorial governance to build political support. It permitted the continuance of the 1841 Ley Paccionada, which granted privileges to the historically Basque region of Navarre to bolster the government’s anti-Republican supporters. It also permitted the tax privileges granted to Alava under the 1876 Conciertos Económicos, while eliminating the historic privileges of the other two Basque provinces (Linz 1989). In Catalonia, there was an attempt to codify the territory’s distinct civil laws and some limited toleration of their use (Coll 2003).

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For their part, most ethnic Catalans living in what was to become the Catalan Autonomous Community retained a sense of distinct identity. This was primarily based on the widespread use and symbolic importance of the Catalan language. Other important factors were, the maintenance of Catalan civil law and an identification with Catalonia’s history as a commercial empire and a territory with separate political institutions. Unlike most other regional languages in Spain, Catalan enjoyed high prestige, including amongst urban dwellers and the middle classes, even when they also spoke Castilian. The territorial language was the most important vehicle of communication in business, and Catalan skills were critical for social advancement (Conversi 1997; Hoffmann 1995). By the time of Franco’s death, about 78 percent of Catalonia residents still claimed to speak Catalan, the proportion rising to 97 percent amongst the locally born (Shabad and Gunther 1982; Shabad and Ramo 1995). Throughout the Franco years, the fight for the recognition of Catalan identity and for self-government became intertwined with the struggle for democracy, such that many in Catalonia saw the two objectives as interdependent. There was significant cooperation amongst Catalan nationalist and non-nationalist oppositions. By the late 1970s, Catalan nationalist elites, many of whom had spent years in exile, could legitimately claim broad support from Catalan political groups of diverse ideologies and political persuasions, including worker and pro-democracy movements, as well as non-nationalist political parties. Thus, the leaders of the post-Franco regime confronted a relatively coherent Catalan opposition when they attempted to negotiate the democratization of Spain through a series of consensus-based constitutional pacts. Then, as now, the territory also carried electoral weight due to its population and economic clout. By the early 1970s, Catalonia had just over 15 percent of the Spanish population of 33.8 million, but generated more than 20 percent of Spanish GDP and was an important source of state tax revenue. In the early transition, Catalonia accounted for 48 Congressional seats (nearly 14 percent). By the early 1980s, Spain had established a regime based on constitutionalist, liberal democratic principles with an increasingly Europeanstyle welfare state. The constitutional pacts that made this possible addressed several issues: the democratization of political institutions; the role of the state in socioeconomic relationships; and, of most direct concern here, the territorial distribution of political authority and the character of the Spanish nation and of sovereignty. In the latter “stateness” pact, elites agreed to devolve some political autonomy

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to democratically accountable institutions in the “historic regions,” a term referring to the territories promised autonomy under the Second Republic. Along with Andalucia, they became the first Autonomous Communities (Comunidades Autonómicas, ACs). In 1977, the Spanish government revived the Catalan Generalitat. Two years later, the Cortes (Spanish parliament) approved the Catalan Autonomy Statute. However, the formal asymmetry of the Catalan AC was weak from the start. The post-Franco Spanish Constitution allowed groups of provinces across the country to form ACs with competencies similar to the “historic regions.” By spring 1984, there were 17 territorial authorities with autonomy statutes and elected parliaments, covering the entire state, as well as two autonomous cities. The competencies of the ACs became increasingly similar over time. For analytical purposes, the present chapter largely treats the case of Catalan special status in isolation. In practice, its story is closely tied to the process of devolution that has occurred across Spain more generally and, especially, the struggle over asymmetry and autonomy with respect to the Basque AC. The Basque Nationalist Party, which is moderate and Christian Democratic, dominated the Basque parliament from 1978 until losing control following the election of May 2009, although it sometimes governed through coalitions. Unlike Catalonia, the Basque Country has a violent nationalist separatist movement, Basque Homeland and Freedom (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, ETA). In 2004, the Basque parliament approved a plan for a possible referendum on the territory becoming “a free state associated with Spain.” Despite these differences, Catalan territorial politics, like those of the Basques, have been dominated by political parties representing various intensities and varieties of Catalan nationalism and a range of ideological orientations. From the first election in 1980 until 2003, Catalonia was governed by Center-Right Christian Democratic and moderate nationalist coalitions led by Convergence and Union (Convergència i Unió, CiU) under President Jordi Pujol. In 2003, the CiU lost control to the Socialist Party of Catalonia (Partit dels Socialistes de Catalunya, PSC), which formed a coalition with the left-wing independence-supporting Catalan Republican Left (Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya, ERC) and the former-communist eco-socialist party Green Initiative for Catalonia-United Left Alternative (Iniciativa per Catalunya VerdsEsquerra Unida i Alternativa, ICV-EUiA). Even with the change of government, the CiU remained the party with the most seats in the Catalan parliament and even the PSC called itself “Catalanist.”

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Although the CiU had, under Pujol, championed a distinctive status for Catalonia amongst the ACs of Spain, in recent years Catalan politicians have largely been more accepting of AC uniformism, perhaps content with their success in gaining autonomy concessions for Catalonia even if these have later been generalized across the country (see Losada and Máiz 2005; Davis 2004). As the then Socialist Catalan President Pasqual Maragall put it during negotiations for a new Catalan autonomy statute in 2005, “The statute does not have to be particular . . . the word nation is polysemic” (The Economist, June 18, 2005). The new statute, with expanded powers for the territory, was approved by the Spanish Congress and endorsed by 73.2 percent of Catalan electors voting in a referendum in 2006. Voter turnout was under 49 percent. The ongoing push by Catalan governments to expand the territory’s autonomy is not evidence of a homogeneous society, as individualistic conceptions of minority territorial communities would suggest. Rather, as the chapter will detail, the core values of the community, the purposes of self-rule, and the status of Catalonia within Spain were all contested within and outside the territory. Even the boundaries of Catalonia are not clear cut. The political borders of the Catalan AC roughly coincide with the old Principality of Catalonia. However, if Catalonia were to include all territories where variants of Catalan are spoken, it might include the Balearic Islands, Valencia (although some regard Valencian as a separate language rather than a variant of Catalan), and parts of Aragon, all of which are separate ACs. It would also take in parts of southwest France. The expanse of Catalan-inf luenced areas ref lects the trading links and conquests made by the Principality of Catalonia which, during the late Middle Ages, was an important maritime power under the crown of Aragon. Internally, the Catalan AC has been ethnolinguistically diverse, with ethnic and class boundaries often coinciding. The first part of Spain to industrialize in the nineteenth century, Catalonia was also the motor of Spain’s late “economic miracle” under Francoist economic liberalization in the 1960s and 1970s. The political economy characteristics of the territory have had a number of consequences. For one, the ethnic Catalan bourgeoisie who led the early nineteenth-century economic transformation through the expansion of textile manufacture, became an important social base for Catalan nationalist movements. More recently, the CiU maintained strong links with ethnic Catalan small business owners. Meanwhile, Catalan industry attracted large numbers of workers from poorer Castilian-speaking areas of Spain, especially Andalucia. From 1940 to 1970, the Catalan population more

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than doubled. By 1981, about 35 percent of its 5.1 million residents were born outside Catalonia. Nearly half of residents had family origins outside the region. These individuals often had identities different from native Catalan speakers and those whose families had lived in the territory for generations. They also often had different economic interests, as individuals who were not locally born tended also to be overrepresented in low-status, lower paid occupations. Only 38 percent of them spoke Catalan, compared to 98 percent of their locally born counterparts (Shabad and Gunther 1982; Shabad and Ramo 1995; Gunther, Sani, and Shabad 1986). More recently, Catalonia has become even more heterogeneous, with the arrival of significant numbers of non-Spanish migrant workers, particularly from North Africa. In 2003, about one third of Spain’s 2.6 million foreign residents lived in Catalonia, mostly in Barcelona. In 2004, about 20 percent of Catalonia’s foreign residents were from outside Europe, most from Morocco, compared to only 1 percent in the late 1980s. Although still accounting for only a small percentage of the Catalan population, by 2004 immigrants made up about 60 percent of new school children in the territory (Agusti-Panareda 2006). They were also disproportionately represented amongst the poor. Origins As chapter three discussed, stateness issues tend to be highly politically salient during transitions from authoritarian rule in states with minority territory communities. However, not every such democratization process helps bring about a special status arrangement. Particular institutional and socio-political characteristics of the Spanish transition and of Catalonia’s place in it pushed Spanish elites to agree to the creation of the Catalan AC. First, the Franco years had convinced Catalan political elites that democratization required the recognition of territorial-cultural difference and that territorial self-rule would not be restored without democratization (Giner 1984; Giner and Moreno 1990). This conviction encouraged wide support for the restoration of Catalan autonomy amongst political groups and movements beyond the nationalist political parties. Reestablishing Catalan autonomy was not the majority view in popular Catalan circles until later in the transition (Blas Guerrero 1989), but its support amongst political elites, organizations, and movements made it harder for Spanish elites to ignore.

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The pressure on the Spanish government due to Basque nationalist mobilization also increased the political weight of Catalan autonomy demands. In the early months of the transition in late 1976 and early 1977, Basque nationalists mobilized citizens in strikes and street demonstrations demanding democracy, autonomy, independence, and an amnesty for political prisoners. There was also a series of violent attacks by radical Basque nationalists and a sense that Basque nationalist mobilization could derail democratization (see Vallès 1992; Linz 1989). Although Catalonia was comparatively quiet, many of its residents sympathized with Basque demands, if not the extreme methods used by some. On September 11, 1977, more than a million people participated in Barcelona celebrations for the Diada, Catalan national day. There were calls for political freedom, amnesty, and reestablishment of the Generalitat. A little more than two weeks later, the Spanish government agreed provisionally to reinstate the Generalitat. Shortly after, it recalled Josep Tarradellas, the exiled Catalan president, to be its leader (Conversi 1997). The nature of the Spanish and Catalan party systems, the political climate of the first post-Franco Spanish elections in June 1977, and Catalonia’s electoral importance helped cement support for restoring Catalonia’s autonomy. Across Spain, political parties were newly formed or newly legalized and, thus, were financially and institutionally weak. They depended on symbolic resources to mobilize supporters. In Catalonia, parties across the political spectrum appealed to Catalan identity and demands for self-government (Vallès 1992; Pérez-Díaz 1993). Even the Union of the Democratic Center (Unión de Centro Democrático or UCD), the Francoist party governing Spain during the transition, supported Catalan autonomy when campaigning in Catalonia. This strategy grew out of its links with territorial parties and its inability to attract voters with discredited Spanish nationalist claims (Maravall and Santamaría 1986; Linz 1989; Aguilar 1997). The Spanish Socialist Workers Party (Partido Socialista Obrero Español, PSOE) became “Catalanized,” combining ideological and Catalan nationalist issues to appeal to a wider spectrum of voters (Marsal and Roiz 1985; Carretero 1988). The 1977 election itself produced a minority UCD government for Spain that depended on the votes of the PSOE and the Pujol-led Democratic Pact for Catalonia (Pacte Democràtic per Catalunya, DPC) to maintain a majority in Congress. Both backed Catalan self-rule. In a pattern that would repeat itself many times, Catalan politicians successfully extracted autonomy concessions when minority governments in Madrid depended on the votes of nationalist Catalan deputies in Congress.1

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Other factors facilitated the decision by Spanish political elites to grant Catalonia self-rule. By the onset of the post-Franco transition, the PSOE and the Spanish Communist Party (Partido Comunista de España, PCE) had largely abandoned their suspicion of substate ethno-nationalism as a basis for political mobilization, having spent years in common cause with anti-Franco minority nationalists (Guibernau 2000). Spain’s earlier history of tolerating distinct regional laws and privileges also provided a “usable past” for those who sought legitimacy for minority autonomy and special status concessions (Keating 2001b: 223; see also Linz 1973; Moreno 2001). That moderate nationalists were dominant in Catalonia—there were few supporters of independence—made autonomy a less risky option for the Spanish government, compared to the Basque case. Further, key Catalan nationalist leaders, including Pujol, shared the socioeconomic conservatism of the UCD Spanish government (see Heiberg 1982; Linz 1973). The willingness of state and Catalan elites to compromise was also facilitated by a desire, thought to have been widespread amongst Spanish elites at the time, to avoid a repetition of the bloodshed and animosity of the Civil War years (see Edles 1995; Aguilar 1997; Pérez-Díaz 1990; Maravall and Santamaría 1986). The Nature of Catalan Special Status The institutional features of the Catalan special status arrangement ref lected the nature of the democratization process in which it arose: equality norms, sometimes mobilized through electoral competition, were especially politically salient (Blas Guerrero 1992; Vallès 1992; Linz 1989); the transition was shepherded by Franco-era elites rather than pushed by forces from below, resulting in the continuity of some norms, institutions, and decisionmakers from the authoritarian period; and there was considerable uncertainty as to the outcome, not least because of danger that a right-wing backlash could ensue should devolution and special status concessions go too far. Consequently, the arrangement was constrained in terms of the autonomy and special status it permitted Catalan authorities. The following analysis is based primarily on the 1979 Catalan autonomy statute. The 2006 revised statute is discussed in a later section. The post-Franco Constitution and its distribution of territorial political authority, embodied antagonistic visions of the new democratic state. One stressed its unitary nature, centralization, and homogeneity

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along the lines of the modern territorial state and citizen model. The other opened the way for a federalizing, decentralized, even asymmetrically organized Spain. Art. 1 established a single sovereignty “residing in the Spanish people, from which the powers of the State emanate” and stressed the “indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation, common and indivisible patria of all Spaniards.” By contrast, Art. 2 recognized and guaranteed “the right to autonomy of the nationalities and regions of which it is comprised.” By speaking of “nationalities” and “regions,” the Constitution implied differences amongst Spain’s territorial communities and individual citizens. Yet, as explained below, the Constitution also stressed the equality of Spaniards and ACs. These ambiguities and contradictions facilitated agreements amongst politicians with differing understandings of the stateness of Spain. However, the constitutional order also provided institutional resources for those who sought standardization and a slowing down of devolution in the 1980s (Vallès 1992; Linz 1989; Bonime-Blanc 1987; Pérez-Díaz 1990; Maravall 1982). The contours of the “state of the autonomies” (estado de las autonomias) ref lected contradictory constitutional norms, too. For the “historic regions” such as Catalonia, the Constitution provided a quicker route to establishing an AC with the most expansive competencies possible under the Constitution (Transitional Provision Art. 1 and 2). Andalucia also became an AC by this route. However, the Constitution allowed any contiguous group of provinces to form ACs and eventually gain the same competencies (Chapter III generally, esp. Art. 143). If standardization was thereby encouraged, there also was some limited scope for asymmetry. The Constitution initially allowed a smorgasbord approach to devolution, permitting AC authorities to choose from the constitutionally available competencies and the Spanish parliament to devolve its own competencies to one or more ACs (Art. 148, 150). The competencies available to ACs under the Constitution included wide-ranging economic authority in matters concerning mountains, forests, agriculture, livestock, and fishing in local waters; the internal production, distribution, and transportation of energy; territorial and urban planning; public works that affect only the AC; water resources; local roads and highways; and, with some exceptions, internal commerce and industry; as well as education, health, and social services. State competencies under the constitution included such matters as foreign policy; defense; monetary affairs; customs; banking and insurance; economic stabilization; pensions; unemployment insurance; and the administration of justice (Art. 148, 149, 150). There were also many areas of shared competence, more of which below.

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These constitutional provisions, along with other factors, resulted in mild special status for Catalonia under the 1979 autonomy statute, within a country-wide territorial governance regime that has other asymmetrical features. For instance, Catalonia, but also the Basque Country, have their own, largely autonomous police forces, which share policing with state agencies (see Hannum 1990). The central government also has less control over the governments of the “historical regions” in such matters as the size of cabinets and timing of elections. The territorial administrations of these regions also have had fewer civil servants transferred from the central administration as part of devolution (Agranoff 2005). The Spanish Constitution recognizes Catalan as a regional language coofficial with Castilian, but also Euskara (Basque), Galician, Valencian, and Majorcan, the latter two Catalan variants. Both Catalonia and Galicia have their own civil laws. Moreover, in matters of tax and fiscal autonomy, Catalonia is actually less autonomous than the Basque and Navarre ACs, more of which later. In its key institutional features and degree of political autonomy overall, Catalonia’s autonomy arrangement was similar to other ACs. The 1979 statute provided for a directly elected unicameral parliament with a president and executive accountable to it, although these institutions did have the distinctive title of Generalitat, providing some symbolic and institutional asymmetry. Like other ACs, Catalonia had an autonomous administration and a High Court of Justice dependent on the Spanish judicial system. Like its counterparts elsewhere, the Catalan parliament had the authority to approve the territorial budget and elect representatives to the Spanish Senate (Statute of Autonomy 1979, Section II). The central government and Spanish Cortes could not suspend the Catalan parliament or unilaterally amend the autonomy statute (Statue of Autonomy 1979, Section IV), giving Spain some federal characteristics. Importantly, the amending process set out in the 1979 Catalan autonomy statute was largely territory led. When put into practice in drafting the 2006 revised statute, it meant that the Catalan government and parliament initiated the amendment process and determined its parameters and goals. Catalan elected representatives first negotiated a draft text, which they later took to the state level, negotiating a final version that was approved by the Cortes and, finally, by Catalan voters in a referendum. At the same time, the post-Franco Constitution specifically limited the political autonomy of Catalan authorities in other respects, including the extent to which Catalan policymakers could depart from Spanish norms. As with other ACs, Catalan laws were subject to the

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supremacy of the Spanish Constitution. A Constitutional Tribunal (Tribunal Constitucional) was empowered to settle disputes over interpretation (Constitution, Art. 161). Many disputes over competency were taken to the Constitutional Tribunal, which lacked strong legitimacy in Catalonia because its composition implied a unitary rather than a plurinational Spain (Beramendi and Máiz 2004; Requejo 1999). The Constitution also allowed the central government to intervene in Catalan and other AC policymaking to protect the general interest or to force the AC authorities to fulfill their obligations (Art. 155). The emphasis in the Constitution on equality and state-wide social solidarity explicitly limited policy asymmetry. Thus, when “the general interest requires it,” the Cortes could harmonize AC laws (Art. 150–153). To protect the equality of Spaniards and of territories, as well as their solidarity, the state was to ensure that there is “an adequate and just economic equilibrium amongst the diverse parts of the territory of Spain, with particular attention to the actual circumstances of islands” (Art. 138[1]). Moreover, the Constitution stated that “[t]he differences amongst the Statutes of the distinctive Autonomous Communities shall not in any case imply economic or social privileges” (Art. 138[2]) and that “[a]ll Spanish have the same rights and obligations in any part of the territory of the State” (Art. 139[1]). In keeping with the liberal economic norms of post-Franco Spain, the Constitution also prohibited asymmetries that impeded the movement or settlement of people or f low of goods (Art. 139[2], 152[1]). The central government’s constitutional obligation to defend countrywide equality and solidarity has been particularly evident in the many areas of concurrent state-AC competencies, including transport, environmental protection, highways, social welfare including but not limited to health and education, and economic development. The Spanish government has typically used framework laws to fulfill its obligations, thereby setting the policy parameters for Catalan authorities and narrowing their political autonomy and the degree of policy asymmetry possible. The upshot of all of these features has been that the asymmetrical features of the Catalan autonomy arrangement have often been shortterm and without constitutional or legal protection. Some asymmetry was simply due to the variable speeds at which ACs were formed and acquired the competencies permitted under the post-Franco Constitution. Initially, Catalonia often led the way, taking on and developing competencies more quickly than other ACs because of its comparatively strong administrative capacity, resources, and political

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will for self-rule. However, other ACs quickly followed. By the early 1990s the major difference amongst ACs was not between so-called historic and other regions, but between so-called high-level ACs—the “historic regions” plus Valencia, Andalucía, Navarre, and the Canary Islands—and “low-level” ACs. The former quickly took on most of the competencies allowed, including expensive and complex areas such as education and health. The latter developed limited social welfare programs and such competencies as fairs and civil events, libraries and museums, leisure and sports, tourism, historic preservation, economic development, and ports and small airports. The high-level/ low-level distinction was subsequently eroded as demonstration effects and fiscally motivated off loading by the state encouraged further standard ization (Agranoff 1993). There has also been a leveling out of administrative capacities as, as part of devolution, the state transferred large parts of its administrative corps to AC authorities across Spain and as all ACs and larger cities developed more professional public management.2 Catalonia has had more strongly asymmetrical authority intermittently when its governments have managed to extract concessions from the central government when the latter was dependent on the votes of Catalan nationalist deputies. As noted earlier, the central government has tended to make the same concessions to other ACs later, restoring uniformity. The distinctive energy with which Catalan authorities have developed competencies available to all ACs has also created de facto asymmetries. Under Pujol, the government aggressively developed policies aimed at making Catalan the normal language of communication in public and private spheres for all residents. None of the other ACs where variants of Catalan were spoken did as much (Agranoff 1996). Other asymmetries existed because Catalan authorities took more initiative than other ACs in areas where their competence was implied rather than constitutionally explicit. An example is the Generalitat’s promotion of Catalan interests abroad through the quasi-diplomatic activities of its presidents; participation in the European Union (EU) Committee of the Regions and other international organizations; and the setting up of tourism, trade, cultural, and immigration offices abroad. The Basque government was also relatively active externally. In immigration matters, Catalan authorities also were more active, earlier than other ACs and have had distinctive policies, detailed later. Catalonia has also exercised more regulatory and operational control with respect to financial institutions and has unique shared legal controls over the operations of banks (Agranoff 2005).

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However, as noted, in the realm of taxation, Catalonia has actually had less autonomy than the Basque and Navarre ACs. The latter, due to their historical foral privileges, were permitted to collect most major taxes and, within limits, set tax rates and bases, paying an annual negotiated quota to the Spanish government (Cuchillo 1993; Keating 1993; Curbelo 1994). Consequently, they have had higher per capita revenues, which they have used to develop the strongest social programs and education systems in Spain. For other ACs, including Catalonia, the state initially held onto most tax authority and transferred money to the ACs based on their expenditure functions (Agranoff 1993; Cuchillo 1993).3 This left Catalonia largely dependent on state transfers and debt instruments, with restricted capacity to set tax levels. Over time, Catalan governments have won the cession of all or parts of some taxes (including 50 percent of the Value Added Tax by 2006 and a rising portion of income taxes), plus some authority to set rates and bases. However, central governments have also extended these concessions to other non-foral ACs, reinforcing uniformity. The inf luence of Catalan territorial authorities in state decisionmaking has been under-institutionalized through the Senate and interexecutive processes, despite the extensive areas of shared competence. Bargaining has tended to be piecemeal and subject to the partisan distribution of Cortes seats (Beramendi and Máiz 2004; Comas 2003; Gillespie 1993; Giner and Moreno 1990; Curbelo 1994; Linz 1989; Bonime-Blanc 1987). The desire of Catalan authorities for an institutionalized role in Spanish policymaking with respect to the EU has been contentious, as discussed later. There has been inadequate institutionalization of bilateral consultations through the so-called Sectoral Conference (Conferencia para Asuntos Relacionados con la Comunidad Europea, CARCE). The Conference allowed AC representation in formulating the Spanish government EU strategy, but was used irregularly by central governments. The latter also tended to push ACs to take a single, collective position (Roller 2004). Beyond these institutional features, the Catalan special status arrangement has been associated with representations of Catalan identity as both ethnic and civic in varying proportions. The defense of the Catalan language and other ethnic elements of culture has been central to Catalan identity and the nationalist struggle. At the same time, dominant nationalist discourses have painted Catalonia as a community defined by civic values, leading the democratization and Europeanization of Spain. Dominant representations have also stressed the hardworking, thoughtful, rational, and moderate character of

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Catalans, implying that other Spaniards did not have these attributes to the same degree (Solís 2003). Under Pujol, CiU Catalan nationalism married civic and ethnic elements. It emphasized that Catalan identity is based on residency in Catalonia and a willingness to be Catalan, meaning primarily a willingness to learn and speak Catalan, regardless of one’s ethnic identity or mother tongue. As CiU deputy, Josep Lluís Cleries i Gonzàlez, put it in 2005, noting his own Catalan-Castilian mixed heritage: “It is a nationalism of people, not of blood. It is based on voluntarism, not frontiers” (Cleries i Gonzàlez, interview). Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy The Catalan special status arrangement has experienced ongoing tensions over asymmetry and autonomy, both with respect to AC-state relations as well as internally. The character of the democratization process; Spanish national unity, citizen equality, and democracy norms; the politics of social solidarity; and processes of economic globalization and European integration were key inf luences on the conf licts. Democracy In the early years, the character of Spanish democratization shaped the tensions surrounding Catalan special status. The top-down nature of the transition, including the ongoing leadership of Franco regime elites, meant that key Franco-era norms, institutions, and personnel committed to a centralized, unitary state remained in place, sometimes with renewed legitimacy and capacity. The effects were most obvious with the failed coup attempt of 1981. The coup was motivated primarily by concerns amongst military factions that Basque nationalist violence, devolution, and special status threatened Spain’s territorial integrity, which the armed forces had a constitutional duty to protect under Art. 8. Afterward, there was renewed legitimacy for claims that unity and equality had to be protected by reining in special status and devolution. The UCD central government, supported by the PSOE, moved to slow down and harmonize devolution to the ACs, even in the face of some contrary rulings by the Constitutional Tribunal, including the court’s support for the general thrust of Catalan linguistic normalization (Pérez-Díaz 1990; Linz 1989). As the consensus politics of the early transition declined and partisan competition intensified, the UCD, PSOE, and PCE tended to oppose special status and deeper

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autonomy, now seeing them as threats to the directive capacity of the state. They now saw Catalan nationalist and other territorial parties as competitors (Vallès 1992; Linz 1989). The PSOE began to see its earlier support for Catalan nationalist claims as having alienated its natural working class constituency, particularly amongst native Castilian speakers in Catalonia (Maravall and Santamaría 1986). After the PSOE won a majority in 1983, achieving Spain’s first democratic alternance of government, the push to harmonize AC competencies and slow down devolution continued. Equality The formal equality norms in the post-Franco Constitution provided institutionalized resources and impetus for those seeking to limit asymmetrical devolution. As a result, particularly during the Pujol years, Catalan nationalists feared that the estado de las autonomias would result in federalization, which they associated with a symmetrical distribution of territorial political authority. As Pujol stated in 1980, he would only support federalism: if the federation were among the authentic and real nationalities of the state, that is to say, Basque Country, Galicia, Castile and all of its area of inf luence, and the Catalan lands [países] (or strictly Catalonia, if the Valencian land [país] and the islands decline to reach an understanding with the principality). But a federalism of the regions, of all the 14 or 15 regions and nationalities that make up Spain, is no more than a new disguised uniformism. And it is certain that, as things are going, we will have to be vigilant that we are not going to end up with this. ( Jordi Pujol 1980, Construir Catalunya, Pòrtic: 26, quoted in Marcet 1988: 116) The formal equality norms that pushed uniformity were rooted in long-standing Napoleonic understandings of citizenship in Spain (see Pérez-Díaz 1990; Blas Guerrero 1992). Electoral competition in the new democracy further encouraged standardization. Political elites across Spain used territorial political and identity claims and AC institution-building to try to mobilize voters, whether with discourses that resurrected historical regional identities or invented new ones (Giner and Moreno 1990; Gunther, Sani, and Shabad 1986; Arbós 1987). Cantabria and La Rioja became separate ACs despite being culturally and historically part of Castile; Madrid, for functional reasons, formed

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its own AC detached from its Castilian hinterland (Conversi 1997). The perception that the original autonomy arrangement did not sufficiently recognize the uniqueness and nation claims of Catalonia by granting it distinctive autonomy did contribute to the discontent that prompted Catalan politicians to seek a revised autonomy statute in the mid-2000s (Colino 2009). However, as we shall see later, a more important reason was a desire to protect Catalan autonomy from what Catalan politicians saw as central government interference. This interference was enabled by constitutional provisions protecting formal citizen and territorial equality, as well as others protecting Spanish unity. Equality, Unity, and the Protection of the Catalan Language The political dynamics surrounding attempts by Catalan authorities to protect and strengthen the Catalan language have been entangled in tensions between formal individual equality and Spanish unity and the collective rights of the minority territorial community. The conf lict has been made more complex by the ethnic diversity of Catalonia, the interculturality of its residents, and economic globalization and European integration. While Catalan authorities have asserted Catalan ethnolinguistic identity to support their claim to represent a distinct society meriting special status and autonomy, efforts to make Catalan the normal language used in public and private spheres in the territory has in practice required teaching Catalan to Castilian-speakers and to immigrants from outside Spain, particularly through Catalan-language schooling (Woolard 1989). By some measures the linguistic normalization policies have been quite successful. They have significantly increased competency in spoken Catalan. By 2001, those who said they understood the language had increased to nearly 95 percent, compared to 93.8 percent in 1991 and 81 percent in 1981. In 2001, just over 74 percent of respondents said they could speak and read the language. Compared to 40 percent in 1991 and 31.5 percent in 1986, 50 percent in 2001 said they could write in it. Most of the increase was amongst school-aged respondents (see Costa 2003; Generalitat de Catalonia 2003; Keating 1996; Hoffman 1995). However, for many reasons, the day-to-day reality in Catalonia has become de facto bilingualism, not Catalan unilingualism. For one, state policies and norms have made the co-officiality of Catalan and Castilian in the territory lopsided. In 1986, the Constitutional Tribunal ruled that under the Constitution citizens could not be

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required to know and use languages other than Castilian. Later rulings struck down a 1994 Catalan law requiring school-leavers to know both languages before graduating, citing violations of equality rights and the state’s authority in the granting of school diplomas. The central government also has not fully implemented co-officiality in postal services, telecommunications, judicial proceedings, and tax administration (Costa 2003). In Catalonia itself there have been public protests and mobilization campaigns as well as electoral competition centered on language rights, with opposition to linguistic normalization from some parents, intellectuals, regional opposition parties, and state-level political actors (Conversi 1997; Balcells 1992). In the 1990s, there was relatively strong public support for normalization policies even amongst native Castilian-speakers, due to expanding Catalan use and the continuing high status of the language, which meant that learning Catalan was thought to increase life chances (Keating 1996; Hoffman 1995). Subsequently, support softened. There was concern that normalization laws overly benefitted the nationalist clientelist networks of the longgoverning CiU coalition. Even some native Catalan-speakers were uncomfortable with the perceived aggressiveness of some policies, which appeared to hamper individual freedom and equality (Costa 2003; Roller 2002; Hoffman 1995). The 2006 territorial election saw the emergence of a party dedicated to the defense of Castilian, the Citizens-Party of the Citizenry (Ciutadans-Partido de la Ciudadanía, C-PC), which won 3 percent of the vote and three seats (Pallarés and Muñoz 2008). Other factors contributed to weaker support for strongly proCatalan linguistic policies over time: the fading immediacy of Francoera linguistic repression; a growing comfort with bilingualism within Catalonia and with the use of Castilian to communicate with the rest of Spain; the growing inf luence of English, to which Castilian is a counterweight; and the economic advantages of Castilian given Spain’s deepening links with Latin America (Hoffman 1999). These changes ref lected the growing interculturality of many Catalan residents. Since 1980, there has been a strong rise in citizen identification with the AC, but also in the proportion with dual Catalan-Spanish identities (Moreno, Arriba and Serrano 1997), in keeping with the moderate nature of dominant strains of Catalan nationalism. In the late 1990s, there was a rise in the proportion of residents claiming solely Catalan identity, especially amongst the so-called autonomic generation of native offspring. There was also a rise in solely Spanish identities,

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particularly amongst first generation Catalans (Martínez-Herrera 2002: 434–36, 444–46). However, for most of the post-1979 years, dual identities were the norm in Catalonia and moderate nationalism encouraged nationalist and non-nationalist parties alike to abandon an exclusively ethno-nationalist agenda and adopt a civic view of Catalonia. The practice of dual voting, where voters tended to choose the CiU in AC elections due to Catalan issues, and the PSOE or Popular Party (Partido Popular, PP) in state elections based in ideological preferences, discouraged parties from adopting highly confrontational nationalist positions (Pallarés and Keating 2003). A later section will discuss tensions related to language policy associated with European integration and economic globalization. Social Solidarity Building a European-style welfare state was the social complement of electoral democratization in Spain. In the 1980s, the process encouraged standardization and some centralization. Reforms aimed to provide a more comprehensive, universal, publicly funded social, educational, and health system along the lines of other Western European states, as Spain prepared to join the European Communities in 1986 (Gunther 1996; see also Guillén, Álvarez, and Adão e Silva 2001). ACs, including Catalonia, were given primary responsibility for legislation and services in social policy areas with strong service elements such as health care, social services, and minimum income guarantees. However, the state retained exclusive authority over major contributory programs like unemployment insurance and pensions and set framework legislation in terms of social programs. It also retained significant control over funding, receiving revenue from richer ACs, particularly Catalonia, and transferring it to poorer ones to equalize benefits and universalize access (Moreno and Trelles 2005). Social policy initiatives and related spending have the potential to help Catalan governments appeal to voters who are less interested or even hostile to Catalan language and other ethnonationalist policies (see Béland and Lecours 2005a, 2005b). They also help legitimate the liberal capitalist political economic order. These factors likely encouraged CiU governments to take up related social policy competencies early and develop them more fully than most ACs (McRoberts 2001). Yet, Catalan governments had relatively little scope to claim policy ownership and make policy innovations in social policy areas. This had to do with the standardized, somewhat centrally controlled nature

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of welfare programs—it was an area of shared competence—coupled with the limited ability of Catalan governments to retain tax revenue (see McEwen 2005). The uniformity of social programs in Spain is partly, but not entirely due to the role of central government in social policy. Other factors include demonstration effects and competition amongst ACs; the inf luence of the state-wide parties and their links with regional parties; the Europeanization of Spanish programs; and the similarity of values and policy challenges across Spain (Moreno and Trelles 2005; Keating and McEwen 2005; McEwen 2005; see also Béland and Lecours 2005b). Interestingly, both under CiU- and Socialist-led governments, Catalan authorities have tried to increase their share of retained taxes to address funding shortfalls in expensive social policy areas, especially education, health, and social services. Conf lict over the territory’s fiscal deficit has been ongoing, raising questions about what Catalan taxpayers owe Spain as a community of social solidarity when territorial services are also underfunded. Reaching an estimated 8.1 percent of Catalan GDP in 1997, the territorial fiscal deficit was larger than such wealthy EU regions as Baden-Wurttemberg (4.4 percent), lle-de-France (4.4 percent), the UK South East (6.7 percent), and Stockholm (7.6 percent) (Pons-i-Novell and Tremosa-i-Balcells 2005). Paradoxically, the special tax status of the foral ACs, the Basque Country and Navarre, make revenue transfers from Catalonia all the more crucial to central government coffers. Outside Catalonia, demands for more tax autonomy for the territory have often been portrayed as greedy attacks on the equality and social solidarity of Spaniards (Woodworth 2005). However, during negotiations for the new autonomy statute in the early 2000s, Catalan parties of the Left and Right (except the PP) claimed greater tax autonomy and a reduction of the territorial fiscal deficit were essential to equality and social peace within Catalonia. The Left pointed to the need for funds to provide services for the growing numbers of poorer immigrants in Catalonia, of which the territory has a disproportionate share. The Catalan Left particularly stressed that improving Catalonia’s fiscal balance need not threaten minimum social program standards and benefits for all Spaniards (Estruch Mestres, interview). Both the CiU and Catalan Socialists have argued that, without lessening Catalonia’s fiscal deficit so that territorial authorities can improve funding for education and infrastructure, the AC cannot remain a motor of the Spanish economy (Ibid.; Cleries i Gonzàlez, interview).

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Economic Globalization and Regional Integration Processes of economic globalization and, in particular, European regional integration have been sources of tension because of their contradictory effects on the Catalan special status arrangement. On the one hand, Catalan nationalists have been agents of the Europeanization of Spain, seeing it as a force for modernization and a way of bolstering Catalan autonomy vis-à-vis the Spanish central government. On the other hand, aspects of the single European market and other EU policies have put limits on Catalan special status and autonomy. Additionally, market processes and EU integration constrained the ability of Catalan governments to adopt aggressive linguistic normalization policies. Catalan has not been widely used in all areas of business and commerce, and some business owners regard efforts to expand its use as imposing financial burdens (Keating 2001b). These views encouraged CiU-led governments to use incentives and contractual agreements rather than coercive measures as it tried to expand job opportunities for a generation of young people educated in Catalan. CiU-led governments often prioritized their market ideology and Christian Democratic social cooperation agenda over nationalist goals, aware that the latter were not always a priority for many Catalan voters, particularly the coalition’s business and Center-Right constituencies (Keating 2001a; Shafir 1995). Economic liberalization and the privatization of public services encouraged under the single European market are also expected to increase the use of international languages, especially English and Castilian, by putting more public services outside the direct regulatory authority of the Generalitat (Costa 2003). It remains a problem that Catalan is not an official EU language, so EU directives and regulations are only published in Castilian in Catalonia. Catalan is not required on food labels under EU rules (Roller 2002). In this context, norms protecting formal individual equality reinforce the market advantage of Castilian and weaken the ability of the territorial authorities to protect Catalan. Furthermore, European integration policies have contributed to the Catalan fiscal deficit. It grew markedly in the early 2000s when the central government, controlled by an absolute PP majority, introduced major funding cuts and balanced budget requirements to meet or exceed European single currency criteria (Garcia-Milà 2003; Guillén, Álvarez, and Adão e Silva 2001). More generally, efforts to build a single European market by allowing the free f low of the factors of production, have been hostile to special status arrangements.

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The standardization of policy required has imposed restrictions on the authority of the Catalan government to develop distinctive policies in areas such as agriculture and dairy production, fishing and fisheries, labor markets, and taxation (Agranoff 1993). At the same time, especially since the 1992 Maastricht Treaty, EU institutions have treated aspects of the autonomy of substate territorial authorities as complementary to European integration. Regional— termed “territorial” in the present study—and other local governments have been treated as more legitimate, if second-tier European policy actors. CiU-led Catalan governments actively promoted this development and tried to use it to bolster their power and authority vis-à-vis the Spanish state and their attractiveness to voters (see Roller 2004). Tensions arose as the impact of EU policy and spending on matters of Catalan competence and interests grew, pushing Catalan authorities to seek a more effective, formalized role in EU policymaking and in Spanish policymaking with respect to the EU (Keating 2001b). The 1979 autonomy statute had been nearly silent on the role of Catalan authorities in external affairs. The gap ref lected traditional, unitary understandings of sovereignty associated with the modern territorial state model, which assigned external affairs competency to state-wide governments. The statute did authorize and facilitate official Catalan contacts on language and cultural affairs, with communities outside Spain sharing Catalan heritage (see Art. 27-4). It established the duty of the Generalitat to implement agreements and treaties in its areas of competence (Art. 27-3), but failed to give Catalan authorities the right to participate in, let alone the responsibility for, making these agreements and treaties in its areas of exclusive competence. Since Spain’s accession to the EC, now the EU, Catalan government leaders, backed by substate authority counterparts in other European member states, have demanded formal external affairs autonomy and enhanced status in European institutions for stateless nations and territorial authorities with legislative powers. They have objected to EU policies that treat all substate authorities equally, regardless of their identity claims and political attributes (Roller 2004; Guibernau 2000). CiU politicians have gone as far as to envision Spain and Europe in post-Westphalian terms. They have called for Catalonia to be recognized as a “free associated state” or “associated region” of the EU. With precedents in federal Belgium, they also demanded a bilateral relationship with the state on EU matters, the right to representation in the EU Council of Ministers with respect to policy matters of relevance to Catalan interests and competencies, and state help in securing

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recognition for the Catalan language in European institutions and treaties (Roller 2004: 87–88). Outcomes All of the tensions discussed above surfaced during negotiations for the new statute for Catalonia, which laid bare the tensions in the special status arrangement to date. The process of revising the statute brought into sharp relief conf licting visions of the state, citizenship, and democracy, which were stirred up by politicians for partisan gain. The draft statute that emerged from the Catalan parliament in 2005 after 20 months of negotiations was supported by four of five parties, representing 120 of 135 parliamentary seats and both nationalist and non-nationalist persuasions. Only the Catalan PP voted against it. It was partly the product of nationalist outbidding between the CiU, whose votes were needed to secure the two-thirds parliamentary majority needed to approve the text, and the ERC, part of the Socialistled governing coalition in Catalonia. However, the text also ref lected institutional factors, broader partisan compromises and competition, as well as accumulated grievances. Moreover, it emerged out of the rare opportunity presented by the partisan political circumstances of the time, that is, Socialist-led governments in both Catalonia and Spain. The draft sparked considerable controversy in Catalonia and Spain as a whole because of the perceived unconstitutionality of some provisions, the view that it amounted to a revision of the Constitution dictated by a regional parliament, and the judgment that the text would push Spain towards becoming an asymmetrical, confederal state (Colino 2009). The draft text declared Catalonia to be a “nation” with a right to self-determination and self-rule. It provided for foral-style tax authority, the right to promote Catalan at the expense of Castilian, the co-responsibility in EU matters of the Catalan government and the state, and a Catalan High Court more autonomous from state-level authorities and with more jurisdiction over issues of exclusive Catalan competence like language policy. The text was also controversial for its expansiveness in comparison with the original statute. The final version had 223 provisions compared to the 57 in the 1979 law. The statute also touched on virtually all areas of public policy, giving it state-like scope. Its vision of Catalan society not only stressed the territory’s distinctive language and culture, but its commitment to inclusive citizenship and to political, civil, socioeconomic, and cultural rights, both

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individual and collective (Parliament of Catalonia 2005; Woodworth 2005; Statute of Autonomy, 2006; see Requejo 2004). Opponents from the Right in Catalonia and Spain saw the draft text as a threat to Spanish unity, stability, and social solidarity in what was characterized as a Catalan nationalist power and money grab. Prominent left-wing politicians, including Spanish President Zapatero, also expressed concerns (“Statut de la Catalogne: seule l’Espagne est une ‘nation’ (Zapatero),” Agence France Presse, December 1, 2005; Pasqual Maragall, “Catalonia Is a Nation,” The Wall Street Journal Europe, November 21, 2005; Woodworth 2005). Some analysts predicted that the statute would only create new asymmetries, triggering a new round of emulation by politicians in other ACs, who would seek similar autonomy, in turn feeding grievances in Catalonia and other ACs with nationalist parties and movements. This would, in turn, cause them to push for further, distinctive devolution (Colino 2009). Political tensions were high as Catalan and Spanish parliamentarians and governments negotiated a version of the text that could be approved by the Cortes. Many parts of the draft were opposed by members of state-wide parties, societal groups, some constitutional experts, and members of the central government, whose support for Catalan demands had come “somewhat grudgingly and forced by the political circumstances” (Colino 2009: 268). Opinion polls at this time indicated the Spanish public, but a minority of Catalan residents opposed the statute (“Pour 71.4% des Catalans, un nouveau statut d’autonomie est nécessaire,” Agence France Press, October 30, 2005; “Majority of Spanish oppose Catalonia autonomy move: Poll,” Agence France Press, November 4, 2005). Right-wing politicians called on Spanish consumers to protest Catalan demands by boycotting Catalan products such as cava (sparkling wine) ( John Carlin, “Spain cuts cava in Catalan boycott,” The Sunday Times, January 15, 2006). The peak of the controversy came on January 6, 2006, when senior Spanish general José Mena Aguado publicly declared the military’s right to intervene should the Catalan statute exceed constitutional limits. There were many comparisons with the 1981 coup attempt (“Un general espagnol s’insurge contre l’autonomie de la Catalogne,” Le Monde, January 9, 2006). Stability Throughout the more than two years of negotiations of the statute, the state proved to be highly stable in both minimalist and maximalist terms. There were significant political tensions, but the revision was

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achieved according to established constitutional and legal procedures, and the final text was approved by both the Cortes and Catalan electors. The Catalan coalition government fell apart due to the watering down of the Catalan nationalist provisions of the 2005 draft required for the text to get Cortes approval. Right-wing opponents largely used institutionalized means, such as the Constitutional Tribunal, to contest its most controversial provisions. The verbal intervention of General Aguado was worrying. However, the reaction of Spanish authorities and most Spaniards affirmed that the threat to the democratic constitutional order was minimal. The general was quickly placed under house arrest and relieved of his command (“Spanish cabinet sacks army chief,” BBC News (online), January 13, 2006). Catalonia remained free of nationalist or other political violence, despite the increase in support for separatism and in singularly Catalan and Spanish identities evident in the preceding years, mentioned earlier.

Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: The Strength of Political Autonomy With the 2006 autonomy statute, Catalonia reached a new level of political autonomy and, therefore, collective citizenship in Spain, although one with significant limits. By the time negotiations for the statute began in the Catalan parliament in 2004, all territorial political parties except the Catalan PP had come to support the need for revisions that would protect and expand Catalan political and functional autonomy and better recognize the specificities and national rights of the territory. Perhaps the key reason was that between 2000 and 2004 the PP majority government in Madrid had declared an end to decentralization and pursued policies that aggressively asserted an individualistic, Catholic, and culturally Castilian Spanish identity. Constitutional norms and procedures supportive of a unitary and centralized state built on formal citizen equality facilitated the reigning in of elements of asymmetry and plurinationality. The central government had blocked negotiations with the nationalist ruling parties of Catalonia and the Basque Country as well as other ACs such as Andalucia which were led by parties then in opposition in Congress. Encroachments on the legislative and executive powers of the Generalitat had always occurred, but in the early 2000s they were not offset by the concessions of minor decentralization and asymmetry that had eased tensions in the 1990s. Nationalist parties in both Catalonia and the Basque Country became

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more radicalized and critical of the system. Even the Catalan Left, then in opposition, came to make a major reform of the autonomy statute an electoral pledge (Colino 2009). The draft statute that emerged from the Catalan parliament in 2005 ref lected these accumulated grievances and a number of new challenges confronting Catalan political autonomy. Political elites wanted to better protect the AC from central encroachment on its competencies through concurrent legislation. They sought a text that was as specific and detailed as possible and that formalized the gains Catalonia had made in earlier years. They wanted to see more adaptation of central institutions such as the judiciary to decentralization, more participation of Catalan authorities in state policymaking and EU decisionmaking, and the recognition of Catalonia as a nation. They also wanted Catalan authorities to have adequate, stable, and secure funding, which required addressing the perceived fiscal deficit. These financial problems were seen as the cause of deteriorating infrastructure and public services, lower economic growth than some regions, and the inability of public authorities to respond effectively to accelerating immigration into Catalonia. The fiscal deficit was also seen as a barrier to new territorial government initiatives to promote economic development (Colino 2009). The expansiveness of the Catalan demands in the draft statute ref lected the expectation of politicians that they should demand as much as possible because it could be decades before another revision opportunity arose (Cleries i Gonzàlez, Estruch Mestres, interviews). The draft and final text also embodied many aspects of the nationalist CiU agenda and long-term strategy, given the party’s continuing strength in Congress and the Catalan parliament. That the final text only required 51 percent support to pass in the Cortes meant there was no need to reign in Catalan demands to win the backing of the PP opposition (Colino 2009). The final version approved by the Cortes and Catalan voters that autumn strengthened all four elements of political autonomy of interest to the present study: de jure and de facto final decisionmaking authority, fiscal autonomy, external effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes, and scope for asymmetrical policy. Nevertheless, limits were imposed to gain support in the Cortes and address anticipated incompatibilities with the Constitution. To enhance the de jure final decisionmaking authority of Catalan authorities by protecting them from central government interference, the statute provided more detailed definitions of competencies and

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responsibilities. It also brought into the law some of the “autonomyfriendly interpretations” of the distribution of competencies made by the Constitutional Tribunal over the years (Colino 2009: 275–76). Further, it made explicit Catalan jurisdiction in a range of areas that were not reserved to the state under the Constitution, in some cases areas where the Generalitat was already active, such as immigration. The statute enhanced the ability of Catalan authorities to make final decisions with respect to the protection of Catalan culture. It gave firmer legal status to long-standing linguistic normalization policies that positively discriminated in favor of Catalan. It also established Catalan as the language of preferential use in public administration, public media, and educational instruction, extending the latter to universities. It made it a duty for citizens to know Catalan, moving to equalize its status with Castilian. It made it obligatory for businesses and establishments to respond to clients and users in the language of the latter’s choice (Colino 2009). Also important for de jure final decisionmaking authority was the strengthened autonomy of territorial courts vis-à-vis central judicial authorities. The statute made the Catalan High Court of Justice less dependent on state-level institutions and strengthened its authority. It created the Council of Justice of Catalonia, deconcentrating the power of judicial appointment of the Spanish Council of the Judicial Power (Art. 95[5][6]; Colino 2009). The de jure tax autonomy of the AC was also enhanced in a number of ways. The statute permitted a Catalan tax authority to exist alongside that of Spain and increased to 50 percent Catalonia’s share of the VAT and income taxes collected in the territory. Various measures compensated for and limited the fiscal deficit: there was an attempt to limit revenue redistribution amongst the ACs and abandon the aim of total equalization. The “ordinality” principle stated that equalization should not change the per capita income rank position of Catalonia amongst the ACs before equalization. For seven years, the central government would be obliged to invest in infrastructure in Catalonia according to the territory’s share of Spanish GDP (18 percent) (Colino 2009). Further, the statute affirmed limited Catalan autonomy in the spending of EU monies (Art. 114). A range of measures increased the right of Catalan authorities to participate in state decisionmaking processes that affect its competencies and interests and strengthened the institutionalization of this participation. The statute established a Generalitat-State Bilateral Commission (see Section 3) with equal numbers of state and Generalitat representatives

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and chaired alternatively by the two parties (Art. 183[2(a)(b)]). Another bilateral commission, similarly organized, focused on economic and fiscal matters (Art. 210). The statute preserved the preeminent external affairs role of the state, including with respect to the EU. The Preamble stated that Catalonia’s EU participation occurred “by means of the State,” rejecting the demand for the “co-responsibility” of “national communities” in the construction of Europe, which had been in the 2005 draft. However, the statute also established the right of Catalonia to participate in EU-related policymaking within Spain and in Spanish representation to the EU when its powers or interests were implicated (Art. 184-9). It provided for bilateral participation in forming central government policy in EU matters that affected its exclusive powers and that Catalan views would be decisive in these instances or where a European policy would have particularly important financial or administrative consequences for Catalonia (Art. 186[2][3]). The statute also formalized the right of Catalan authorities to maintain a delegation to the EU (Art. 192) and affirmed its direct access to the European Court of Justice (Art. 191). In addition, it affirmed Catalan authority to implement EU policy within its areas of competency (Art. 189). More broadly, the statute formalized the right of the Generalitat to “foster the external protection of Catalonia and promote its interests in this area,” although always “while respecting the power of the State in foreign affairs” (Art. 193[1]). The statute affirmed the right of the AC to maintain offices abroad (Art. 194) and to sign collaborative agreements (with the right to state support if necessary) (Art. 195). It also had the right to be informed of and participate in state negotiations for treaties that would have “a direct and singular effect on Catalonia” (Art. 196). In keeping with the centrality of cultural autonomy to the AC, the statute affirmed Catalonia’s right to “participate in the competent international bodies in matters of important interest for Catalonia, especially UNESCO and other cultural bodies, in the form established by the corresponding regulations” (Art. 198). The final statute, particularly in the Preamble, reasserted Catalonia’s regional and cultural identity, distinctive history, and will as a people, enhancing the symbolic asymmetry of Catalan autonomy. Unwilling to accept a direct declaration of Catalonia as “nation,” which had been included in the earlier draft text, it used an indirect formulation that alluded to the Catalan parliament having defined Catalonia as a nation. It also reaffirmed its status as a nationality in the Constitution. Significantly, the statute included historical rights as a source of

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Catalan self-rule, emulating the treatment of the Basque Country and Navarre. It is too soon to know whether this symbolic asymmetry will help build a case for Catalonia developing more distinctive forms of political and functional autonomy, in recognition of its oft asserted “hecho diferential,” or differential reality, as former Catalan leader, Pujol, often termed it (see Pujol 1997). Certainly, efforts to get state agreement for foral-like fiscal status for the AC failed. Notably, however, the bilateral mechanisms for enhancing Catalan participation in state decisionmaking and more institutionalized state-territory policy coordination have the potential to expand the scope for distinctive policies. However, many barriers to stronger special status remain, not least the ongoing constitutional emphasis on unity and formal equality, the standardizing pressures associated with market forces and European integration, and the intercultural identities of Catalan voters. Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities Catalonia has a long history of social protest movements focusing on socioeconomic, political, gender, as well as ethnic exclusion. During the democratic transition, a variety of them were active, especially in Barcelona and other larger Catalan cities. Political parties have since come to dominate organizational life and the politics of exclusion (see Keating 2001a). Policies related to the citizenship of internal minorities in the territory have been fought over during Catalan and Spanish elections. The role of central governments and state-wide parties has been crucial because of the responsibility of the state to protect the rights and equality of all Spaniards and its crucial role in social welfare policy and immigration. The local political arena has been important in the struggle to expand inclusive citizenship due to the role of local authorities in the delivery of social programs, the reception and integration of immigrants, and economic development. Prior to his time as Catalan president, Pasqual Maragall used his position as PSC mayor of Barcelona to make social democratic goals, including the reduction of urban inequality, part of the territorial political project of Catalonia. He explicitly contrasted his approach with what he termed the overemphasis on ethno-linguistic issues of the then CiU-led Catalan government (McNeill 2001). Is this only partisan posturing, or has the special status arrangement and the nation-building project of successive CiU-led governments harmed the citizenship of vulnerable groups and individuals

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within Catalonia? Overall, the evidence suggests that the special status arrangement has not been inherently exclusionary with respect to most dimensions of citizenship for internal minorities (see Guerin and Pelletier 2000). It broadly accords with the assertion that in economically developed democratic states, internal social solidarity can be built and retained while valuing regional diversity and pluricultural citizenship (see Moreno 2003; Laitin 2004). The evidence also accords with the claim of Banting and Kymlicka (2004) that there is no consistent statistical relationship between the adoption of multicultural policies and the erosion of the welfare state. The marginalization of the poor, of vulnerable native Castilian-speakers, immigrants, and women predates the estado de las autonomias and, for the most part, appears to have little to do directly with Catalan nationalist policies or the emphasis on advancing self-government or special status. Rather, the exclusion stems from the political economy and gender order in which the special status arrangement is embedded. However, there are significant challenges ahead if internally inclusive citizenship is to be strengthened while advancing the collective political autonomy of Catalans and preserving the territory’s role in Spain, understood as a community of social solidarity. Socioeconomic Inequality By the mid-1990s, after nearly 15 years of CiU-led governments, Catalonia had one the highest levels of internal income disparity amongst the ACs as well as a moderately high risk of social exclusion. With a Gini coefficient of 0.316, Catalan income disparities slightly exceeded the Spanish average (0.305) and that of the Basque Country (0.301), the lowest in Spain (Adelantado et al. 2002a). Catalonia also had moderately low levels of public social protection compared to the Basque Country, which had the strongest levels in Spain. Notably, that both territories had nationalist governments for most of the post-Franco period suggests that factors other than nationalist policies explain these differences.4 Overall, the risk of social exclusion across the ACs correlated most strongly with variations in tax autonomy, the ideology of the governing party, institutional conditions, and the strength of social capital (see Subirats 2005; 2004; Subirats and Gallego 2002).5 Thus, Catalonia’s relatively poor record, given its relative wealth, may be attributed to the noninterventionist policies of Center-Right CiU-led governments compared to their left-leaning Basque nationalist counterparts, Catalonia’s lower retained taxes compared to the foral ACs, and its relatively low social capital compared to the Basque Country.

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Of these factors, only revenue levels were directly related to the special status arrangement. However, as a factor contributing to social exclusion, Catalonia’s lower retained taxes ref lect the weakness rather than the strength of Catalan autonomy (see Adelantado et al. 2002a; Adelantado et al. 2002b; Subirats 2004; 2005; see also Mota 2002). Since 2003, Catalan governing parties have advanced platforms that promote greater socioeconomic inclusion along with nationalist policies promoted by the ERC coalition partner, and “Catalanist” initiatives, as the Catalan Socialists term them. The desire for revenue to expand social program coverage and services was a key reason most Catalan political parties demanded more tax autonomy for Catalonia and a reduction of the fiscal deficit during negotiations for the new statute (Estruch Mestres, Cleries i Gonzàlez, Àngel Mesado, interviews). Native Castilian-Speakers For the most part, the Catalan special status arrangement and the nation-building process it has engendered since 1979 have not sharpened the exclusion of native Castilian-speakers in Catalonia. Increases in affective attachments to Catalonia since 1980 suggest the special status arrangement has had some success in fostering a sense of belonging to the territory amongst native Castilian-speakers, or, at least, that it has not significantly harmed the strengthening of these attachments. “Spanish only” affective attachments declined from the early 1980s until 1998 for both migrants and native Catalans, with dual identity becoming the norm. Being locally born was the strongest predictor of dual identity, regardless of mother tongue. However, as noted earlier, the strengthening of Spanish-only identities in the late 1990s, particularly amongst the offspring of migrants, underlines that integration is not a one-way process. The data also suggests that socialization, age, and educational attainment had some impact on the locus of affective attachments, not just mother tongue. Older individuals born outside Catalonia were more likely to express a dual identity than their younger counterparts. Those less than 30 years old with low educational levels were more likely to identify as exclusively Spanish or Catalan than their better-educated elders (Moreno, Arriba and Serrano 1997). Despite the strengthening of attachments to Catalonia, some evidence suggests that mother-tongue Castilian speakers may be less likely to participate in territorial politics than native Catalan-speakers, despite their formally equal participation rights. Catalonia has had particularly high rates of abstention in AC elections, second only to Galicia between 1982 and 1993. Electoral abstentions have been highest amongst

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individuals with family origins outside the region and those with lower levels of competence in Catalan (Ross 1996; Font and Rico 2003). That AC electoral campaigns are predominantly conducted in Catalan may help explain this finding (Font and Rico 2003), which points to a tension between the desire to normalize Catalan in territorial public spheres and inclusive political citizenship. However, the abstention patterns observed may not indicate disaffection due to language abilities or place of origin in a straightforward way. Font and Rico found that having political identities of any type, whether Catalan or state, was associated with greater political participation at all levels of elections, regardless of whether it was the level of political community to which the voter felt most attached (Ibid.). The coincidence between class and ethnicity in Catalonia has declined over time, but its institutionalized legacies remain and still contribute to exclusion. An important example is the private school system, which has contributed to the exclusion of non-Catalans. However, the reasons are only indirectly related to post-1980 nationalist politics and the special status arrangement. Historically, private schools played an important role in the Catalan educational system because of the nationalist politics of the Franco years as they played out in schools in the territory. However, even in 1994–95, private schools still accounted for 41 percent of school places, and their students were still more likely to graduate from high school and get the best jobs. Moreover, children from lower socioeconomic groups and those with non-Catalan parents still had less access to private school places, although the situation was improving. Notably, however, in recent years exclusion from private schools has affected the children of non-European immigrants even more severely than native Castilian-speakers (Adelantado et al. 2002a; Jacott and Maldonado Rico 2006). More broadly, linguistic normalization policies undertaken under the special status arrangement cannot but have effects on the inclusion of non-native speakers, including their socioeconomic citizenship. By the late 1990s, the higher the social status, prestige, and power associated with an activity, the more likely Catalan was the language used (Atkinson 2000). At the same time, the acquisition of Catalan skills has been uneven. While almost all residents can now speak some Catalan and many can read it, as we have seen, only just under half can write it. It is likely that those who cannot are shut out of at least some higher-status jobs, particularly in the public sector. The problem appears to affect native Castilian-speakers more than their nativeCatalan counter parts as well as newcomers from outside Spain.

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Immigrants Across Spain, immigrants often face significant socioeconomic and political exclusion. There is little regionally disaggregated data to indicate whether or not they are worse off in any particular AC or whether variations in exclusion can be attributed to factors related to the character of particular territorial autonomy arrangements or related nationalist politics. Regardless, questions related to the quality of citizenship for immigrants in Catalonia raise distinctive issues, given the emphasis that Catalan governments have placed on protecting and gaining recognition for Catalan identity, language, and culture. As we have seen, Catalonia has a long history of receiving migrants from poorer parts of Castilian-speaking Spain who came in search of work in the territory’s factories. However, the most recent wave of non-European immigration has, in the minds of many residents, brought new challenges, both economic and cultural. First, in comparison with earlier Spanish migrants there is more perceived cultural distance between established residents and these newcomers, most of whom are individuals of Islamic heritage from North Africa. Their integration is assumed by many residents to be more difficult as well as potentially threatening to Catalan language and culture (King and Rodríguez-Melguizo 1999). While much of this is driven by perceptions, it is the case that, except for the few immigrants from Latin America, most recent newcomers speak little or no Catalan or Castilian when they arrive. Earlier Castilian-speaking migrants had an advantage in learning Catalan due to the Latin roots of both languages and the inf luence they have had on each other over many centuries. Most native Castilian-speakers also shared the Roman Catholic religious heritage of most ethnic Catalans. By contrast, the events of 9/11 and the 2004 Madrid bombings have accentuated the perceived cultural distance between established residents of Catalonia and North African migrants (Moreras 2005; Santamaría 2002). Serra i Salamè (2004) argues that media coverage of the lives of new migrants may exacerbate the problem by exoticizing their experience, making it seem a new phenomenon unconnected to the experiences of earlier migrants and the already-resident poor of Catalonia. On the economic side, there is evidence to suggest that non-European immigrants face significant economic challenges, perhaps sometimes even greater than earlier newcomers. Poor language skills and perceived cultural differences mean they have more difficulty competing in the labor market, especially if they are from regions other than Latin America. However, this problem is not particular to Catalonia. Across

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Spain, newer arrivals disproportionately fill low-skill, low-status jobs in the informal sector with fewer of the protections available to formal sector employees. Undocumented individuals—of which Catalonia, like Madrid, has particularly high numbers—are the most vulnerable to exploitation and the resulting exclusion (Solé 1995; Encarnación 2004). Recent years have seen open and sometimes violent conf licts between immigrants and more established Catalan residents, as well as instances of discrimination and racist protest (Solé 1995; Moreras 2002; 2005). However, there is no statistical evidence to suggest that Catalans are any less or more tolerant of newcomers than other Spaniards, nor that those with stronger Catalan nationalist preferences are more likely to be intolerant than those with weaker or no nationalist preferences. What limited data is available, from surveys in 1987 and 1990, do not point to a strong association between Catalan nationalism and racist or xenophobic views. They found that place of birth alone did not predict anti-immigrant preferences. Rather, length of residence, age, socioeconomic status, and place of residence within Catalonia also mattered. Respondents tended to reject immigrants for “pragmatic reasons,” such as to protect employment and access to social welfare (Solé 1995: 98–100). Nevertheless, it is worrying that some Catalan nationalists have in recent years publicly expressed negative views about poor, non-EU immigrants and that some nationalist discourses have begun claiming a stronger religious component to Catalan identity in response to the presence of “Islamic” immigrants (Moreras 2005). In the 2006 territorial election campaign, the CiU proposed linking some services and benefits for immigrants to their willingness to integrate into Catalan society. However, it was the Catalan PP, perhaps the least Catalan nationalist of the parties, that most advocated regulating immigration f lows and stopping illegals (see Pallarés and Muñoz 2008). Moreover, since the abovementioned surveys, increases in numbers of poorer non-EU immigrants have coincided with funding shortages for social programs and increased use of means testing in Catalonia. Established residents have been more likely to see poorer immigrants as the prime beneficiaries of these programs. The fear that such a situation will undermine social peace has encouraged Catalan politicians to demand a greater share of tax revenues and measures to offset the territorial fiscal deficit so that more can be spent on social welfare programs, including education and health care, and coverage can be expanded for poorer longer-term residents (Estruch Mestres, Cleries i Gonzàlez, interviews).

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These concerns were also behind demands by Catalan political elites for expanded autonomy in immigration-related matters in the new statute. Immigration is exclusively a state competency, but ACs have (co-)jurisdiction with respect to many social, education, and labor market policies that affect the integration of newcomers. The Generalitat was more active in immigrant integration earlier than other ACs and often in distinctive “Catalan” ways, guided by the CiU’s relatively inclusive civic nationalism (Zapata-Barrero 2005: 17–21). However, more recently, Catalan authorities have sought to better harmonize immigrant integration and nation-building. The new statute provided Catalonia with new executive authority to administer work permits, in coordination with the state, and the right to participate in state policymaking on immigration matters particularly important to the AC, especially immigrant selection (Art. 138). The statute also confirmed Catalonia’s competency in integration matters and its exclusive authority in matters of initial reception. The hope amongst nationalists is that the changes will facilitate the selection of individuals willing and able to learn Catalan and make Catalan rather than Castilian the language first and most often encountered by immigrants in dealing with public officials (Zapata-Barrero 2005). It was unclear at the time of writing whether these new powers can improve the citizenship of immigrants in Catalonia in ways complementary to the desire of many Catalans to protect and expand the use of the Catalan language. According to the ERC, the more immigrants learn Catalan, the more they can fully participate in Catalan society and the labor market, so the goals of nation-building and immigrant inclusion can be mutually reinforcing (see Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya, n.d.). This underscores the need for schools that can successfully teach newcomers to speak, read, and, especially, write Catalan and the need for the use of Catalan in workplaces that employ immigrants. Immigrants may move to other parts of Spain if they decide learning Catalan is undesirable or if learning both Catalan and Castilian—an increasing necessity—is too burdensome given the socioeconomic challenges they already face. That Catalan capitalism has historically depended on a division of labor that has always been partly ethnic suggests that improvements to the socioeconomic position of immigrants will not be easy to achieve in the current political economic order (see Shafir 1995). Women Except for aspects of political participation, the Catalan special status arrangement, and the stress on nation-building by successive CiU-led

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governments, does not appear to have directly harmed efforts to advance gender equality in Catalonia. Like Spanish women as a whole, Catalan women saw marked improvements in the post-Franco years in levels of educational attainment, attitudes towards gendered divisions of labor, integration into the paid workforce, and political participation through the holding of elected office, even if across most of these indicators Spanish women as a whole still lag behind the European average (Astelarra 2005; Peinado and Céspedes 2004). According to the Gender Disparity Index, which focuses primarily on women’s participation in the paid labor force,6 differences in gender disparities across Spain appear to be unrelated to the varying strengths of regional nationalist politics and autonomy. The Basque Country, but also Madrid and the Canary Islands, had the lowest gender inequality, while Catalonia and Galicia were in the middle ranks along with Navarre and the Balearic Islands. Variations in the Gender Disparity Index across the ACs appear to correlate with variations in levels of industrialization and urbanization and the character of the service sector economy, factors which affect levels of unemployment, labor force participation, and remuneration. As such, Catalan women have had one of the highest workforce participation rates in the country, at 50.72 percent in 2004 compared to 45.79 percent for Spain (Instituto de la Mujer 2005a; 2005b). The spread between unemployment rates for men and women as well as absolute levels of women’s unemployment were lower in Catalonia than in Spain generally (see Institut Català de les Dones 2006; Astelarra 2005). Variations in gender inequality appear have little to do with AC government policies and strategies promoting equality, for these tend to be highly homogeneous across Spain, regardless of the ideology and nationalist color of AC governments. This uniformity ref lects the pivotal role in the fight for gender equality played by feminists within the PSOE and its AC-level counterparts and allied parties across Spain. Moreover, the Women’s Institutions (Institutos de la Mujer) that now exist at all levels, tend to be similar across Spain because they modeled themselves on European-level programs and strategies (Astelarra 2005). If Catalan women do comparatively well in labor market equality, they have lagged behind their counterparts in some parts of the country in elected officeholding. By 1999, across Spain at both the state and AC level, an average of 30 percent of parliamentary seats were held by women. However, in Catalonia, only 24.4 percent of AC deputies were women (Astelarra 2005). The dominance of the CiU in Catalan politics,

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where it led territorial governments until 2003, appears to have been a major reason for the gap. Across Spain, regional and nationalist parties have tended to elect lower proportions of women to AC parliaments than non-regional or non-nationalist parties. In 1999, only 22.4 percent of nationalist or regional party deputies were women, compared to 40.1 percent for the PSOE, 28.6 percent for the IU, and 28.1 percent for the PP (Sánchez Ferriz 2000). In Catalonia, as elsewhere in Spain, the fight for gender equality has long been championed by feminists on the Left (see Nash 2001). The push for electoral parity came from the PSOE, which, in turn, encouraged the PP to elect more women (Sánchez Ferriz 2000; Astelarra 2005). By contrast, the CiU was unable to consolidate gains in electing women to the Catalan parliament and has had a poor record with respect to electing women to Congress and Senate (Instituto de la Mujer, c. 2004a; c. 2004b). Lest it be thought that nationalist parties inherently have poor records on gender parity, note that the nationalist ERC elected 39 percent women to the Catalan parliament in 2003. Clearly, a nationalist platform does not preclude progress on this issue. The ERC has developed a strong feminist wing and recognized its need to develop gender equity policies in order to compete with the PSC for voters. Both the PSC and Catalan PP are the main reasons that women held just over 30 percent of Catalan parliamentary seats in 2003, which is an improvement, but is still below the AC average of just over 37 percent (L’Institut Català de les Dones 2003; Instituto de la Mujer 2005a). Notably, in the second PSC-ERC coalition government elected in 2006, just over 31 percent of the executive were women. While this was a Catalan record, it was four points below the AC average (Institut Català de les Dones 2006). The PSC and ERC, particularly their feminist wings, succeeded in having the new autonomy statute specify that the Catalan electoral law must establish criteria for gender parity for electoral lists (Art. 56[3]). The new statute also affirmed the duty of Catalan public authorities to promote gender equality (Art. 4[3]). Here, Catalonia is catching up to the Spanish standard. Some other ACs already have gender parity laws. In 2007, the Spanish parliament passed a gender equality law requiring that women and men each account for at least 40 percent of all state and AC election lists. Conclusions The Catalan special status arrangement contributed to the successful transition of Spain to a minimally stable, consolidated democratic state.

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Subsequent controversy surrounding the new autonomy statute has since tested the stability of the arrangement, for its provisions appear to push Spain towards greater levels of functional and political decentralization, the recognition of multiple nations, and greater asymmetry, further challenging the modern territorial state and citizenship model. Over the years, the weaknesses and ambiguities of the 1979 statute pushed Catalan governments and parliaments to seek greater, more secure autonomy, and greater scope for asymmetry for the territorial authorities. Nevertheless collective citizenship for Catalans in Spain, measured by political autonomy, is considerable in comparison with the Franco years. Catalan authorities have also been able to use their autonomy to normalize the use of Catalan as the language of instruction in schools and other public spheres, if less successfully in the private realm. Over this 30-year process, democracy has both inspired and limited Catalan autonomy and special status. The Preamble to the 1979 autonomy statute spoke of the recovery of self-government as part of the recovery of democracy for the territory. The Preamble to the 2006 statute spoke of “the collective liberty of Catalonia in the institutions of the Generalitat” as part of the building of a democratic society. Yet, the Spanish constitutional order also continued to stress the formal equality of citizens and ACs, the unity of the Spanish people, their social solidarity, and majoritarian democracy. These two visions of the state and of democracy, one plurinational and asymmetrical, one uninational and uniform, coexist in tension in the Spain-Catalan relationship and within Catalonia itself. While many of the citizenship practices that produce socioeconomic and political exclusion in Catalonia are not directly due to the special status arrangement, the dominance of Catalan nationalist politics and governments has contributed to some inequalities affecting the poor, women, and immigrants. However, the Catalan special status arrangement is, to use Tully’s term, significantly open-ended, within the limits posed by the political economic order. The 2003 territorial elections, which brought about a major alternance in the governing coalition, demonstrated the ability of liberal democratic institutions to provide a check on the potential exclusionary effects of any single vision of Catalonia. Although the moderate nationalism of the CiU continues to have a major effect on the arrangement, no single understanding of Catalonia prevails. The new statute, the product of partisan negotiations and electoral competition, represented the territorial community as many things simultaneously. The threats to inclusive citizenship posed

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by a narrowly ethnolinguistic, nationalist framing of Catalonia have been balanced by other visions: of a community of diverse traditions, cultures, and peoples; a democratic community aspiring to collective self-rule; a community of justice and equality seeking to advance a dignified quality of life for all residents; and a community in solidarity with Spain and Europe. The quality of the democratic processes in Catalonia, Spain, Europe, and beyond, including their articulation with political economic processes at multiple levels, will continue profoundly to affect the trajectory of Spain as an asymmetrical state and Catalonia as an inclusive society.

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CH A P T E R

F I V E

Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute

. . . the Left knows that what characterizes regimes that are truly democratic is their respect for minorities. Not only for their existence, of course, but above all for their rights. And not only for their right to express themselves . . . but their right to be different and to take care of their own affairs. Gaston Defferre (Preface to Phlipponneau 1981), French Minister of the Interior and of Decentralization . . . in a democratic Europe all island regions should have special statutes. Pierre Joxe, French Minister of the Interior (quoted in Hintjens, Loughlin, and Olivesi 1995: 127) Democracy is that: to know to whom to talk. . . . A single local authority will bring that clarity. . . . excessive complexity does not serve democracy. Jean-Pierre Raffarin (2003b), French Prime Minister The Socialists together with the Communists swept to power in the May and June 1981 presidential and legislative elections on promises to transform France (see Wright 1981). They had pledged to revitalize the economy, create a more equitable society, build a “new citizenship,” and strengthen democratic life, in part through decentralizing the territorial distribution of political power and authority. A future Socialist Prime Minister Michel Rocard described the decentralization plan as the “institutional decolonization of France.” It was heralded as one of the “great reforms” of the new government. Named after Gaston

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Defferre, minister of the interior and of decentralization under Prime Minister Pierre Mauroy, the decentralization reforms included a statut particulier,1 or special statute, for Corsica, where violence linked with nationalist groups and independence demands had been on the rise. The special statute gave Corsican regional authorities a unique institutional configuration and autonomy in education, social and cultural policy, and economic development that, initially, was unavailable to other parts of metropolitan France.2 As the quote above demonstrates, Defferre himself emphasized that recognizing the right to difference and autonomy of minority territorial communities showed the truly democratic nature of a country. Some analysts declared his decentralization reforms the most important deviation from the principles of the centralized, symmetrical Jacobin state since the French Revolution (Keating and Hainsworth 1986; Mazey 1993). France’s “hidden” constitution, in Tully’s terms, had long allowed for asymmetries at the level of practice and implementation to make the Jacobin version of the modern territorial state and citizenship model more workable (see Hayward 1983; Grémion 1977; Worms 1966). As such, the special statute is remarkable for the de jure asymmetry that it offered the island. The chapter explores why, without the impetus of war or regime change, the new French government agreed to the Corsican special status arrangement. The argument made is that the statute needs to be understood in the context of the state-wide decentralization reforms of the new government. It aimed to renew island democracy and energize its economy by co-opting moderate nationalists and the so-called forces vives in the hope of ending Corsican nationalist violence. The decision to grant the special statute was facilitated by the lack of international support for Corsican independence, by the economic and political peripherality of the island, and by the Socialists’ prior conversion to decentralization and minority rights. As with Catalonia, many of the asymmetrical elements of Corsican autonomy proved short-lived, eroded by standardized decentralization reforms that occurred across France and by institutionalized norms of equality and majoritarian democracy. Later attempts by French governments to grant the island more autonomy and special status have encountered similar resistance and pressure for policy harmonization associated with the single European market. Some Corsicans have themselves also resisted further, distinctive devolution, whether to protect citizen equality and democracy, retain clientelist networks, or protect high state spending and subsidies for the island. For all of these reasons, the special status arrangement has, to date, provided Corsican

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territorial authorities with only mild political autonomy. Their scope to depart from state-wide policies has been limited, inhibiting robust efforts to protect Corsican culture and language. Nevertheless, nationalist parties now participate in the institutions of self-rule, although nationalist violence has continued. Although the special status arrangement largely cannot be directly blamed for the citizenship deficits for internal minorities, Corsican nationalist and other identity politics appears to have contributed to their exclusion. Background Corsica is geographically and demographically peripheral within metropolitan France. The most mountainous of the Mediterranean islands, it is located some 170 kilometers from Nice, but only 90 kilometers from mainland Italy and 11 kilometers from Italian Sardinia. In 1982, the year of the special statute, Corsica’s 240,000 people accounted for only 0.43 percent of France’s 55.6 million inhabitants. Its 8,681 square kilometers make up but 1.6 percent of metropolitan French territory. Italian and French inf luences have dominated the island culturally and politically in recent centuries, but the island’s history points to the heterogeneity of its peoples and cultures because of its location at the cross-roads of Mediterranean trade, war-making, and cultural f lows. From the thirteen century until its purchase by Louis XV of France in 1768, Corsica was mainly under the formal control of the city-state of Genoa except for periods of control by the Aragonese and the French crowns. After a 1729 revolt against Genoan rule, Corsicans were effectively self-governing for more than two decades. The territorial language, Corsican, has Latin roots and is related to Tuscan, Ligurian (the language of Genoa), and Sardinian. Corsican has several dialects, the product of a mountainous terrain that made crossisland communication difficult until the last century. Standardization has been ongoing. Lacking the prestige of Catalan, Corsican has become increasingly marginalized under the pressure of French nation-statebuilding and as Corsicans migrated in search of economic opportunity. French increasingly dominated public spheres, including education, and became the language of socioeconomic advancement. Many parents ceased to teach Corsican to their children (Blackwood 2007; 2004). By the last quarter of the twentieth century, only one in ten children spoke Corsican with their parents either exclusively or habitually (INSEE 2005). Yet, Corsican remained the strongest of France’s

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regional languages. In 1982, the year of the special statute, 96 percent of Corsican-origin residents said they could understand it and 86 percent said they could speak it. Since the 1960s, there has been an active movement to reverse its decline, but progress has been difficult. The protection of the Corsican language and culture have been part of the foundation of the nationalist platform. The island’s economic underdevelopment has also been a focus of nationalist grievances. Corsica has long been the poorest region of metropolitan France. A reliance on state spending in the form of subsidies, special tax status, social program spending, and, especially, state-sector jobs has sharpened a sense of the island’s distinctiveness and caused some nationalists to see its relationship with France as one of colonial dependence. For others economic dependence has reinforced a sense of attachment to France (Daftary 2008). Unemployment has long been high by French standards. By the early 1960s, decolonization had largely ended opportunities for upward mobility through the French colonial service. Even in 2002, by which time state spending and the growth of the agriculture and tourism sectors had improved standards of living, the GDP per capita of Corsica was still 87.7 percent of the EU average, compared to 115 percent for France as a whole. At 13.3 percent, Corsica still had the highest unemployment rate amongst the metropolitan regions of France, just ahead of Nord-Pas-de-Calais. The rate was 8.7 percent in France as a whole (EU 2006). State agents trying to consolidate and legitimate French rule have long combined standardization and centralization with deviations from the administrative institutions and practices used elsewhere. Taken by the French army in 1768, the island was first separately administered, then incorporated into the French empire in 1789 and established as a department in 1790. Subsequently, Corsica was subject to a series of separate administrative, fiscal, and judicial ordinances. Even in recent decades, the island still had some distinct inheritance taxes and exemptions from and reductions in consumption taxes, such as the Value Added Tax, on transport costs for goods from continental France. These asymmetries have been threatened by the push to standardize taxes and policies in a bid to create a single market amongst the member states of the EU (see Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994). After World War II, French governments made a number of changes to the administration of Corsica, most within the legal-administrative framework used elsewhere in the metropolitan area. In 1964, Corsica was attached to the administrative region of Provence–Côte d’Azur– Corse. In 1970, it became a separate region only to be divided into

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two departments, Haute Corse and Corse-du-Sud, four years later. This was ostensibly to address underadministration, create jobs, and make administration more publicly accessible (Boisvert 1988), although critics declared it a divide-and-rule tactic. In 1967, the government created the Corsican Economic Expansion Fund (Fonds d’Expansion Economique de la Corse). Unique in France, it aimed to offset the economic handicaps of being an island (Orsini 1991). President de Gaulle’s stillborn 1969 decentralization reforms would also have given the island some functional administrative special status. In 1971, the state created the unique Corsican Economic Development Commission (Commission de Développement Économique de la Corse) in another effort to address Corsica’s economic malaise. Demands for improved transport links with the continent, lower living costs, and special fiscal measures, justified because of Corsica’s island status, had long been Corsican grievances. By the 1960s, Corsican autonomists and nationalists were demanding political change as well, part of a wave of ethno-nationalist and decentralist mobilization across Western Europe (see Lijphart 1977; Heisler 1990; Gurr 1993a). They called for an elected Corsican assembly, self-rule, and protection for Corsican culture and language. A few demanded independence. The nationalist cause encompassed elements of the so-called forces vives— new business people, a middle class marginalized by recent tourism and agricultural developments, young people, and the unemployed. Among its leaders were members of the young, continent-educated elite, such as Edmond Simeoni. They had began returning to Corsica in the late 1960s and early 1970s (Dressler-Holohan 1985; Boisvert 1988). Environmental concerns also impelled nationalist demands. The 1972 dumping of toxic waste into the waters off Cap Corse by the multinational Montedison—the “affaire des boues rouges”— had sparked a major public outcry and mobilization across the island (Olivesi 1996: 6–7). Demographic trends aggravated the sense of decline and cultural siege amongst many Corsicans, fueling the nationalist cause. Despite high emigration and low birth rates, between 1960 and 1980 immigration increased the island population to 240,000 from 170,000. Most newcomers were from mainland France and North Africa and were not ethnically Corsican. By the early 1980s, the time of the special statute, one in three islanders originated elsewhere. Along with Ile de France, the region that includes Paris, Corsica had the highest proportion of immigrants in the state: 13.2 percent of the population in 1975, 11.3 percent in 1982, and about 10 percent today (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004; Luciani

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1995).3 Due to outmigration, declining birth rates, and the unwillingness of many native Corsicans to do low-skilled agricultural or service sector work, immigrants accounted for a significant proportion of the island work force, about 57 percent in the early 1990s and nearly 71 percent of agricultural laborers (Luciani 1995). As the twenty-first century began, immigrants made up as much as 20 percent of Corsican cities and a growing proportion of school-aged children. Corsica also had proportionately more North African immigrants than the rest of France, with Moroccans especially numerous (42 percent of the total, compared to 12 percent country-wide) (INSEE and FASILD 2004). State economic policies also fed the nationalist movement in the 1960s and 1970s. Chief amongst them was the state-sponsored agricultural land acquisition and financing schemes used to develop orchard crops and vineyards. Although state policymakers claimed the policies would help develop and commercialize Corsican agriculture, nationalists saw them bringing disproportionate benefits to the new landowners, mostly newly arrived French rapatriés4 and migrant North African agricultural workers. State-encouraged mass tourism and coastal development also appeared to many mainly to benefit outside investors while harming land and aquatic environments (Olivesi 1996; Boisvert 1988). The f lip side was that state spending, which was higher than the per capita average for metropolitan France, was pushing up Corsican standards of living to levels more comparable with the continent. Nationalists and others argued that these gains came at the cost of the gutting of most local production, an exodus of the rural population, and the smothering of what was distinctive about Corsica by a universal consumer culture (Michalon 1985c). Also high on the nationalist grievance list was the clientelist structure of the Corsican political economy. Critics declared it anti-democratic and exclusionary, the product of collusion between state authorities and the so-called “clans.” The term referred to nominally left- and rightwing factions centered on a few big families, their relatives, allies, and “clients.” A product of the relationship of local social forces and political economic structures with state personnel, programs, and policies, the clans had strong links with state-level political parties. Through these, clan leaders—termed here traditional elites—competed electorally for the role of mediator between Corsican society and the state. This role gave these traditional elites the ability to provide for their clients using the economic and political resources of the state (Lamprecht 1981; Dressler-Holohan 1985). Although clan dominance had lessened somewhat by the late 1970s, traditional elites still maintained their

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position through systemic electoral fraud.5 Their clientelist practices helped to perpetuate an overdependence on state employment, entitlement payments, subsidies, and other state programs. Critics, including some nationalists, argued that identities based on family and patronclient relations sublimated the democratic role of free and equal citizens (see Giudici 1997). However, not all Corsicans accepted the nationalist diagnosis that the island’s economic problems and cultural decline were the unnatural consequence of colonial external domination and weak internal democracy. Not everyone shared the view that Corsica needed to defend its culture, much less seek self-rule or, as a minority of radical nationalists argued, demand independence. In addition to the tensions over nationalism, the island was divided by clan, north/south, coastal/interior, generational, class, gender, ethnic, ideological, and other cleavages. There was no single understanding of the island’s collective identity (see McKechnie 1993). Many traditional elites in particular feared devolution could threaten their political and economic power within Corsica and role as mediators with the state. Some feared devolution could marginalize the island within France and potentially reduce the f low of state revenue and the sense of social solidarity that helped sustain it (Dressler-Holohan 1985). Some saw cultural and economic decline as an inevitable part of socioeconomic integration into France and Europe and the benefits of economic modernization. From this perspective, the solution was not autonomy or special status, but state money to improve public facilities, reduce the disadvantages f lowing from Corsica’s island status, and promote new economic activity. Others, such as some Corsican feminists and Communist party members, opposed self-rule for other reasons. The former accused nationalists of promoting patriarchy in the name of protecting Corsican cultural identity and claimed Republican equality as the way to strengthen women’s rights (see de Zerbi 1987; Quastana and Casanova 1986). Corsican nationalist demands also had little appeal for North African migrant workers, for whom claims about Corsican identity and selfrule lacked clear terms of inclusion (see Luciani 1995). Nationalists were themselves divided over goals and tactics. Radical nationalists pursued independence and thought violence a legitimate means to that end. Their more moderate counterparts aimed at autonomy and either explicitly denounced or took an ambiguous position on violence. These differences in goals and tactics have undermined sustained electoral cooperation amongst nationalist groups. After 1977, in the years leading to the 1981 election of the Socialists in France, there

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were increasing numbers of violent attacks, either linked with nationalist claims or the so-called barbouze counterattacks.6 Of the 5,737 terrorist incidents between 1975 and 1984, three-quarters were associated with nationalist groups ( Jongman 1992; see also Boisvert 1988).7 Most targeted property, not people (Fox 1998). Following the 1982/1983 special statute, French governments in the early 1990s and again in the early 2000s expanded Corsican autonomy and gave it additional asymmetrical features. The changes of the early 2000s followed a period of particularly intense violence from the mid- to the late 1990s. The attacks and killings of this period involved rival factions of the Corsican National Liberation Front (Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale di a Corsica, FLNC) and sometimes had a political dimension, but were also mixed with vendettas associated with clan politics and with ordinary criminality (Sylvie Florence, “Many Corsican bombs due to gangs, not guerrillas,” Reuters, January 7, 1997). Attacks on local branches of French administrative agencies surged from 1996. In February 1998, French Prefect Claude Erignac, the senior central government official on the island, was assassinated in the streets of Ajaccio, an unprecedented event that sparked unprecedented anti-violence demonstrations on the island. In a 2003 referendum, Corsicans narrowly rejected a proposal for a more unique configuration of territorial political institutions. Origins The 1982/1983 special statute in many respects had its roots in the democratic legitimacy that underlies substate ethnonationalist claims. Using the language of self-determination and self-government, these claims rely on the idea of democracy or are, at minimum, populist (Seth 1995). Consequently, in liberal democracies, substate nationalist claims potentially challenge the democratic legitimacy of the country-wide government. They imply the existence of a competing demos with as much or more democratic legitimacy than the demos associated with the nation-state. As such, democratic regimes cannot easily remain coherent if they consistently deny autonomy or special status claims or use violence to suppress minority territorial identity claims over long periods (see Gurr 1993b; Linz and Stepan 1992; 1996). As a result, reproducing the legitimacy of state political power in liberal democracies involves ongoing negotiations and contestation with minority territorial communities and their political elites with respect to the territorial

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distribution of political authority in the state. These negotiations are part of what might be termed processes of democratic maintenance. The decentralist trend in many liberal democracies that began in the late 1960s had other causes, too: uneven economic development, urbanization, and regional planning needs; sectional interests linked to political parties, politicians, and state bureaucracies; and central state fiscal pressures (Sharpe 1993a). However, the link said to exist between decentralization and democracy provided additional impetus, especially for minority territorial identity communities such as Corsica. All of these factors had a role in encouraging the Socialist government to introduce decentralization reforms early in its term of office. With the French decentralization reforms as a whole, the Socialists aimed to revitalize democracy through the recognition and accommodation of territorialized difference. They also wanted to improve administrative efficiency and strengthen economic planning, all while leveraging their own reelection from their regional power bases. The Socialist Party had made electoral advances in Brittany and the Basque country and other local authorities and administrative bodies in the 1970s—although not Corsica, notably. The gains had been partly due to the party’s platform of decentralization and a “right to difference” (Phlipponneau 1981; Keating 1985; Chaussier 1988; Wright 1981). Consequently, increasing numbers of left-wing politicians had personal experience of the prefectural tutelle, the a priori control that the state exercised over local authorities through its prefects. Both the prime minister and interior minister had been regional presidents, so were aware of disgruntlement with the undemocratic nature of the weak and unelected regional councils. Furthermore, amongst the Socialist Party ranks by the late 1970s were Corsicans who supported stronger regional authorities with more political clout (d’Arcy 1993; Berger 1977; Phlipponneau 1981; Keating 1985; Hintjens, Loughlin, and Olivesi 1995; Dressler-Holohan 1985). The central pillar of the Defferre reforms was the creation across France of directly elected regional councils with expanded authority (Phlipponneau 1981). The reforms also replaced the prefect’s tutelle with the a posteriori control of an administrative court (Thoenig 1992; d’Arcy 1993; Grémion 1989). In the 1970s, Mitterrand had sensed the declining legitimacy of Jacobin discourses, which referred to an internally homogeneous nation composed of equal, undifferentiated citizens. He had begun defending the principle of respect for distinctive cultural identities, even advocating a separate department for the French Basque country and a special statute for Corsica (d’Istria 1997). There was also

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discussion of making the regional administrative border of Brittany ref lect Breton cultural boundaries. Once in office, however, the Socialists decided that Corsica would be the only metropolitan region to gain territorial-political recognition (Phlipponneau 1981; Safran 1985). The government hoped that a distinctive form of autonomy would help reduce the political and economic costs of governing Corsica, but be consistent with goals of the wider decentralization scheme. The problem of nationalist violence was a major factor motivating the decision. The immediate political goal was to co-opt moderate nationalists and other forces vives, encouraging them to compete for seats in a new directly elected territorial assembly, thereby weakening both radical nationalists linked with clandestine groups and traditional politicians. To encourage reconciliation, the special statute included an amnesty clause for some political crimes (Assemblée nationale 1982; see also Dressler-Holohan 1985). The government also abolished the death penalty and the controversial Security Court (Cour de sûreté). A mixed military-civilian tribunal with authority over crimes concerning state unity and security, it was controversial partly because Corsicans up on terrorism charges had to be tried on the continent (Wierviorka 1990). Several factors also facilitated the government decision to give Corsica a special statute. One was the Socialists’ conversion to decentralization and softening towards minorities as rights-bearing collectivities, which had occurred after the events of May 1968. Its earlier objections to these policies were rooted in the Revolutionary-era view that substate collectivities and provincial autonomies were anti-progressive relics of the ancien régime. The shift required a rethinking of the Jacobin version of the modern territorial state and citizenship model, with its emphasis on standardization, centralization, formal citizen equality, and the unitary nature of the French nation. For the model denied the possibility of there being another people, or nation, within France. The Jacobin model also put less emphasis on liberty, a norm potentially supportive of the legitimacy of self-government and asymmetrical distributions of territorial-political authority (Phlipponneau 1981; Brubaker 1992). The decision to allow Corsica special status was likely also eased by the view in government ranks that the island was politically and geographically peripheral, so treating it distinctly would not create a dangerous precedent.8 Opponents of the policy in the National Assembly claimed the statute would push France down the road to federalism or even disintegration (Assemblée nationale 1982). However, there is some evidence suggesting the French public may have regarded Corsica as a special case: 48 percent of continental French who participated in one

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1980 poll said they assumed or looked forward to the eventual independence of the island (Ramsay 1983). Corsican nationalism was also less threatening because, in contrast with the French Basque country, there was no mobilized “ethnic” kin territory outside France. There had been irredentist sympathies in Italy during World War II, but these had all but disappeared (Chaussier 1988; Keating 1985). An additional facilitating factor was the mild asymmetry already permitted in French administration and law, some of which had applied to Corsica, as noted earlier (Assemblée nationale 1982). The 1958 Constitution had included limited provisions for derogations from standardized law for overseas departments and territories, as well as Ile-de-France and Paris (Michalon 1985a; Berthon 1996; see also Connell and Aldrich 1989). Alsace-Lorraine also had distinctive legal rules and traditions (Glenn 1974). Finally, the limited nature of the Corsican reforms made them easier to accept. The Defferre reforms, including the special statute for Corsica, were mostly technical and administrative in nature (see Richard 1995). They did not significantly challenge the power of established political elites, for they left communal and departmental administrations intact, used established territorial administrative borders, and did not limit the right of local politicians to hold multiple elected offices (Keating 1985). It also helped that the statute could be passed without the need for constitutional amendments or referenda. This lowered the political risks involved, but also the degree of distinctiveness that would be permitted. The Nature of Corsican Special Status Since the introduction of the special statute, Corsica’s autonomy has been mainly functional and administrative, although its political autonomy has marginally increased over time. It has had only mild special status. The statute provided some symbolic and institutional asymmetry. The institutional organization of the island’s regional authorities was said to take into account its geographic and historical specificities (Art. 1, Loi no. 82-214, March 2, 1982). The statute provided for additional symbolic and institutional asymmetry in the form of territorial institutions with a uniquely political f lavor and legitimacy in comparison with other regional councils. The regional council had the more political title of Corsican Assembly. It took advice from the Economic and Social Council and the Culture, Education and Environment Council, bodies merely called “committees” elsewhere. Further, the Assembly

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was elected through a proportional representation list system based on a single, island-wide constituency rather than the department-based electoral districts used in the other regions. The aim of this special provision was to give the Corsican Assembly island-wide legitimacy, encourage the participation of nationalists in territorial elections, and challenge the departmental power bases of traditional politicians. Lists needed only 1.6 percent of the popular vote to win a seat, a means of encouraging nationalists and forces vives to participate. Other measures, modeled after the French overseas territories, attempted to give the Assembly a more parliamentary nature, without infringing on the constitutional principles protecting the indivisibility of the French nation and the unitary state through the latter’s monopoly on legislation and regulation.9 Constitutional Art. 3 stated that “national sovereignty belongs to people who exercise it through its representatives and through referenda. No section of people may be given this right.” Thus, the role of the Corsican Assembly in legislative and regulatory processes was advisory. It could, on its own or when asked by the prime minister, suggest legislative or regulatory changes related to territorial competencies, to Corsica’s social, cultural, and economic development, and to state services on the island (Rémond and Blanc 1989; Bouzely 1989; Boisvert 1988; Michalon 1985a; 1985b; Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994). The Assembly, presided over by its own choice of president, could also meet at its own initiative or that of its president or executive and fix its own order of business. The territorial president also replaced the prefect as chief executive, implementing Assembly decisions, running the territorial administration, and controlling the territorial budget based on state block grants (Phlipponneau 1981; Verpeaux 1996; Thoenig 1992). The statute did provide limited functional special status in cultural and economic development matters (Michalon 1985a). The teaching of Corsican language and culture was already occurring outside regular school hours and on a voluntary basis for students and teachers, organized by the rectorat d’académie. The statute transferred the relevant state resources and the authority to organize Corsican language and cultural classes to the territorial authority. However, French remained the only official language on the island. Corsican classes still had to be optional and supplementary so as not to violate the singularity of the French nation (Michalon 1985b). State support for Corsican selfrule in cultural matters was still highly circumscribed and chronically underfunded. State officials remained resistant to the registration of children with Corsican rather than French given names. Nevertheless, the policies of the first Mitterrand presidency did somewhat expand

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Corsica’s cultural self-rule and valorized demands that Corsican language and culture be protected. Notably, the statute allowed the territorial authorities to make suggestions to state authorities concerning local university education and research. In 1981, the university in Corte had been reopened, the original institution having been established by the nationalist hero Pasquale Paoli late in the nineteenth century. The revived university would eventually be permitted to make the learning of Corsican mandatory for all full-time students (Blackwood 2007). There were other minor asymmetries. Corsica already received more state money per inhabitant than other regions in areas such as professional training, education, and agriculture. As already noted, it retained remnants of a separate fiscal regime. Now Corsican authorities were handed somewhat greater administrative responsibility in regional economic planning, housing, transport, water, and agricultural and rural development, although still without legislative or regulatory authority or tax-raising powers. Within these limits, the aim was to empower Corsicans to solve their own economic problems so that they could create more opportunities to live and work in their own land (see Romi 1988; Bouzley 1989; Michalon 1985a; 1985b). Later French governments attempted to use further devolution and special status to address the ongoing political and economic problems on the island and, by the 1990s, the rapid advance of European integration. The details of these reforms will be discussed in the next section, in the context of the tensions surrounding the special status arrangement. Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy The 1991 Joxe reforms and the changes to Corsican autonomy following the Matignon Process, early in the 2000s, grew out of weaknesses in the original special status arrangement. They ref lected ongoing conf licts over asymmetry and autonomy connected to democracy, equality norms, and the unitary French state and nation, ties of social solidarity with France, and the legal and fiscal standardization required for the single European market. Democracy and Equality The democratic context in which the Corsican special statute emerged indirectly contributed to the tensions that characterized the arrangement from the beginning. Unlike the Catalan case, there was no regime change to necessitate a renegotiation of the French Constitution. The

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special statute and wider Defferre reforms had to conform even more strongly to established constitutional norms. This blocked movement towards a more plurinational form of territorial governance allowing greater asymmetrical autonomy. The Right referred the special statute, as well as almost every other significant piece of Socialist legislation of the early 1980s, to the Constitutional Council, which was dominated by former right-wing ministers and parliamentarians appointed by the former government. The resulting “juridicization” of the legislative process pushed the government to weaken the distinctive features of the special statute in anticipation of Constitutional Council objections (Stone 1992; Favier and Martin-Roland 1990). Later, the Constitutional Council was to strike down or significantly challenge key provisions for violating citizen equality, the indivisibility of the Republic, and the singularity of the nation. The context of constitutional continuity in which the special statute emerged also meant that the communal and departmental power bases of traditional elites were left intact. This was to weaken the ability of the reforms to challenge radically the dominance of these politicians (Boisvert 1988; Thoenig 1992; Rokkan and Urwin 1983; Preteceille 1988). This was to subvert the democratizing intent of the Defferre reforms across France (see Schmidt 1990). Consequently, traditional elites dominated the new Corsican Assembly. Their electoral success was aided by Constitutional Council rulings that rejected as a violation of citizen equality the distinctive electoral provisions of the special statute. These had aimed to reduce the power of traditional elites. The disunity amongst nationalist groups further boosted the electoral success of traditional elites in the regional polls (see Romi 1988; Sénécal 1988; Rémond and Blanc 1989; Michalon 1985b). Partly because of its composition, the Assembly took few initiatives supportive of change in its early years. Other factors contributing to its status quo orientation were its financial dependence on the state, the difficulty dominant political parties had in maintaining working majorities, and the Assembly’s weak local legitimacy. In sum, paradoxically, elements of the democratic context of the special status arrangement limited the extent to which it could enhance the inclusive, open-ended, and plurinational quality of democracy in Corsica, particularly prior to the Joxe reforms. Equality and Indivisibility From the time of the first special statute, institutionalized norms of formal citizen equality have set limits to the degree of special status possible

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under the arrangement. A 1982 decision of the Constitutional Council deemed constitutional the granting of a special statute to a metropolitan territorial authority such as Corsica, citing the distinct status of Paris as a precedent (Decision no. 82–138, February 25, 1982). Nevertheless, appeals to formal citizen equality were used by state-level and Corsican opponents to block a number of elements of the original Defferre reforms. The government had to dilute key asymmetrical elements to win political support in government, in key state political institutions including the National Assembly and Senate,10 the Council of State (Conseil d’Etat, France’s highest administrative court), the Constitutional Council, as well as in Corsica itself (see Favier and Martin-Roland 1990; Boisvert 1988; Dressler-Holohan 1985; Michalon 1985a). Thus, the draft version had referred to “the Corsican people, a component part of the French people.” However, the final version shied away from affirming an ethnic or nationalist understanding of Corsican identity by referring merely to the territory having geographical and historical specificities (Art. 1, Loi no. 82-214, March 2, 1982). A good deal of the asymmetry created by the 1982/1983 special statute occurred because the government delayed its decentralization plans for the other French regions, but moved more quickly in Corsica, hoping to maintain the tenuous peace achieved with the promise of an amnesty and of a special statute (Mény 1992). Thus, the Corsican statute ended up being a pilot scheme for key elements of the Defferre reforms, creating asymmetries that disappeared as decentralization established elected regional councils with greater authority across continental France. Even in this diluted form, critics argued that the statute legitimated radical nationalist and independence demands. At a time when state representatives were holding secret negotiations with clandestine nationalist groups, critics claimed the statute was more evidence that the state shared a degree of responsibility for the lawlessness on the island (Assemblée nationale 1982). In its own defense, the government argued the special statute would not legitimate separatism or nationalist violence, but rather strengthen the inclusion of Corsica within France. Nevertheless, resistance to asymmetrical autonomy existed amongst both the Left and the Right. It is possible that the special statute would not have been possible at all, except in the context of a state-wide decentralization policy where Corsica could serve as a laboratory for state-wide reforms. The 1991 Joxe reforms, under the Socialist government of Michel Rocard, attempted to get around the constraints posed by the

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constitutional norms of equality and indivisibility. They also responded to the effects of European integration on the island, the subject of a later section. The Joxe reforms gave Corsican authorities new functional competencies and slightly more political autonomy. Importantly, they also transformed the Corsican region into a territorial authority sui generis. Like the overseas territories of Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon and Mayotte, Corsica would now have a constitutional status of its own, so that its institutions and policies could sometimes legitimately deviate from standardized norms (Berthon 1996). However, the reforms again triggered opposition from key government ministers and some government deputies, the parliamentary opposition, the Constitutional Council, and inf luential individuals and groups in Corsica itself (see Olivesi 1991; Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994; Andreani 1993). They claimed that formal citizen equality and the indivisibility of the Republic and nation were again under attack. The Joxe bill had resurrected part of the draft Defferre reforms, referring to a “Corsican people, a component part of the French people, [with] the right to preserve its cultural identity and defend its specific economic and social interests” (quoted in Olivesi 1991: 710). The wording provided symbolic recognition of the distinctiveness of the island and ref lected the phrasing of a motion that had been passed by the Corsican Assembly. However, in 1991, the Constitutional Council annulled the article, on the familiar grounds that the Constitution “only recognizes the French people, composed of all French citizens without distinction of origin, race or religion” (Decision no. 91-290 DC, May 9, 1991). It also annulled a provision prohibiting Corsican Assembly members from simultaneously holding seats in departmental assemblies and another requiring that the Corsican Assembly be elected from a single islandwide electoral district, rather than from the departmental electoral districts used in other metropolitan regions. The annulled provisions had once again aimed at reducing the political dominance of traditional politicians. In addition, the Constitutional Council annulled a provision that would have strengthened the inf luence of Corsicans in state decisionmaking. It required the French government to give Corsican parliamentarians information concerning projects of interest to Corsica. The Constitutional Council said the provision violated the norm that parliamentarians represent all French citizens equally (Ibid.; see also Rémond and Blanc 1989; Stone 1992).11 Nevertheless, the Council also somewhat legitimated groupdifferentiated rights. It confirmed that the law can treat different territorial units differently if derogation from the equality principle protected

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the general interest. As such, it accepted Corsica’s status as a territorial authority sui generis. It allowed the teaching of Corsican in schools, although classes still had to be non-obligatory. It accepted the requirement that Corsicans renew their voter registration annually, a measure aimed at reducing electoral fraud (Luchaire 1991). Additionally, the Council accepted the transfer to the territorial authority of some departmental competencies in education, housing, and transport. Finally, it permitted provisions mildly strengthening the inf luence of the territorial authorities in state policymaking while retaining the unitary structure of the state. The territorial executive was given a somewhat parliamentary character similar to equivalent institutions in the French overseas territories.12 It was allowed a greater consultative role in formulating state legislation and regulation, although still no autonomous legislative role. The Assembly could pass resolutions on state policies, but only had the right to be consulted on state decrees. It was also given authority to choose its own members to the departmental electoral college responsible for selecting Corsica’s senators (Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994; Olivesi and Pastorel 1993). In addition, the Constitutional Council endorsed some electoral changes aimed at making the Assembly responsive to more than clan-based clientelist pressures and giving it a more stable majority.13 However, due to institutionalized norms of equality and indivisibility, which continued to have significant political support across the political spectrum in France and Corsica, it was not until the Matignon Process of 1999–2000 that there was serious discussion of significantly expanding Corsican political autonomy through devolving legislative authority (Daftary 2000). The Matignon negotiations, initiated by the Socialist government of Lionel Jospin, came during the period of significant violence in Corsica in the mid to late 1990s and followed the assassination of Prefect Erignac. The prime minister said that public condemnation of violence was a precondition for dialogue and while not all nationalists complied, the Matignon Process was made possible by unprecedented support for major institutional reforms amongst traditional and nationalist members of the Corsican Assembly, more of which below. The talks resulted in a third autonomy statute in January 2001 and constitutional reforms in 2003 that permitted Corsica more autonomy and scope for greater special status, although in a manner that ultimately would lead to a high degree of de jure uniformity amongst territorial authorities. First, the 2001 law increased the functional autonomy of the Corsican Assembly. It also mildly increased its final decisionmaking authority by

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giving the Assembly new, if limited authority to adapt regulations in its areas of competence (Loi no. 2002-92, January 22, 2002).14 The law restated the provision, originating in the Joxe reforms and accepted by the Constitutional Council, authorizing the Assembly to suggest modifications to legislation and regulations in its areas of functional competence. However, the Assembly still had no authority to derogate from French laws due to this violating the unity of the nation (Decision no. 2001-454 DC, January 17, 2002; see Daftary 2002; Vallet 2004). A second set of reforms, under the right-wing government of JeanPierre Raffarin, went further, by taking France further away from the model of a unitary, centralized state and nation and a standardized distribution of territorial political authority. So much so that the changes required constitutional amendments in March 2003, which some declared the most important since 1958 (Vallet 2004). Art. 1 of the Constitution still affirmed the “indivisibility” of the French Republic, but it also declared its organization to be “decentralized.” The amendments recognized the principle of subsidiarity (Art. 88-5), namely that competence should be exercised at the lowest level of authority possible. While introduced into the Constitution with reference to the relationship of France with the EU, subsidiarity also implied that Corsica could acquire competencies linked directly to its distinctiveness as an island (Vallet 2004). Other amendments to strengthen local democratic accountability in state decisionmaking were to have particular importance for Corsica. They allowed for the holding of local referenda on matters relevant to the competence, organization, or policies of a local authority, at the initiative of a local authority, citizens, or the French parliament (Art. 72-1). The July 2003 referendum held in Corsica under the new provision demonstrated that, although the results were legally non-binding, they were politically difficult for governments to ignore. In effect, the new constitutional provision had redefined the unitary Republican model (Vallet 2004). Other amendments in this latest wave of reforms improved the fiscal autonomy of the island by better establishing the link between transfers of competencies and transfers of resources (Art. 72-2; Vallet 2004). Last but not least, Art. 37-1 and Art. 72 increased the scope for asymmetrical policies. They allowed territorial authorities to derogate from country-wide laws and regulations on an experimental basis, providing certain rules were followed. However, this asymmetry could only be temporary. The amendment allowed the derogation for five to eight years, after which it had either to be generalized to all relevant territorial authorities or expire (Vallet 2004; see also Cole 2003).

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Equality and the Protection of the Corsican Language The protection of Corsican has been another conf lictual dimension of the special status arrangement, with constitutional norms protecting formal citizen equality and the unity of the French nation contributing to blocking robustly asymmetrical policies. Until 2001, the modern territorial state and citizenship norms embedded in the constitutional framework prevented the holding of Corsican classes during regular school hours and required that they be voluntary. With the new law, language could be taught during the regular school day for pre-primary and primary children for the first time, but only with parental approval. The provision came after a decade of halting, ambiguous progress in revitalizing the language. During the 1990s, the protection of regional languages in France was inhibited by measures taken by governments to protect French against the use of English in the international marketplace. It was in this context that a 1992 constitutional amendment declared that “The language of the Republic is French” (Art. 2). Meanwhile, other state regulations and laws allowed for the promotion and protection of Corsican within limits. The Académie de Corse, the territorial body responsible for Corsican language education, established the teaching of some subjects in both Corsican and French and set up bilingual and Corsican immersion schools. From 1995 to 1997, the numbers of kindergarten and primary school-aged students studying Corsican in school or studying in bilingual French-Corsican programs, increased thirteenfold (from 250 to 3,500) (INSEE Corse 1995; see also INSEE 2005). In autumn 1999, the central government allowed Corsican to be required as a subject in high schools unless parents explicitly objected. It was a controversial attempt to get around the constitutional barriers to compulsory minority-language education and to address the declining numbers of students studying Corsican in higher grades due to competition from other subjects. With the 2001 provisions giving similar treatment to Corsican as a subject in lower grades and other measures taken in the 2000s, Corsican became the most protected minority language in France (Blackwood 2007). Although some of the legal barriers to the compulsory teaching of Corsican were finally being overcome, socioeconomic factors weakening the language did not change. Educational and occupational advancement were still overwhelmingly determined by French-language skills. Economic pressures continued to push native Corsicans to leave the island, while the children of immigrant families made up a growing

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proportion of the school-aged population. In 1999, 45 percent of residents said they spoke Corsican to others, but the rate was only 33 percent amongst those younger than 20 years. Amongst those under 35 years of age and born in Corsica to Corsica-born parents, only 60 percent reported using Corsican (INSEE 2005). An additional barrier to preventing further decline of the language has been the weak support amongst ethnic Corsicans for compulsory Corsican language education. According to Blackwood (2004), Republican values like citizen equality and the unity of the nation were only partly to blame. Mandatory classes were also seen as contradicting the voluntary, family-based nature of Corsican identity and the view that Corsican was not as useful to study as English, German, or Italian. For immigrants, learning French often took priority over Corsican, even if obligatory Corsican language classes could sometimes be symbols of integration, too. Nevertheless, Blackwood suggested that few parents appeared to be exercising their right to have their children opt out of Corsican classes (Blackwood 2004). Social Solidarity Some of the greatest tensions associated with the special status arrangement have concerned the inclusion of Corsica in France as a community of social solidarity. This is in a context of the island’s ongoing relatively high levels of poverty and unemployment in the French context and significant dependence on state subsidies and transfers. The Corsican public has been divided over many aspects of autonomy and special status, but there has been, relatively speaking, more unity over economic grievances and a desire to protect the f low of state revenues to the island. In spring 1989, there was a paralyzing 11-week strike and major public demonstrations following the mishandling by the French government of a public sector labor dispute over the “bonus of insularity.” Yet, the dispute was not entirely about money. Arguments about culture and identity typically became entangled in these more material claims (see Jaffe 1990). In autumn 2005, as many as 10,000 Corsicans held public protests against a government plan to privatize the ferry service linking the island with continental France (Bernard Delattre, “La Corse sous la menace des ‘ultras,’ ” La Libre, October 3, 2005). The context of intense tensions over the maintenance of ties of social solidarity with France has been fiscal tightening and moves toward fiscal harmonization by the French government under pressure from European integration and global economic competition, which will be discussed below. Tensions

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also stem from evidence that the French public may be becoming less willing to support Corsica financially given the apparently unsolvable problem of political violence and seemingly perpetual Corsican grievances against the state. According to Jean-Louis Andreani (1998), there is a tendency for the French public negatively to stereotype Corsicans and lack understanding of the underlying political, economic, and social causes of island problems. Regional Integration The intensification of European economic integration has been a source of tensions, too, with its ambiguous impacts on the special status arrangement. Particularly from the 1986 Single European Act, measures to strengthen the internal European market began threatening the continuation of Corsica’s special fiscal status. The transformation of Corsica into a territorial authority sui generis under the 1991 Joxe reforms appeared to make the island’s legal status more like that of other European island regions, giving it some scope to deviate from standard French and European tax and other policies in order to respond to the problems associated with its economic, political, and geographic peripherality (Balme 1995; Hintjens, Loughlin, and Olivesi 1995). Nevertheless, political contestation in Corsica over the Joxe reforms became entangled in wider debates over the 1992 Maastricht Treaty and its provisions for European political integration and deeper economic union, including in monetary matters. Closer to home, the treaty appeared to have ambiguous implications for the island. The debates surrounding Maastricht and the results of a France-wide referendum on the treaty ref lected the difficulty of maintaining if not expanding the special status arrangement in the emerging European Union. The treaty provided for a Committee of the Regions with consultative status in European policymaking, a somewhat strengthened successor to the then existing council representing European local and regional authorities. Corsican traditional and nationalist politicians, some of whom had been involved in the council, had supported the policy change (see Baggioni 1995). At the same time, the treaty appeared to threaten the state subsidies and distinctive tax regime that supported the island economy. Corsica did not appear on Maastricht’s list of ultraperipheral regions (which included the French overseas territories, the Spanish Canary Islands, and Portuguese Açores and Madeira). These regions had been promised special development programs and derogations from harmonized European laws because of the structural nature of

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their socioeconomic problems and because of their geographic predicament. Consquently, Corsicans were ambivalent or negative about the treaty. Abstention rates in a September 1992 referendum on the treaty reached nearly 45 percent (compared with 30 percent across France). 57 percent of Corsican voters said no, compared to a positive vote of just over 51 percent across the state. In November 1992, about 10,000 people, including representatives of the dominant nationalist group, Corsica Nazione, traditional right-wing parties, and island professionals, took part in demonstrations demanding continuing fiscal exemptions. Most appeared unconvinced by the arguments of some nationalists during the Maastricht referendum that European norms and institutions were essential counterweights to the Jacobin modern territorial state and citizenship model (see Dupuy 1995/96; Dressler-Holohan 1993). The French government did eventually get European Commission agreement to postpone dismantling the island’s fiscal exemptions as well as its distinctive business and professional tax credits (“Corsica tax haven plan approved,” Reuters, November 13, 1996; Olivesi 2000; Gherghisan 2003).15 However, the European Commission made it clear that Corsica’s fiscal asymmetries would have to end eventually. Meanwhile, the territory faced the loss of EU objective 1 structural funds by the end of 2006 as its improved GNP per capita—despite chronically high unemployment and poverty—meant it was now too rich to qualify under EU rules (Olivesi 2000). The 2001 autonomy law increased Corsica’s retained portion of the petroleum tax to 18 percent from 10 percent, to help offset the impending financial losses. Democracy and Violence Throughout the life of the special status arrangement, political violence has, amongst its many negative effects, harmed the quality of democracy on the island and been a source of tensions at multiple levels. These tensions came to a head during the wave of violence of the mid to late 1990s. One consequence was the birth of an anti-violence movement called Manifeste pour la vie, which aimed to convince the state and both Corsican political elites and ordinary people of the dire need to address the deeply rooted causes of violence. Its founders argued that everyone, including ordinary people and politicians, had a role in perpetuating the culture of violence, silence, and lawlessness that pervaded the island because they failed firmly to reject nationalist and other forms of violence and accepted at face value exclusionary, individualistic understandings of Corsican identity. The state also contributed by

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failing to enforce the law equally and dispassionately, by negotiating with violent nationalists, and by supporting a non-transparent culture of public policymaking on the island (Manifeste pour la vie c. 1996). The 1998 demonstration that Manifeste pour la vie organized to protest Erignac’s assassination drew a record 60,000 people into the streets of Bastia and Ajaccio, Corsica’s major cities (Le Figaro February 8, 1999). The movement’s founding 1996 petition bore 5,000 signatures (Manifeste pour la vie c.1996). Until 2004, members of Manifeste also held small, but regular public protests to draw attention to the need to bring all murderers to justice, to the importance of rule of law, and to the pivotal role that nonviolence played in strengthening Corsican democracy. According to Paule Graziani Parci, a Manifeste founder and Bastia city councillor, the movement’s most important achievement was to encourage Corsican politics to become more pluralistic and democratic. She believes the movement’s anti-violence message helped encourage public denunciations of violence by the Party of the Corsican Nation (Partitu de a Nazione Corsa, PNC) (Graziani Parci, interview). For all its f laws and ambiguous outcome, the Matignon Process of state-Corsica negotiations in 1999–2000, following the strong public outcry against the violence, occurred more openly and allowed for the public participation not only of elected representatives, but also of civil society groups. Noëlle Vincensini, president of the anti-racism group Avà Basta, declared it “the first time that discussion has occurred in front of Corsican people” (CCASInfo 2002). Democracy, Interculturality, and Special Status In another democratic first, the 2003 constitutional amendments explained earlier opened the way for Corsicans to have an unprecedented opportunity to express their views democratically on a plan to establish a single territorial authority on the island. The Raffarin government campaigned aggressively to sell Corsicans on the proposed change. They sold the proposal not as concessions to ethnonationalists or Corsican identity, but as a means of improving democracy through simpler, more efficient, more accountable, and more coherent public administration—and a pioneer reform for all of France (Raffarin 2003b). As the new super-Assembly would be elected under France’s new gender parity law, more of which later, Raffarin (2003a) also claimed the changes would strengthen civil society and pluralism. With a strong turnout of just over 60 percent, 51 percent of participants voted against and 49 percent in favor of the plan, which appeared to

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propose abolishing the departments and handing their competencies to the Corsican Assembly. It would be simplistic to portray the result as a simple ref lection of tensions between collective self-rule and formal citizen equality and French unity. The narrow “no” vote ref lected both the misleading wording of the referendum, the complex interculturality of Corsican identities and preferences, the power configuration on the island, and other factors. News reports suggested that strongly Republican and nationalist voters said no because the reforms either went too far or not far enough. For the former, the institutional configuration proposed challenged Republican values. The latter were disgruntled because the proposal gave no legislative power to the Corsican Assembly. Some voted “no” because the departmental power bases of traditional elites appeared threatened. In practice, the communes would have continued to exist and there were to have been new department-like entities with residual authority delegated from the Corsican territorial authority (Loi no. 2003-486, June 10, 2003). Others rejected the proposal because it did not sufficiently challenge traditional elites. Some civil society groups, wanting a more pluralistic politics on the island, said a strengthened Assembly would further entrench the power of traditional and nationalist politicians. Other “no” votes ref lected concerns that the state was using the ongoing investigation into Erignac’s assassination to inf luence voters and legitimate a return to state repression: during the referendum campaign, eight individuals accused of complicity in the crime were tried in Paris. Two days before the poll, police arrested Corsican nationalist Yvan Colonna, who was eventually convicted of the murder. Finally, some voters said “no” because of a French pension reform bill that threatened the privileges of public sector employees (“Chirac urges yes vote in Corsica referendum,” Agence France-Presse, June 27, 2003; “A worrying result” The Economist July 12, 2003; “Corsica rejects referendum on autonomy from France,” Voice of America, July 7, 2003; Christine Olivier, “Corsicans narrowly reject historic referendum designed to ease separatist violence,” Associated Press, June 7, 2003; “Devolution for Corsica? France’s regions,” The Economist August 3, 2002). Outcomes Stability By the latter half of the first decade of the new century, the impact of the Corsican special status arrangement on stability was mixed. There

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was no danger that Corsican nationalism would break apart France. Arguably there never had been. The special status arrangement had proven durable through several changes of government and administration at both the state and territorial levels and through two revisions of the autonomy statute and a round of major constitutional amendments. Moreover, the arrangement was minimally stable. The most important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain its institutions and processes had continued since the early 1980s. However, maximal stability eluded the arrangement. There was some progress in that political contestation was more institutionalized than it had been prior to the special status arrangement. Nationalist lists regularly participated in territorial elections and had become the second force in the Corsican Assembly. They had gained institutional power bases in civil society groups, including organizations of agricultural land owners and of business owners, at the university in Corte and in students organizations, and in the Corsican Workers Union (Syndicat des Travailleurs Corses) (Dominici 2005; Andreani 2004). Nationalists had also helped to make support for collective Corsican identity claims and self-rule more mainstream and institutionalized. As a result, traditional political elites themselves sometimes expressed solidarity with nationalist claims, including declarations that Corsicans constituted a people (Daftary 2001). Voters still mainly opted for state-wide parties—nationalists never gained more than a quarter of Assembly seats—and were mostly unsupportive of independence and of violent tactics. None the less, many had nationalist sympathies.16 Of greater concern with respect to maximal stability, many voters were sometimes ambiguous in their stance on nationalist violence (d’Istria 1997). Extra-institutional political action by nationalist groups continued, including the use of violence in factional clashes and against state targets. The destabilizing effects of the Erignac assassination were long-lasting: the event was followed by a long police and judicial investigation. Judicial proceedings for those accused of the crime continued into 2009 (“Corsican’s life sentence for murder upheld,” Irish Times, March 28, 2009). State responses to political violence have also sometimes strayed into the realm of the extra-institutional. In 2002, former prefect Bernard Bonnet (Erignac’s successor) was found guilty of ordering the illegal burning of an illegally constructed beach restaurant said popular with Corsican nationalists (see Hossay 2004). Moreover, as in the 1990s, the line between nationalist attacks and ordinary criminality and clan violence remained unclear at times, helping to explain why the

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gradual expansion of autonomy and special status for Corsica has not fully stabilized politics on the island. Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: The Strength of Political Autonomy Between the early 1980s and the mid-2000s, the French state and citizenship model had moved away from individualistic understandings of France to become more inclusive of Corsica as a minority territorial community. A somewhat more plurinational conception of France was ref lected in the expanded if still weak de jure political autonomy of the island authorities. In terms of final decisionmaking authority, the Corsican Assembly now had limited authority to adapt regulations in its areas of functional, administrative competence and could suggest modifications to relevant legislation and regulations, even if it still could not, itself, legislate or regulate. As noted earlier, the 2003 constitutional amendments recognized the need for a better balance between transfers of competencies and resources, potentially increasing Corsican de jure fiscal autonomy, although the island’s economic problems continued to limit de facto fiscal self-rule. The de jure scope for asymmetrical policies has expanded since the special statute, if in a limited way. The 2003 constitutional amendments allow the island authorities to derogate from French legal norms temporarily, although they also affirm the need for ultimate uniformity. As in the early 1980s, the territory may once again become a place where reforms in territorial governance are piloted, somewhat in parallel with the role of Catalonia and the other “historic regions” in Spain. Moreover, as Daftary (2008) underlines, Corsica remains, implicitly, a special status territory that will have greater de facto selfgovernment than other territorial authority counterparts due to its distinctive identity and nationalist politics, socioeconomic and geographic situation, and history, even if the de jure recognition of this asymmetry in the French constitutional order remains limited. Paradoxically, French constitutional norms protecting standardization have, as in the early 1980s, meant that giving Corsica scope for de facto special status has been accompanied by an increase in the decentralization of territorial governance across metropolitan France and expanded scope for further such country-wide reforms. Finally, in comparison with their Catalan counterparts in federalizing Spain, the Corsican territorial authorities have virtually no formal institutionalized statutory role in central state decisionmaking bodies,

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except for their participation in selecting Corsica’s senators. The unitary structure of the French state has consequences. In any case, the island has only 4 deputies in the 577-seat National Assembly and 2 seats in the 343 member Senate. Nevertheless, as Vallet (2004) has argued, the new constitutional provision allowing local referenda on matters of local governance has in practice given Corsicans a veto over some decisions of the central authorities with respect to their self-governing institutions. Although the referendum of July 2003 was nonbinding under the Constitution, the government treated it as if it were binding, even though island voters went against the expressed wishes of the government in voting “no.” Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities Unlike their Catalan counterparts, the Corsican territorial authority has no legislative and relatively few administrative roles directly affecting issues of socioeconomic inclusion and the citizenship of internal minorities. Most major social entitlement programs and policies are in state hands, sometimes through deconcentrated state agencies. Departments have a significant role in program administration. Therefore, to gauge the effect of the special status arrangement on the citizenship of vulnerable internal groups, the following analysis will focus on the indirect effects of the politics of identity and especially of Corsican nationalism. Women Women in Corsica have seen some improvements in their status since the early 1980s, but these have been due to socioeconomic change, state legislation, and state-sector employment practices, not the special status arrangement. In fact, some critics argue that the increased political salience of nationalist politics has actually helped perpetuate some dimensions of gender inequalities. Due to the economic underdevelopment of the island, the economic position of Corsican women largely has not improved as much as French women in general over the last two decades. Even more than in France as a whole, Corsican women were more likely than men to be poor, a problem especially acute for elderly women living in rural areas (Giovanetti, interview). Some indicators suggested there have been areas of marked gains in equality, too. From the early 1980s divorce rates climbed in Corsica, reaching levels close to the French average by 1990. Birth rates also fell as women gained more formal

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education, worked more outside the home, began families at a later age, and had more access to abortion. Women’s participation in the job market jumped 44 percent between 1982 and 1990, reaching just over 39 percent, still almost 10 percent lower than France as a whole and the lowest amongst metropolitan regions. Corsica also still had the biggest gender spread in employment activity rates amongst the regions. Corsican women were more likely than their continental counterparts to be unemployed. Like other French women, they were more likely than men to be in precarious work, though they make up a smaller proportion of part-time workers than did French women as a whole (25 versus 30 percent) (INSEE Corse 1995). Their relatively strong presence in the full-time workforce probably is due to the high proportion of state sector employment in the island labor market, which has had beneficial effects for women. Consistent with the rest of France, women in Corsica had lower salaries than men by an average of 15 percent and occupied inferior posts requiring fewer educational qualifications. However, the gender wage gap in Corsica was half that of France. This was probably because Corsican men earned on average less than other French men, but also because Corsican women were more likely to be in public sector jobs than French women as a whole, due to their higher levels of educational attainment in comparison with Corsican men. Note, however, that the gender wage gap in the private and semi-public sectors was more typical of the French average (INSEE Corse 1995). Given the above features of the Corsican labor market, protecting state-sector jobs is not only a matter of recognizing the distinctive economic and geographic predicament of the island, but of protecting the economic citizenship of women. State-level norms have also been important in advancing the political citizenship of Corsican women. Until 2003, Corsican women were, on the whole, less well represented in elected office than other French women (Torre 2005). Corsica’s two departments had only one woman amongst their 27 councillors, the island had never sent a woman to the National Assembly or Senate, and there were only 7 women in the 51-member Corsican Assembly (13.57 percent, well below the 26.5 percent average across France). Even the areas in which Corsican women had more representation—they have made up 11 percent of mayors since 1995, roughly double the French rate—the difference has had less to do with gender equality than with the strength of familybased politics in rural communes. There was only one woman amongst the mayors of cities of more than 3,500 inhabitants. Women mostly

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headed communes with fewer than 100 people, where they tended to represent families, replacing, by default, fathers, brothers, or spouses (INSEE Corse 1995). The 2003 French gender parity law was expected to enhance the political participation and representation of Corsican women in territorial politics, but in ways limited by the legislation and continuing patriarchal structures. The law required parity in the number and placement of male and female candidates on party lists for territories and regions, for communes with more than 3,500 inhabitants (Corsica has very few), and for senatorial races in larger departments where PR list systems are used (which excludes Corsica). The rules also applied during EU elections. In territorial polls such as those in Corsica, parties were disqualified if they did not meet parity requirements (see Bird 2002; Baudino 2003; Freeman 2004; Zimmermann 2005; Lépinard 2006). The 2004 territorial election, the first under the new law, saw 24 women elected to the Corsican Assembly, a 33.4 percent increase over 1998. Nevertheless, the effect of the law was diminished in Corsica, as it was elsewhere in France, because some male politicians got around the law, securing their reelection by setting up separate lists with themselves at the head. It is uncertain that the increase in women in the Assembly will mean policies that strengthen the citizenship of women. Male political elites may simply try to use women from their families as party list figureheads (Zimmermann 2005; Bègles 2004). Advances in gender equality have tended to come mainly through state- and European-level norms and feminist political struggles (Sallembien-Vittori 1999). Consequently, some Corsican feminists have been skeptical of what can be gained for women through collective special status and autonomy and have accused nationalists of perpetuating traditional gender roles and hierarchies. According to Marie-Thé Mariani, a founder of Manifeste pour la vie, hierarchical constructions of femininity and masculinity underlay dominant understandings of Corsicanness, the root simultaneously of the culture of violence and impunity that pervaded the island’s public realm and of violence against women in the private realm. Nationalism and patriarchy perpetuated what she termed the machoistic fratricidal war that enveloped Corsican life in the mid to late 1990s. Corsica was an “overarmed island where, from adolescence, all adult males regard the carrying of arms as a matter of virile pride,” she stated (Mariani n.d.), and where “the formulation ‘Me, woman, mother, sister, wife of Corsica’ . . . tends to reduce women to their belonging to a man or to an ethnic group and makes them

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bringers/bearers of exclusion” (Mariani 1996). The dominant identity discourse also reinforced the idea that, to be Corsican, one must be silent about violence out of loyalty to family, clan, and nation, Mariani asserted. The result is a culture of public and private lawlessness, which reinforces patriarchy. She accused local newsrooms of mainly reporting violence with an acknowledged “political” purpose—that is, nationalist grievance—while comparatively under-reporting supposedly nonpolitical “ordinary” violence like muggings and sexual assault, to the detriment of the security and citizenship of many, including women (Mariani n.d.). A government report on the status of Corsican women argued similarly that a culture of silence on the island exacerbated the usual taboos surrounding the public discussion and reporting of violence against women and girls (INSEE Corse 1995). For this reason, some activists involved in Manifeste pour la vie argued that Corsica could not evolve unless the oppression of women is put at the center of political debates (Charest 1996). The special status arrangement did not cause gender inequality, but may perpetuate it to the extent that it has not solved the problem of violence and has strengthened hierarchical discourses of belonging, including, but not limited to those of the nationalists. During the Matignon Process, some feminists argued against increasing the competencies of the Corsican Assembly on these grounds. Immigrants There is some limited evidence suggesting that the politics of identity has similarly harmed the citizenship of immigrants, including migrant workers, in Corsica. As with gender-based exclusion, the effects of the special status arrangement on these groups are mostly indirect, through the apparent exclusionary effects of individualistic identity discourses and an over-emphasis in the politics of special status on defending Corsican culture and special economic benefits from the state. Yet, the citizenship of immigrants is of inordinate concern, not least because the economic and social well-being of Corsican society increasingly depends on whether the special status arrangement offers clear terms of inclusion for these individuals (Giovanetti, interview). Corsica’s native-born and ethnically Corsican population is aging, the result of declining birth rates, the inmigration of retirees, and the outmigration of younger individuals. Residents of North African heritage were comparatively young and had comparatively high birth rates (2.4 for Moroccans, 2.04 for Tunisians, and 1.63 for Algerians versus 0.9 for Corsica as a whole in the early 2000s). Economically, the agricultural

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and services sectors had become increasingly dependent on the labor of immigrants (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004). As elsewhere in France, economic marginalization has been a key factor harming the citizenship of immigrants in Corsica. They are more likely than other residents to experience poor housing conditions, precarious work, and unemployment (keeping in mind that Corsica has the highest unemployment rates in metropolitan France). They tend to hold lower-skill jobs and, lacking French nationality, have little access to public sector work, where remuneration is higher. Even those immigrants who naturalize have higher unemployment levels than Frenchborn workers on the island. Non-European immigrants and women fare particularly badly, with women of Moroccan and Tunisian origin the worst off (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004). Some indicators suggest that immigrants to Corsica experience greater social and political exclusion than their counterparts elsewhere in France. Country-wide, approximately one in two immigrants lived in “mixed” couples (Borrel and Tavan 2004), while the rate was only one in four in Corsica and even lower amongst North Africans (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004). Amongst the French regions, Corsica also had the lowest percentage of immigrants adopting French nationality (21 percent compared to just over 36 percent). Amongst Moroccans in Corsica, the nationalization rate was as low as 12.5 percent. Even adjusting for time since arrival and age, naturalization rates were low by French standards and partly ref lected the lower rates of permanent settlement (INSEE Corse and FASILD 2004). This, in turn, ref lected the poor employment conditions on the island and the undocumented status of many. Additionally, many immigrants do not speak French, let alone Corsican, potentially doubling their difficulties in school, the job market, in society, or in encounters with public authorities, although this is changing amongst the Corsica-born children of North African immigrants. Low naturalization rates translate into political exclusion because only nationals are eligible to vote and hold public office. Research from the early 1990s also suggests that participation rates were also weak in ethnic friendship associations that advocate for immigrants (Luciani 1995). North African immigrants and Corsicans, as members of minority communities, both strain the monolithic nation assumed by the Jacobin version of the modern territorial state and citizenship model (see Kastoryano 2002; Feldblum 1999). Many amongst both groups are marginalized economically due to the weaknesses of the Corsican economy. Yet, there is little to suggest that most Corsicans see the

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experience of many immigrants as similar to their own. In fact, the arrival of large numbers of immigrants and other non-Corsicans from the 1960s was a significant factor behind the rise of nationalist mobilization. Anti-immigrant, racist, and xenophobic discourses and attacks have been associated with elements of the Corsican nationalist movement since the 1970s, directed at continental French, rapatrié settlers, and North African immigrants. The early years of the special status arrangement coincided with a particularly vicious wave of such attacks. This prompted the establishment of the anti-racist group, Avà Basta, in 1985. The following year two Tunisian migrant workers were murdered in attacks claimed by the FLNC. In recent years, Corsica recorded a disproportionate number of racist and anti-immigrant attacks for its population. The attacks were also more likely to be serious because they were more likely to involve explosives (Rufin 2004). The French Human Rights League claimed that, in 1999, 15 of 27 acts of racist violence registered with the French police, including four involving injuries to humans, occurred in Corsica (Ligue des droits de l’homme 2000), while the French Consultative Commission on Human Rights reported that, in 2002, 61 percent of reported “anti-Muslim” attacks in France (45 of 74 cases) occurred on the island (Rosenthal 2003). Between 2002 and 2004, tiny Corsica recorded nearly half of the incidents of racial and anti-immigrant attacks in France, many directly or indirectly linked with nationalist groups (Forcari 2004; Costa 2004; Commission Nationale Consultative des Droits de l’Homme 2002). Whether these statistics mean Corsicans as a whole and nationalists in particular are more racist or xenophobic than other French is contested. Rufin (2004) suggests many of the attacks were not directly due to xenophobia, but a tactical attempt by radical nationalist factions to widen their support base by appearing to defend Corsica from threatening outsiders (Rufin 2004; see also “La Corse est secouée par une vague de violences racists,” Le Monde online ed., August 18, 2004). Representatives of both Avà Basta and the Ligue des Droits de l’homme say that racist attacks in Corsica likely get reported more often than those on the continent because of the close-knit nature of Corsican society, the intense media scrutiny of Corsican politics, and the more prevalent use of explosives (André Paccou, Noëlle Vincensini, Paule Graziani Parci interviews; Vincensini 2000a; “Un racisme corse,” A Contresens, August 9, 2004; Luciani 1995). Avà Basta President, Noëlle Vincensini, has suggested that the failure of some Corsicans to recognize and value the identities of others is linked with the failure of French authorities to recognize Corsican identity. She has also argued

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that the economically precarious position of many Corsican youths may contribute to their racist attitudes (Vincensini 2006). There is a lack of data on what demographic and socioeconomic characteristics, selfidentifications, or political identifications most strongly correlate with racist and xenophobic views (see Luciani 1995). Even less is known about how immigrants view their place in the political struggles surrounding Corsican special status and autonomy. Interviews conducted by Luciani offer anecdotal evidence that some do have concerns. One immigrant respondent told her, “it is better if Corsica remains with France because if Corsica gets its independence it would be hard for Arabs” (Luciani 1995: 167; my translation). The nationalist movement has been internally divided over immigration issues. Although the members of some groups carry out racist and anti-immigrant attacks, others have publicly denounced both and called for Corsica to be an open, welcoming “community of destiny” that includes both “ethnic” Corsicans and other residents (Askolovitch 2004). The nationalist Union of Corsican Workers has participated in anti-racist activism and advocated for North African workers (Vincensini 2000a; 2000b). The Web site of the nationalist organization Unità Naziunale speaks of the importance of the fight against poverty, unemployment, and racism and condemns acts of racist violence, while also espousing an ethnic understanding of Corsican identity and concerns (www.unita-naziunale.org/portail/080906synagogue-unione.htm, viewed September 12, 2008). It had recently emphasized its rejection of Corsica as a community defined by blood, asserting it is, instead, a community of destiny. The group argued that racist attacks on North Africans had been used to discredit Corsican nationalism, exonerate Corsicans and France from responsibility for the problems of the island, and divert attention from the racism experienced by Corsicans in France (http://www.unita-naziunale.org/ portail/06060603-ICC-LDH-racisme-corse.htm). Danièle Maoudj, an Avà Basta founder and economist of Kabyle and Corsican descent, noted that both exclusionary and inclusive strains have long been part of Corsican nationalism. The latter has been inf luenced by a left-wing political economy critique of the citizenship problems facing Corsicans in France and seeks to build common cause with workers of all ethnic origins so that all residents gain control of their own destiny (Maoudj c. 2000). The problem, she said, is that nationalist leaders are strategically ambiguous with respect to racism and exclusion, only standing up against it when it suits their political agenda of the moment and failing to address the day-to-day marginalization of most immigrants

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(Maoudj, interview; Maoudj c. 2000). Paule Graziani Parci echoed these concerns. She argued that “[n]ationalism is a barrier to true socioeconomic equality in Corsica.” She says that many nationalists are willing to fight against patrons and bosses from outside Corsica, but not to challenge the exploitation of immigrants by Corsican employers (Graziani Parci interview; see also “Manifestation du monde agricole à Ghisonaccia,” Corse-Matin, June 17, 2006; “CGT condamne ‘le travail dissimulé,’ ” Corse-Matin, June 17, 2006; “Corsica nazione: un ‘comitatu’ pour prévenir les blocages,” Corse-Matin, June 22, 2006). Still, given the exclusion faced by immigrants elsewhere in France, the inadequate response of Corsican public officials to the socioeconomic and political marginalization of immigrants cannot be entirely blamed on nationalist politics. Moreover, the situation could get worse, as traditional and nationalist politicians compete with the antiimmigrant platform of the French nationalist Front Nationale, which had been gaining votes on the island (see Christophe Forcari, “Trop de voile,” Libération online, March 17, 2004). In the face of graffitied I Arabi Fora (Arabs out) and I Francesi fora (French out) that adorns some of the walls and highway signs on the island, anti-racist and human rights activists in Corsica have campaigned to change public discourses and attitudes. They have argued for envisioning an intercultural Corsica, heir to a history of cultural diversity and melding. Avà Basta visits classrooms to teach children a version of Corsican history that opens up possibilities for a more tolerant society. This history emphasizes the syncretic nature of Corsican culture, Corsica’s close connection with other communities, and its lack of ethnic purity (Vincensini, interview). In its publication, “The 10,000 Years of Migration that Made Corsica,” Corsica is represented as a crossroads for Mediterranean peoples and cultures. The most recent wave of North African immigration is only one of many that have “renewed” and “enriched” Corsican society over time (Arrighi, Graziani, and d’Orazio c. 2002; see also Giudici 1997). Meanwhile, traditional politicians have begun to pay more attention to the plight of immigrants. In 2005, just prior to the riots by youth of immigrant origins that rocked many French cities, then president of the Assembly, Camille de Rocca Serra, of the Gaullist Union pour un Mouvement Populaire, announced the establishment of an ad hoc commission on problems of work, housing, and precariousness, suggesting this was a policy area where the territorial authority might wish to experiment with expanded prerogatives (de Rocca Serra 2005). It was but a small step, but one pointing to an emergent possibility of building a form

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of self-rule that has as one of its aims the expansion of citizenship for immigrants and other vulnerable residents. Conclusions Three decades ago, French policymakers launched the project of the political region to address functional, fiscal, and planning concerns, to aid economic development, to help get (re)elected, and to revitalize democracy. Within this project, giving Corsica mild asymmetrical autonomy under a special statute was a response to the political, economic, cultural, and geographical specificities of the island. Not least of these was the challenge to the legitimacy of the French state and of democracy posed by Corsican nationalist mobilization, particularly its violent manifestations. The special status arrangement has not ended nationalist nor other violence, nor the dominance of traditional politics linked to clientelism. Bringing some nationalists to the ballot box has helped democratize some of them. However, making nationalism more mainstream runs the risk of harming the struggle for gender equality and inclusive citizenship for immigrants, to the extent that the accompanying identity politics is premised on individualistic understandings of collective identity and ignores the intertwined issues of recognition, redistribution, and self-rule important to both Corsicans and internal minorities. That being said, the Matignon Process of the late 1990s involved more open consultations by the state with a wider range of civil society groups and resulted in an unprecedented referendum in which Corsican voters had a direct say in the institutional structure of governance on the island. These events, along with the campaigns of anti-racist, antiviolence, and human rights civil society groups offer hope for a more pluralistic politics on the island. Meanwhile, the political autonomy of the territorial authorities, including their scope for asymmetrical autonomy, had increased even if it was still shallow in absolute terms. The norms of equality and indivisibility, the unitary state structure, European integration, and other factors continued to limit the de jure special status of the island. They belie the de facto specificities of the island’s status and institutions and the ways in which ongoing struggles over Corsican autonomy and special status have contributed to making the French constitutional order more plurinational and heterogeneous, if often by increments, some of which prove temporary.

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CH A P T E R

SI X

Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region

. . . Hong Kong compatriots have become true masters of this Chinese land . . . we have successfully resolved the Hong Kong question through diplomatic negotiations and finally achieved Hong Kong’s return to the motherland. Jiang Zemin (1997), PRC President Hong Kong is one of the freest and most vibrant economies in the world. . . . Free enterprise and free trade; prudent financial management and low taxation; the rule of law; an executive-led government and efficient civil service have been part of our tradition. All these factors underlie our success and have been guaranteed in the Basic Law. Tung Chee-hwa (1997), Hong Kong Special Administrative Region Chief Executive Since 1949, the leaders of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) have firmly rejected federalism and insisted on the state’s unitary structure. Yet, they have sometimes deviated from a formally homogeneous distribution of territorial political authority, responding to the exigencies of state- and nation-building as well as economic development. The special status arrangements applied to the British colony of Hong Kong and Portuguese-administered Macau are recent examples. In negotiations with the British government in the 1980s, the PRC leadership agreed to apply what it termed its “one country, two systems” policy to Hong Kong. The special status policy facilitated incorporation of the liberal capitalist territory into China on July 1, 1997. It promised Hong Kong would have a high degree of autonomy for 50 years from that

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date. As the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR), the minority territorial community would maintain its capitalist system and liberal rights and freedoms. Although there were strict limits on the degree of political autonomy the PRC government would permit the territory, it was promised considerably more self-rule than other parts of China (see Lieberthal 1995). The chapter argues that the Chinese authorities agreed to the special status arrangement because of their state-building and economic goals, facilitated by China’s own post-Mao economic and political transformation and other factors. The special status arrangement would allow the PRC government to bring Hong Kong back to the motherland in a manner that the government hoped would encourage Taiwan to follow. The arrangement would also aid China’s own attempt to modernize through market reforms, by protecting Hong Kong’s economic prosperity and economic institutions. To date, the arrangement has proven minimally stable and has eased the incorporation of Hong Kong into China. Hong Kong people have considerable freedom and the Hong Kong authorities have significant political autonomy in the Chinese context. However, the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR has been constrained by China’s authoritarian political system and unitary state structure, by the central government’s insistence on a patriotism premised on an individualistic understanding of the nation, and by the embeddedness of Hong Kong in the PRC economy. A political alliance between the central government and Hong Kong Chinese business elites has blocked democratization of the territorial political system, although limited direct elections and liberal rights and freedoms make Hong Kong’s pro-democracy groups and political parties the only legal free opposition in China. Under the British, Hong Kong society was and it remains today ethnically and racially hierarchical and highly unequal in socioeconomic terms. The special status arrangement has largely reinforced the exclusion of the poor, women, and ethnic and racialized minorities, despite gains in formal equality and the legal protection of other human rights. In summary, special status has allowed Hong Kong to remain a distinctive society in the PRC context, but many pressures push it to become more like its mainland counterpart. Background Since its founding as a British crown colony in 1842, Hong Kong has been “the most physically visible scar” of the subjugation of Chinese

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rights at the hands of European and Japanese imperialists (Chan, Ming K. 2003: 493). Chinese governments have long argued that the three treaties by which the British took control of the territory were unequal and illegitimate. With the establishment of People’s China in 1949, the new regime also declared Hong Kong to be Chinese sovereign territory that it would take back “when the time is ripe.” That time came with the expiry of the 99-year lease, the Second Convention of Peking, by which the New Territories had been incorporated into British Hong Kong in 1898. The New Territories comprise most of Hong Kong’s 1,071 square kilometres, in comparison with the original lands ceded to Britain in 1842 and 1860 following the first and second Anglo-Chinese wars. The Sino-British talks over the future of Hong Kong began in the early 1980s, when the imminent expiry of the New Territories lease had begun causing economic uncertainty in the territory. It was also the beginning of China’s post-Mao economic liberalization, which made it possible for PRC leaders to imagine allowing a liberal capitalist enclave to exist within China, especially one that was becoming a valuable source of investment (see Tsang 1997). The Sino-British Joint Declaration (hereafter, JD) setting out the future of Hong Kong was signed in 1984. In it, British authorities pledged to hand over the entire territory of Hong Kong to PRC authorities on July 1, 1997, when the New Territories lease expired. For their part, the PRC authorities promised to allow Hong Kong a half century of a distinctive form of autonomy that would allow the territory to maintain its liberal capitalist institutions and established way of life. Subsequently, PRC government representatives and a small group of PRC-government chosen Hong Kong elites worked out the detailed terms of this special status arrangement. These provisions were embodied in the Basic Law of the HKSAR (hereafter BL), which was passed by China’s National People’s Congress (NPC) in 1990. Seven years later, the British f lag was lowered in Hong Kong and the HKSAR was born. Founded as a base for British commercial interests in the China trade, Hong Kong’s economy has risen and fallen with the economic fortunes of China. Always a free port, the territory was an important commercial harbor until eclipsed by the economic rise of Shanghai later in the nineteenth century. Decades later, Hong Kong’s population swelled with refugees from the Chinese civil war and the political turmoil and economic hardship that followed the 1949 Communist victory. From the early 1950s, Hong Kong became the main link between the communist state and the capitalist world. From the late 1950s, it

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also developed its own, successful light manufacturing export sector. However, it was the decision by China’s post-Mao leaders after 1978 to open the economy to the outside world and to allow some marketization that shot Hong Kong into the ranks of the Asian tiger economies. From 1974 to 1984, average annual GDP growth in Hong Kong was 8.5 percent (Hong Kong 1995). It remained high until the 1997 Asian financial crisis. With the opening of China, Hong Kong’s manufacturers gradually relocated their operations to lower-wage cost areas, particularly in the mainland’s Pearl River Delta bordering the territory. The resulting job losses in Hong Kong were huge and hit middle-aged, poorly educated women particularly hard. Nearly 400,000 manufacturing jobs disappeared between 1991 and 2001 alone (Chiu and Lui 2004), but Hong Kong’s service sector boomed. With these structural changes, the territory emerged as the investment motor of China’s own burgeoning export sector and the international service hub for the China trade. By the time of the Sino-British talks on the future of Hong Kong, the economy of the latter had a number of institutional features, know-how, and international linkages that made the territorial economy worth preserving so that it could contribute to China’s economic development. The territory offered international business-standard financial services, legal, accounting, logistics, and design services, communications infrastructure, a strong property rights regime, and unimpeded access to information due to its liberal rights regime, all in a climate of relative political and economic stability. Hong Kong had become one of the world’s major transhipment ports and largest trading economies, a major global financial center in terms of external banking transactions and stock market capitalization, an important regional headquarters for foreign firms, and the world’s largest port measured in container throughput. Hong Kong firms were the largest single source of investment in the PRC, while PRC firms were becoming important investors in Hong Kong. The continuing health of the territory’s economy and its political stability had become indispensible to China’s own modernization. In the early 1980s, the differences between the Hong Kong and China economies were marked, despite the latter’s early market reforms. Then, as now, Hong Kong had a reputation as one of the world’s freest economies, perhaps the most free, according to British Hong Kong authorities, international business leaders, the international business press, and right-wing think tanks (“Hong Kong again named the world’s freest economy” International Herald Tribune January 16, 2007; see also http:// www.heritage.org/index/Country/HongKong). This representation of

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Hong Kong belied its history of both active government nonintervention and actual government intervention in the economy to protect the political economic order. Hong Kong has always been a free port with low personal and business taxes. However, its domestic economy has long been a complex of cartels and monopolies in the financial, services, and entertainment sectors particularly (Overholt 2001). Land, which is scarce due to the territory’s small size and mountainous terrain, is publicly owned, but leased to developers who, along with the government, gain by keeping property prices high (“Asia: A high-rise bust,” The Economist June 27, 1998). This arrangement has exacerbated economic inequality. In the four decades ending in 2003, the size of the Hong Kong economy increased 15 times and per capita GDP increased more than seven times in real terms, vaulting the territory into the ranks of developed societies (Zhao and Zhang 2005). At the same time, income inequality in the territory has increased steadily, more of which later. In the years after World War II, the government responded to the threat to political stability posed by the potent mix of poverty and colonial rule by providing public housing to nearly half of workers. It also gradually developed a residual public social protection regime, including public health care at modest fees, free primary schooling (later expanded to 9 years), laws to protect workers against some of the worst abuses, and meager social assistance for the very poorest residents. However, coverage rates have remained low, with many gaps by the standards of Western industrial democracies, an approach the government and business elites justified as necessary to maintain incentives for work and self-sufficiency (see Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Lee 2006). Ultimately, the government depended on families and charities to provide in times of hardship and need (Chau and Yu 1999). The identities of Hong Kong people suggest there has been a shifting interculturality in their attachments, ref lecting the territory’s changing position in the global economy and its location at an intersection of the Chinese and British empires, if on the periphery of both. Nearly 95 percent of Hong Kong people have Han Chinese heritage and many have family and economic ties with mainland China. However, in the 1980s, many Hong Kong Chinese developed a sharper sense of their cultural and socioeconomic and political distinctiveness from their mainland “compatriots,” an official PRC term. The changing perceptions were a consequence of the increasing contacts between Hong Kong and the mainland that had accompanied post-Mao China’s opening to the outside world. They also stemmed from the imminent transfer

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of Hong Kong to PRC rule, which sparked intense public debate over what Hong Kong was and what it might and should become (see Lau and Kuan 1988; Lau, Lee, Wan, and Wong 1991). Moreover, by the 1980s, more than 60 percent of Hong Kong residents were locally born. The mostly first-generation descendants of mainland refugees, many of the territory’s people had seen significant improvements in their family financial circumstances as the Hong Kong economy expanded and became part of a society that was not only more prosperous than its mainland counterpart, but more cosmopolitan and outward-looking. British colonial rule was far from democratic. Society was racially, ethnically, and socioeconomically stratified. However, significant numbers of Hong Kong people benefited from the colonial political economic order, especially its rule of law, independent judiciary, private property rights regime, and liberal rights and freedoms, all of which were unavailable in China. The stark political differences between Hong Kong and China became all the more apparent during the Tiananmen Square protests and harsh government crackdown in Beijing in the spring of 1989. The event was extremely unsettling, as Hong Kong people were acutely aware that they would be ruled by the same government in a little more than eight years. Many came from families who had f led the repressive political campaigns of the Mao years. Hong Kong is unique amongst the four minority territorial communities studied here because its special status arrangement mainly aimed to protect its distinctive liberal, capitalist way of life, not its ethnolinguistic and/or religious identity. Yet, Hong Kong does have some characteristics of an ethnically distinct minority community in the PRC context. Many Hong Kong people identify with elements of Western cultures. Most of its people identify with Cantonese culture, which in official PRC terms is a subgroup of the Han Chinese, the majority nationality of China. Hong Kong people often have family ties with neighboring Guangdong province and its Pearl River delta region (Siu 1993), the same region that became Hong Kong’s trade and investment hinterland after 1978. As of 2001, nearly 90 percent of Hong Kong people said their usual spoken language was Cantonese (minyu), the language of Guangzhou, Guangdong’s capital city, although many also spoke other Han Chinese languages. Only 0.9 percent of Hong Kong people said they usually spoke Mandarin (putonghua), the official language of China. Mandarin originated in northern China and is mutually unintelligible with Cantonese despite some shared elements. Cantonese and Mandarin speakers both write in Modern Standard Chinese. However, the mainland uses a simplified form of

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the traditional characters used in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and much of the Chinese diaspora. Cantonese is an important language of business on both sides of the Hong Kong–Guangdong border and is widely used in Hong Kong-produced popular music, film, television, and books sold worldwide. Some Hong Kong newspapers, advertisements, publicity, and slogans use a written form of spoken Cantonese. After Cantonese, English is the second most important language in Hong Kong. As of 2001, it was the “usual language” of only 3.2 percent of the population, but nearly 40 percent of residents said they spoke some English. The language has high prestige, being important in international business and in the territory’s legal and professional sectors. Many school children and university students study primarily in English. The protection of Hong Kong’s unique ethnolinguistic characteristics was not a major issue in the Sino-British talks on Hong Kong, but language is politically salient in the territory. Historically, there have been Hong Kong and cross-border movements to valorize Cantonese identity and language and use them as political mobilization tools. By 1974, one such movement had pushed the British Hong Kong government to grant co-official status to Cantonese/Modern Standard Chinese alongside English, the language of the colonial authorities and of international business. Debates over the language of instruction in Hong Kong schools began under the British and continued after 1997, an issue we return to later. Although Hong Kong is a predominantly ethnic Chinese society, about 5 percent of the population are not ethnic Chinese, or some 350,000 of the territory’s nearly 7 million residents. As of 2001, the bulk of these individuals were migrant workers, including 170,000 to 200,000 foreign domestic workers (FDWs) who were mostly women from the Philippines whose social reproductive work in the homes of the emerging middle class allowed ethnic Chinese women to join the paid labor force in larger numbers. After 1978, there were also increasing numbers of highly paid transnational entrepreneurs, managers, and professionals, most Caucasians from ethnically Europeanmajority societies and most temporary residents, while a few have lived in Hong Kong longer term and think of themselves as Hong Kong people (Sautman 2004). Finally, Hong Kong is home to approximately 20,000 people of South Asian descent, many the locally born descendants of individuals who migrated to the territory as workers or traders in the British days (White 1994). Hong Kong society is not only strongly intercultural but also strongly transnational. There is a long history of emigration amongst its ethnic

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Chinese residents and of sending family members abroad for business or study (Skeldon 1994). Migration increased during the years leading up to the transition to PRC rule, mainly due to uncertainty about Hong Kong’s political and economic future. The outf low reached a height of 53,000 to 66,000 people annually between 1990 and 1994 following the Tiananmen crisis (Chiu, Stephen 2001; see also Skeldon 1995). Many later returned to work and do business, adding to the already significant numbers of Hong Kong Han Chinese with nationality or right of abode in countries other than China, particularly the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Increasing numbers of Hong Kong people have also been living in the mainland as students, managers, and professionals. In addition, some 45,000 mainlanders settle in Hong Kong each year (Sautman 2004). Colonial rule was based on a complex non-democratic political system and a hierarchy based on race, ethnicity, and class (Klein 1995). A series of white British expatriate governors appointed by the British government ran the territory, advised by appointed executive and legislative councils, originally composed of white expatriate colonial officials and merchants, including eventually some Hong Kong ethnic Chinese elites. The British Hong Kong authorities, supported by business elites, rejected demands for democracy, arguing that Hong Kong people were apolitical, that the Chinese government would respond negatively and/or have too much inf luence in an elected legislature, and that democratization would lead to expensive welfare programs and economically harmful labor rights (Pepper 2008; Tsang 1988). It was not until the transition to PRC rule that British and PRC authorities agreed gradually to add elected seats to the legislature in a bid to encourage local and international confidence in Hong Kong’s future. Popular demands for democratization had increased markedly from the 1980s, in significant part a defensive reaction to the coming of PRC rule and the desire to protect the territory’s way of life after its return to China. With the first reforms in 1985, 24 of the 57 seats in the Legislative Council had been chosen by local government councillors and representatives of select occupational groups, the latter termed functional constituencies. In 1991, Hong Kong voters were for the first time allowed to directly elect 18 of 60 seats in the Legislative Council. By 2004, there were 30 directly elected seats, while the rest were chosen by functional constituencies dominated by business and other conservative, pro-China interests. Hong Kong’s business elites have increasingly identified with the perspectives of the PRC government, on whose favor their business

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dealings on the mainland often depended. By the mid-1990s, many former pro-British local Chinese capitalists publicly declared their loyalty to the PRC government. Along with Hong Kong’s old pro-Beijing Left, these elites were rewarded with important positions in top PRC political bodies and in PRC-appointed institutions preparing for the handover (see Sing 2004a; So 1999). After 1997, Hong Kong Chinese business elites dominated the new political institutions of the HKSAR, establishing what some critics called a “tycoon dictatorship” (So 1999: 231). The first HKSAR chief executive, Tung Chee-hwa, symbolized the alliance, for his family shipping company had once been bailed out by the Chinese authorities ( John Ridding, “Tung sets sights on Hong Kong’s top job,” Financial Post October 18, 2006, 6). Origins The Hong Kong special status arrangement, and the “one country, two systems” policy that underpinned it, must be understood in the context of both the state-building and economic modernization strategies of China’s post-Mao leadership. Mainland leaders initially advanced the “one country, two systems” special status policy in the late 1970s in an unsuccessful bid to lure back to the mainland Taiwan, which mainland authorities regarded as a renegade province. Afterward, then paramount leader, Deng Xiaoping, decided to use the “one country, two systems” policy to end British colonial rule in Hong Kong. The hope was also that, by demonstrating the policy could protect the freedom, stability, and prosperity of Hong Kong, Taiwan people would eventually agree to join China under an even more generous special status arrangement (Tsang 1997; see also Weng 1988; Wu 1994). However, bringing Hong Kong under PRC rule was an important state-building and economic development goal in itself. Firstly, the distinctive autonomy promised Hong Kong would make it easier for the British government to agree to hand over the territory to China. It enabled the British to leave with more honor than would otherwise have been possible, given their failure to democratize the territory, allow its people self-determination, and permit most Hong Kong people from acquiring British nationality. British officials could claim to have done their best to protect Hong Kong people by pushing Chinese negotiators to commit to a relatively detailed written agreement setting out the specifics of Hong Kong’s special status within China. The autonomy arrangement would reassure Hong Kong

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professionals, middle managers, and capitalists as well as international investors that the capitalist and liberal institutions of Hong Kong would be protected, once under PRC rule. Recall that at the time British and PRC leaders signed the JD, PRC authorities had just begun introducing market and other economic liberalization and legal reforms. Moreover, its authoritarian Leninist political system remained unchanged. From the point of view of the PRC leadership, the special status arrangement was also as much about protecting the mainland political economic order from Hong Kong preferences as the reverse (see Hughes 1997), making the case unique amongst the four studied here. As a regional financial and service center that could not function without significant liberal freedoms and strong property rights, Hong Kong residents were to be subject to comparatively low levels of state surveillance and enjoy higher civil, political, and economic rights than people in other parts of China. In this sense, the special status arrangement was an example of what Ong (1999) has called “graduated sovereignty.” Because Hong Kong’s liberal institutions were a potential threat to the power and legitimacy of the PRC party-state, compartmentalizing Hong Kong from the mainland also prevented these institutions from contaminating PRC society and its political system. Closely connected to the PRC government’s state-building and economic modernization goals was its desire to establish an international reputation for China as a law-abiding state. By making special status concessions in the JD, a formal international agreement registered with the UN, the PRC leadership affirmed the transition of China from a revolutionary to “system maintaining” state willing to comply with its treaty commitments and to resolve territorial disputes peacefully, as set out in Art. 2 of the UN Charter (Kim 1987: 131–32; see Foot 1995: Chapter 9). As Deng told British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher when signing the JD: “People worry whether China, after signing the agreement, will carry it out from beginning to end. We not only tell Your Excellency and the British friends present, but also the people of the whole world, that China is a country that keeps its word” (Deng 1993: 28). At the same time, PRC leaders did not officially treat the special status arrangement as a form of minority autonomy. Nor is there any sense that the PRC leadership saw territorial self-government for minority territorial communities as an emergent international legal principle. Rather, as both the JD and BL make clear, the PRC leadership represented the arrangement as a sovereign act of national reunification longed for by all Chinese and to which they were entitled because of the unequal treaties.

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The promise of special status paid immediate dividends in terms of political and economic stability in Hong Kong and China’s international and local reputation. When the JD was announced in 1984, its contradictions, vague elements, and silences on key issues, discussed below, did not go unnoticed in the Hong Kong and international media. However, Hong Kong people and local and international investors were generally relieved and even celebratory. After all, British negotiators and the Hong Kong government had presented the accord to them as a fait accompli, the alternative to which was no accord at all. Moreover, the special status package seemed unexpectedly detailed and generous, especially after months of often acrimonious talks and political uncertainty (see Cottrell 1993; Cheek-Milby 1995). The Hong Kong economy bounced back from the triple currency, banking, and fiscal crisis it had suffered in 1982–1984, after China announced it would take back Hong Kong ( Jao 1988). There was relief amongst managers in the banking, media, legal services, and publishing sectors that the liberal institutions on which they depended would be protected. Coming before the Cold War’s end, when China’s opening to global capitalism was still uncertain, the JD was hailed by world economic and political leaders, journalists, and academics from liberal democracies as an innovative autonomy strategy ref lecting the new pragmatic PRC leadership (see Domes 1988). As then U.S. Secretary of State George Schultz put it: the agreement will provide a solid foundation for Hong Kong’s enduring future progress. . . . We expect American business communities, both in the United States and Hong Kong, will see in this agreement good reason for sustained confidence in the future of Hong Kong as an attractive and thriving commercial center. (quoted in Costa 1993: 851 n.181) Indeed, except for the immediate aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown, the special status agreement did help sustain high economic growth and political stability in the territory prior to the handover to PRC rule, despite a surge in emigration by the territory’s managerial and professional classes. If Chinese reunification and economic modernization goals provided the impetus for the special status arrangement, several other factors facilitated the special status concessions for the central government. That Hong Kong had a non-democratic political system helped offset the risks that came from ruling a territory accustomed to significant

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freedom. So did the territory’s lack of independence and ethnonationalist movements and its people’s albeit contested reputation for political apathy. In addition, the PRC leadership had a political support base in Hong Kong, especially amongst the old Left and ethnic Chinese capitalist elites. This could be used to protect the interests of the central government. The identifications many Hong Kong people had with Chinese civilization and their family and business ties to the mainland meant that nationalism could potentially be used to bolster the power and legitimacy of the central government in the territory (Lau and Kuan 1988). The leadership’s decision to grant special status to Hong Kong may also have been facilitated by the regime’s past experience with asymmetrical autonomy, including in minority nationality areas. The most stark example of special status concessions was the Seventeen-Point Agreement for central Tibet in the 1950s, the subject of the next chapter. The arrangement had collapsed in 1959, but due to factors that did not appear to exist in the Hong Kong case. Moreover, the government appeared to see the Hong Kong special status arrangement as part of a system of territorial political asymmetries aimed at achieving its reunification and economic modernization goals. The 1982 Constitution contained a provision that allowed the government to establish “special administrative regions . . . in light of the specific conditions” (Art. 31). In the early 1980s it not only signed the JD, but set up special economic zones (SEZs) in economically strategic coastal areas bordering Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan. The SEZs were given authority to attract international investors with concessionary taxes, rents, and other asymmetrical policies. The Nature of Hong Kong’s Special Status The Hong Kong special status arrangement has been widely regarded as an innovative departure from the modern state and citizenship model, particularly, but not only in the PRC context (see Hannum 1990; Lapidoth 1997; Davis 1989). Davis (1989: 131) has placed it in an intermediate position between “an associated state and various internal autonomy models.” It provided for significant elements of political, functional, institutional, and symbolic asymmetry. The arrangement was also characterized by marked regime asymmetry between the territory and the mainland political and economic systems. In addition to its autonomy provisions, other elements of the arrangement advanced

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state-building, providing for decolonization, reunification, and the assertion of state sovereignty and central government control. On the state-building side, underlining its integrative directionality, the JD and BL provided for the end of British rule and the assertion of PRC sovereign authority in the territory under a policy of “upholding national unity and territory integrity” ( JD Art. 3[1]). This was justified in nationalistic terms: the first article of the JD said that “to recover the Hong Kong area . . . is the common aspiration of the entire Chinese people.” Under “one country, two systems,” the traditional prerogatives of sovereignty, foreign and defense affairs, were reserved for the central government ( JD Art. 3[2]). The PRC authorities would have the right to station military forces in Hong Kong for defense purposes, although these forces “shall not interfere in the internal affairs of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region” and the central government “will pay for their expenditures” ( JD Annex I [XII]). Moreover, although Hong Kong’s special status was enshrined in an international agreement, the JD, the PRC government would not permit third-party oversight of the implementation of the accord and only permitted the British government formally to monitor it until January 1, 2000 (Annex II[8]). On the autonomy side, the central government promised a half century in which “the current social and economic systems in Hong Kong will remain unchanged, and so will the life-style” ( JD Art. 3[5][12]). The emphasis was on economic autonomy. Hong Kong was to continue as a juridically separate capitalist economy based on the free f low of goods, intangible assets, and capital. The PRC authorities would not regulate its monetary, trade, customs, property rights, fiscal, and financial arrangements. Hong Kong would continue to have its own freely convertible currency and was not required to contribute tax revenues to central government coffers. Its free port, shipping registry, international financial center status, and separate customs regulations were to continue ( JD 3[6]–[8] and Annex I [V]–[IX]). The BL also entrenched what, in the colonial period, had become the cardinal principles of territorial public economic management: “keeping expenditure within the limits of revenue,” low taxes, and prudent fiscal reserves (BL Art. 107, 108, 111; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998: 280–81). Further, the arrangement protected the system of land leases and related rights that had helped sustain the territory’s property-based wealth divide (Overholt 2001; JD Annex III; BL Art. 120–123). The HKSAR government was given a high degree of external affairs autonomy, particularly in economic matters, preserving the high degree of international legal status Hong Kong had gained in the

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British period. Unusually for any substate authority, especially in a unitary state, it could maintain relations with outside states, regions, and relevant intergovernmental organizations dealing with economic matters ( JD Art. 3[10]; see also Tang 1993; Davis 1989). Consequently, the HKSAR was subsequently able to maintain one of the world’s highest participation rates in intergovernmental organizations amongst nonsovereign authorities, measured in memberships or associate memberships, and continue to make hundreds of international agreements, mainly in the economic realm (Henders 2000; 2001). Under the JD and BL, Hong Kong had functional self-rule in all areas except defense and foreign affairs, including but not limited to education, science, culture, sports, religion, labor, and social welfare and policy. It had authority to maintain its own public order and police force (BL Art. 14). However, the wide functional autonomy of the HKSAR was undergirded by uneven political autonomy. It had full de jure autonomy with respect to both fiscal and monetary matters, and its de jure autonomy in external decisionmaking at the interstate level is unusually extensive, as we have seen. In terms of final decisionmaking authority, the JD also vested the HKSAR with “executive, legislative and independent judicial power, including that of final adjudication” (JD 3[3]). Further, it promised to maintain British-era laws and to protect liberal rights and freedoms, formally providing Hong Kong with a separate human rights regime from that in mainland China (JD 3[5]). Under BL Art. 29, the provisions of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), and various international labor conventions in force in the British era remained in force and were to be incorporated into HKSAR law. Many of these rights and freedoms were regularly violated in the PRC, such as the right to freedom of the person, freedom from arbitrary arrest, the right to privacy and to freedom from arbitrary search of one’s home, the right to freedom of speech, the press, assembly, demonstration, and association, the right to freedom of movement and travel, the right to freedom of conscience and of religious belief and practice, the right to freedom of marriage and to raise a family, and the right to freedom to engage in academic research, literary and artistic creation, and other cultural practices (BL Chapter III). The BL also protected a range of legal rights also regularly violated in the mainland, including the right “to challenge the actions of the executive in the courts,” to equality before the law, and to “confidential legal advice, access to the courts, representation in the courts by lawyers of

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his choice, and to obtain judicial remedies” (BL 25 and 35). Moreover, the central government promised that Hong Kong people would rule Hong Kong after the British departure (Deng Xiaoping 1984). However, other provisions of the JD, the BL, and subsequent practices have constrained the political autonomy of the HKSAR in several ways. The essential point is that while the territorial authorities have significant de jure final decisionmaking authority, some elements of the JD and BL and PRC norms and practices give the final say to state authorities, directly or indirectly. Echoing JD Annex I(I), the BL did promise a legislature “constituted by elections” with the “ultimate aim” being “the election of all the members of the Legislative Council by universal suffrage” (Art. 68). However, at the time of writing half the legislature was still chosen by functional constituencies, which in the 2004 election consisted of only 192,374 corporate body and individual electors. By comparison, 3,207,227 electors were registered for the competitive, multiparty elections by which the other 30 legislators were chosen (Chan and Chan 2006). The upshot is that the Legislative Council was dominated by business elites and other proChina conservatives. The BL also preserved the executive-led nature of the political system in a manner that further weakened the de facto and de jure final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR authorities. The HKSAR chief executive was not directly elected by Hong Kong voters, but appointed by central authorities after being chosen by a Selection Committee made up of 800 mostly pro-China Hong Kong permanent residents (BL Art. 45 and Annex I). Further, procedural rules reinforced the dominance of business and other pro-China elites in territorial lawmaking. The BL provided that the chief executive must give written approval for the introduction of bills concerning government policy into the Legislative Council. The chief executive alone could introduce bills concerning public expenditure, political structure, or government operation. Moreover, in order to pass, bills, motions, or amendments to government bills introduced by individual legislators must have the support of the majority of both functional constituency legislators and those directly elected, giving conservative pro-China interests an effective veto (BL 74 and Annex II[II]; Sing 2004a). Hong Kong authorities or other territorial representatives have little de jure institutionalized roles in central government decisionmaking on matters that affect the autonomy, status, and interests of the territory. Where they had a role, it was structured so that Hong Kong views were represented by pro-China elites. The NPC Standing Committee

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had sole authority to interpret the BL and approve amendments to its text (BL Art. 158, 159). Getting a proposed amendment to the BL on the NPC agenda required approval from the HKSAR chief executive, two-thirds of HKSAR legislators, and two thirds of Hong Kong’s NPC delegates. The latter were chosen, not democratically, but by a local, but NPC-appointed 400-member Selection Committee that ensured the victory of pro-China candidates, although the process is more open, competitive, and direct than its mainland counterpart. Delegates to the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress (CPPCC) were also not democratically chosen (Pepper 2008). The BL provided for a Committee for the Basic Law, which the NPC was supposed to consult when ruling on interpretations of the BL or amendments to it. The committee had six members each from the mainland and Hong Kong, giving it a mildly federal f lavor. However, the Hong Kong members were appointed by the NPC Standing Committee itself, after being named jointly by the chief executive, Legislative Council president, and chief justice of the HKSAR Court of Final Appeal. It appeared the result was that the Hong Kong committee members were unable or unwilling to defend Hong Kong’s liberal institutions.1 The emphasis on state-building, through provisions that directly or indirectly reinforced central authority over the HKSAR, was also ref lected in the criteria for the holding of senior public office. These provisions reinforced the modern territorial state and citizenship model’s assumption of a singular, bordered nation. The BL required that top administrative and judicial positions, and 80 percent of legislative seats, must be held by permanent HKSAR residents who are PRC citizens and do not have right of abode in a foreign country. Some positions also require the holder to have lived in Hong Kong for a continuous period of not less than 15 years, or 20 for the office of chief cxecutive (BL Art. 43, 44, 55, 61, 67, 71, 90, 101). The requirements clashed with the outward-looking, transnational lives of many Hong Kong residents, especially efforts by many in the middle classes to secure right of abode in stable liberal democracies prior to 1997, and the long-standing importance of foreign professionals and business people in the economy. Most of these nationality requirements were added to the final version of the BL at central government insistence after the Tiananmen crisis in spring 1989, events which had triggered massive protests in Hong Kong in sympathy with the PRC student demonstrators. The nationality and residency requirements were part of an attempt to ensure that the post-1997 political system would be led by individuals the central authorities deemed “patriotic.”

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Nevertheless, the final version of the BL did not require that all public administrators, judges, and elected officials met the patriotism and residency criteria. Moreover, the special status arrangement provided other spaces for the survival of some of the outward-looking, transnational identifications of Hong Kong people and their intercultural heritage. The BL (Art. 9) provided for the co-officiality of English and Chinese, although giving higher status to the latter. As the provision did not specify what was meant by “Chinese,” it effectively allowed Cantonese to be used as the normal spoken language in public realms and the continued use of traditional characters to write Modern Standard Chinese. Art. 136 of the BL gave the HKSAR authorities jurisdiction over education, including the language of instruction in local schools and other educational institutions. Unlike in Cantonese-speaking areas of neighboring Guangdong province, there was no requirement that Hong Kong schools teach in Mandarin. Finally, it should be noted that, formally speaking, the institutional configuration and nomenclature of Hong Kong’s political and legal system remained very similar to the British years, creating substantial institutional asymmetry. In this way and in others, the special status arrangement allowed for symbolic asymmetrical autonomy. Thus, while the HKSAR was required to display the PRC f lag and emblem, it was also permitted its own regional f lag and emblem (JD Annex I). Hong Kong athletes could compete autonomously in international competitions under the name “Hong Kong, China” (JD 3[10] and Annex I). Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy The tensions associated with the special status arrangement ref lected the unitary, centralized, and authoritarian nature of the PRC political system and the ways it clashed with Hong Kong’s liberal, pluralistic institutions and political culture and the desire of many of its residents for greater political autonomy. They also ref lected the roots of the arrangement in the state-building and economic modernization aims of the PRC leadership and Hong Kong’s position in between the global and Chinese economies. State Sovereignty, Security, and Patriotism Many tensions in the arrangement stem from the Chinese central leadership’s emphasis on state sovereignty, security, and patriotism. It

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frames these norms in terms of an individualistic understanding of the nation and the embodiment of the latter in the state as represented by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)–dominated central people’s government. In addition, a discourse combining Han, or ethnic, Chinese identity claims and patriotism has gained inf luence in Hong Kong since 1997. It represents Hong Kong as an ethnic Chinese community loyal to the PRC state, whose identity, values, and interests are deemed consistent with those of Hong Kong. The slogan “Love the motherland, love Hong Kong,” which appeared in such places as the PLA garrison building in the central business district in 1998, embodied this elision of Hong Kong and the nation-state (Keith B. Richburg, “Residents of Hong Kong searching for identity,” The Washington Post online ed., June 30, 1998). Since 1997, patriotism has been reinforced through civic education in schools and public campaigns as well as popular culture (see Tse, Thomas K.C. 2004; Mathews and Lui 2001). Under pressure from the central government, the HKSAR government has since 2004 required the playing of the PRC national anthem before nightly newscasts, sung in Mandarin. The period of the 2008 Olympics in Beijing sparked a particularly sharp rise in Chinese nationalistic expression and propaganda in Hong Kong. There were confrontations between patriotic and pro-Tibet protesters and concern on the part of human rights NGOs in Hong Kong that the local media was succumbing to nationalism (Augustine Tan, “Winning Hong Kong hearts,” Asia Times Online June 26, 2008). The Hong Kong Journalists Association warned about the dangers of allowing a single understanding of Hong Kong identity and the purposes of self-rule to dominate: Rising nationalism will lead to a dominant view that excludes opinions that are at variance with those propagated in Beijing. This would see Hong Kong developing a lack of tolerance that could marginalize dissenting voices and persuade people that it is in their best interests not to speak out, even though they know an injustice has been done. This would be to the detriment of the development of a healthy, pluralistic society. (quoted in Ibid.) Senior administrators and elected officials have been subject to tests of patriotism. In 2008, controversy ensued when the media revealed that five of eight newly appointed deputy-ministers in the HKSAR government had second passports. In the public debate that followed, some argued that the top public jobs in a global city should be based on merit alone. Nevertheless, the appointees all announced they would give up

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their second nationalities (“Thou shalt have no other,” The Economist June 7, 2008, 58). Democracy, Human Rights, and Patriotism The BL promise of democratization for Hong Kong has become a casualty of this intensified patriotism. Pro-Beijing and pro-democracy politicians have conf licted over the meaning of patriotism in a context where PRC officials have said that only a patriotic Hong Kong will be allowed to democratize (Lam, Willy 2004). For many Hong Kong people, democratization is a means to protect the territory’s liberal values and autonomy. However, partly because Hong Kong pro-democracy groups have sometimes actively supported pro-democracy groups on the mainland, the central government has deemed the Hong Kong groups unpatriotic. Pro-democracy political parties have also consistently out-performed pro-China parties in direct Legislative Council elections, usually winning more than 60 percent of votes cast. Despite pressure from the central government, significant numbers of Hong Kong people have continued openly to demand democratization. This was a theme during the public demonstration on the anniversary of the handover on July 1, 2003, which brought some 600,000 people, nearly one in ten residents, to the streets to decry the economic and policy performance of the HKSAR government. On January 1 and July 1, 2004, 100,000 and 200,000 people, respectively, took part in pro-democracy rallies (Pepper 2008). The central authorities have continued to block and delay democratization and made efforts to ensure existing elections have patriotic results. Notably, this is despite formal provisions in the BL that give the Standing Committee of the NPC a veto over whether Hong Kong can have a directly elected chief executive, but not whether the Legislative Council is democratized. Making the latter reform would formally speaking only require the support of the chief executive and two-thirds of the Legislative Council (BL Annex I, II). The central government’s rejection of democratization has been supported by many Hong Kong business elites, who are fearful that democratization would lead to policies that would undermine the economic competitiveness of the territory (see So 1999: 20; Sing 2004a). Late in 2007, the NPC Standing Committee said it would consider allowing the direct election of the chief executive in 2017, but that candidates would have to be approved by the central government. It also said it would consider allowing democratization of the Legislative Council in 2020

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(“Democracy denied,” The Economist January 5, 2008; NPC Standing Committee 2007). Yet, many in the opposition greeted the news with distrust and frustration. Some 15,000 people expressed their discontent in a January 1, 2008 protest (“HK ‘to elect its leader by 2017,’ ” BBC News December 29, 2007; “Activists attack China ruling on Hong Kong democracy,” AFP December 29, 2007). The distrust is understandable given that representatives of the central state and their local allies have in recent territorial elections been more openly trying to ensure that the election results are politically palatable. The Legislative Council is not officially part of the people’s congress system used on the mainland, so is formally outside the process the CCP uses to vet representatives at various levels of that system.2 However, the CCP, through its Hong Kong branch, has worked with sympathetic trade unions, political parties, business groups, and media organizations in the territory to mobilize grassroots support for proChina parties and candidates. Deng’s transition-era statement that only patriotic Hong Kong people should be allowed to rule Hong Kong has been periodically repeated by mainland leaders and pro-PRC Hong Kong elites (Pepper 2008; Lam, Willy 2004). A political climate in which challenges to politically sensitive mainland policies are deemed unpatriotic has encouraged more selfcensorship and conservatism in the local media. There have been threats by pro-Beijing interests against local journalists and public warnings by PRC officials not to discuss taboo subjects such as Taiwan independence or the Tiananmen Square crackdown (see Lo 2008). In the early 2000s, the HKSAR government also tried to pass a national security law, which critics claimed was based on illiberal mainland norms that insufficiently protected civil rights and freedoms (Pepper 2008). After a major public outcry, the HKSAR government eventually withdrew the bill. Although this was some consolation for those defending liberal institutions in Hong Kong, it may prove a temporary reprieve. Presumably the government will have to introduce a new bill eventually because Art. 23 of the BL required the HKSAR to legislate against treason, secession, sedition, and subversion against the Central People’s Government as well as to control links between political organizations and foreign groups. As the Art. 23 controversy attests, not all threats to civil rights and freedoms come directly from the central government and its insistence on patriotism. Actions of the HKSAR authorities have also undermined the autonomy of the Hong Kong legal system. Under Chief Executive Tung, there were high profile instances of HKSAR

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executive interference in the justice system, including to protect a local business executive and the local branch of the CCP (Pepper 2008). Particularly controversial was a 2001 interpretation of the BL by the NPC Standing Committee at the request of the HKSAR government. The interpretation effectively overturned a Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal ruling, which had recognized the right of mainland-born individuals with Hong Kong parentage to live in the territory. The economic interests that motivated the HKSAR government to ask that the court decision be overturned will be discussed later. What matters for the present argument is that actions by the HKSAR government and the NPC Standing Committee were a major blow to judicial independence, weakening the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR (Lo 2008). At the same time, HKSAR institutions and political culture are still partly pluralistic and liberal and its legislature partly elected. This has political effects. Most importantly, assertive and vigilant civil society groups and political parties have used the political space permitted under the special status arrangement to struggle to maintain and strengthen civil and political rights, protect the rule of law, and push for democratization (Ibid.). They have confronted the institutionalized power of pro-China groups and individuals willing to compromise the territory’s liberal institutions, rule of law, and democratic aspirations in order to smooth relations with China and protect the political economic status quo. As Sonny Lo (Ibid.) has documented, the central government has not always been able completely to control its Hong Kong allies and the Hong Kong government is not always able to command the support of pro-China individuals and groups. During the Art. 23 controversy, some conservative politicians and business elites said the proposed bill would hamper the freedom of information needed to maintain the competitiveness of the territory’s financial sector (“Hong Kong treason law worries bankers” BBC News (Online), December 2, 2002). As the global economic crisis took hold in autumn 2008, legislators from both the patriotic and democratic camps responded to public discontent by challenging an attempt by the HKSAR government to limit an inquiry into the sale of so-called mini-bonds, which had been backed by the failed U.S. investment bank, Lehman Brothers. Public pressure also led both sides to cooperate in challenging a government plan to impose a means test on recipients of old age allowance. The government planned to increase monthly payments to HK$1,000 (US$129) from its previous level of HK$705 (US$91) (Chris Yeung, “Hong Kong: Feeling the

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stones en route to democracy,” Hong Kong Journal, January 2009). The Hong Kong government has tried to improve relations with pro-democratic parties, as it regularly needs their support to get bills through the legislature. Their efforts have been hampered by the lingering mutual distrust between the central government and pro-democracy politicians (Ibid.). Language Conflicts and Patriotism Finally, policies affecting the languages used in the public realm have been a source of conf lict in post-1997 Hong Kong, although only partly due to the central governments stress on patriotism. English has historically been widely used as a medium of instruction in local schools. In the latter British years, the government increased the teaching of Mandarin as a subject of study, in anticipation of the 1997 handover and growing economic links with China (Tsui 2006). It also expanded the use of spoken Cantonese and written Modern Standard Chinese as languages of instruction, arguing that children learn better in their mother tongue. Many parents resisted because they saw English-language schooling opening doors to higher education, better jobs, and immigration (Bray and Koo 2004; Will Clem, “Research casts doubt on mother-tongue education,” South China Morning Post March 15, 2008). The controversy continued after 1997, becoming entangled with the politics of patriotism. In 2008, in response to public pressure, the HKSAR government lifted the restrictions that had forced most secondary schools to teach in Cantonese, opening the way not for Mandarin-language instruction but more English-medium education (“Cat got your mother tongue?” The Economist June 14, 2008, 54). Meanwhile, the HKSAR government has itself emphasized the competitive advantage of trilingual workers who can function in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin (Tsui 2006; see also HKSAR Standing Committee on Language Education and Research 2003). Alongside these apparently instrumental views of language, however, are its political and symbolic dimensions. It was no accident that former Chief Executive Tung gave his speech at the 1997 handover ceremony in Mandarin, but his first Policy Address in the Legislative Council in Cantonese. Surveys of post-1997 Hong Kong residents suggest that those with the most positive attitudes toward Cantonese and English as opposed to Mandarin also had the strongest attachments to Hong Kong (Tsui 2006). Although Mandarin is popular as a subject of study and is viewed more positively by Hong Kong people than before 1997, the suggestion that it be used as a language of instruction in local

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schools has sparked expressions of concern about forced patriotism in some newspapers (Mathews, Ma, and Lui 2007). Economic Development and Modernization China’s modernization and market liberalization have had contradictory affects on Hong Kong’s autonomy and special status. In key respects, the HKSAR owes its very existence to the economic development and modernization policies of post-Mao Chinese leaders, which made Hong Kong economically useful to China and its liberal institutions worth preserving. However, the same policies have unleashed rapid socioeconomic changes that have begun eroding the very differences that distinguished Hong Kong from the mainland and that had been useful to China because of their role in maintaining the prosperity of the territory. Shanghai and other mainland cities increasingly compete with Hong Kong as international business services centers (see Enright and Scott 2005; see also Chiu, Peter Y.W. 2006). China’s growing integration into the global economy has also increased Hong Kong’s integration into the Chinese economy. Stateowned firms and companies owned or managed by individuals with ties to high-ranking PRC officials, have come to play an important role in the territory. International and Hong Kong business media have expressed concern that mainland political connections have begun trumping the market and the law in the territorial business culture (e.g., Edward A. Gargan, “Hong Kong fears unravelling of rule of law,” New York Times May 7, 1997; “Business: Interference on the line; Telecoms,” The Economist July 8, 2006, 65). In 2004, the Fraser Institute gave the territory a lower ranking in its Economic Freedom Index due to industrial subsidies, red tape, and threats to the integrity of the legal system (Robin Kwong, “Key indicators of Hong Kong’s economic freedom all falling,” South China Morning Post December 1, 2006). Incidents such as the beating of a well-known Hong Kong legislator and lawyer in 2006 have led to concern about increasing triad inf luence (Keith Bradsher, “Hong Kong takes a hit as lawmaker is beaten,” New York Times August 25, 2006). The integration of the two economies has increased Hong Kong’s economic dependence on China and, therefore, its political vulnerability. The profits and livelihoods of the territory’s business people, professionals, and workers increasingly depend on the mainland economy. By 2006, the mainland accounted for 46 percent of Hong Kong’s total trade and 31 percent of total direct investment, the largest single source.

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From 1996 to 2006, the number of trips to or through Hong Kong by mainlanders increased fivefold to 13.6 million annually (HKSAR 2006), many of them by tourists. By 2001, Hong Kong residents were making 53 million trips into mainland China, versus 29 million only five years earlier (Holliday, Ma, and Yep 2002). A growing number of Hong Kong managers and professionals work on the other side of the border. The economic crises that plagued the early years of the special status arrangement, especially the 1997 Asian financial crisis and the SARS outbreak of 2003, pushed the HKSAR and PRC governments to stimulate Hong Kong’s economic recovery by reducing barriers to trade, investment, and labor/managerial mobility between the two economies (see Chiu, Peter Y.W. 2006; Enright and Scott 2005). These initiatives raised concerns in Hong Kong about the weakening of autonomy and liberal institutions and rule of law due to growing economic reliance on the mainland economy and the further penetration of mainland-style “crony” capitalism (Cheng, Joseph Y.S. 2004: 737; Philip Bowring, “Hong Kong and China: Trade pact opens door to cronyism,” International Herald Tribune June 24, 2003). Although economic interdependence is a serious threat to political autonomy, it also means that there is a growing need to manage problems cooperatively and for Hong Kong authorities and civil society groups to become inf luential in mainland decisionmaking processes. The problem is that those individuals with the most inf luence are those least likely to challenge mainland policies. Equality and Social Solidarity Unlike in the Spanish and French contexts of Catalan and Corsican special status, liberal ideas play little role in China’s constitutional political order. There has been little if any publicly expressed concern that the Hong Kong special status region undermines formal citizen equality in the PRC by granting Hong Kong people additional rights. Moreover, the central authorities appear to have been able to manage public representations of its “one country, two systems” policy to a significant degree, at least on the mainland. They have portrayed the policy as part of its national reunification strategy, not one aiming at recognizing group rights in order to remedy the exclusionary effects of the modern territorial state and citizenship model. The mainland authorities have themselves offered another territory—Taiwan, which they claim is part of the state—a more generous version of the Hong Kong–style special status arrangement.

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Even so, China is not entirely immune to the politics of equality and the danger that other parts of the state will demand Hong Kong–style autonomy. It did experience a snowballing of demands in response to the creation of the first SEZs in the early 1980s, which had been based on policies partly inspired by Hong Kong commercial norms. The higher levels of investment, subsidies, and tax revenue accruing to local political elites and authorities in these zones encouraged their counterparts in other parts of China to demand similar treatment (Breslin 1996; see also Wang and Hu 1999). The resulting “zone fever” lead the central government to extend SEZ-style freedoms to more coastal cities and areas and, later, parts of interior provinces, too (see Yang, Dali L. 1997; Zhong, Zhu Ding 1998). Moreover, in 2003, the Dalai Lama asked that Tibet be given Hong Kong–style special status (Zhang, Jing 2003; see also chapter seven). The central government rejected the demand, stating that the “one country, two systems” policy was created to accommodate imperialist-ruled territories where the PRC had to resume the exercise of its sovereignty while accommodating “another social system.” These conditions, it said, did not exist in Tibet (PRC, State Council 2004). Closely related to the politics of equality are questions concerning China as a community of social solidarity and the responsibility of Hong Kong with respect to China’s socioeconomically marginalized regions and residents. Hong Kong is the wealthiest part of China. Many Hong Kong people have benefited economically from mainland economic development. This development has brought increased socioeconomic inequality alongside improvements in living standards for many in China. Yet, as part of its autonomous status, the HKSAR remits no tax revenue to the central government, revenue that could be redistributed to poorer parts of the state. Nor does the HKSAR pay for central government programs and services from which Hong Kong residents directly benefit, such as those related to defense and foreign affairs. The territory’s complete fiscal autonomy no doubt reassured those in the territory who feared tax increases after 1997. For now, the social solidarity of Hong Kong with respect to poorer mainlanders is expressed through voluntary contributions made to charities involved in social development and emergency relief on the mainland. However, this solidarity is typically expressed in terms of patriotism and/or benevolence, rather than equality and citizenship rights ( Jesse Wong 1991; Denise Young, “H.K. Tycoons, pop-stars pitch in to help f lood-battered China,” Reuters July 15, 1991). It seems only a matter of time before there is political pressure for Hong Kong to transfer some

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of its wealth to China through taxes. Some Hong Kong academics and civil society activists have already begun raising the issue (e.g., Joseph Y.S. Cheng, “Shame on us,” South China Morning Post September 1, 2003). The issue will likely figure in negotiations on the post-2047 status of Hong Kong. Temporality As we have seen, the Hong Kong special status arrangement is temporary in nature. For now, this has caused few tensions directly. However, as the above discussion suggests, the situation is bound to change as 2047 approaches. Conf lict is especially likely because the JD and BL do not specify what is to happen to the territory at that point, who gets to decide, and by what process. Long-term uncertainty is balanced by the hope that, after 50 years of “one country, two systems,” China will have become more like Hong Kong politically in ways that could facilitate the protection of local liberal values and democratic aspirations. Ironically, however, this hope increases the stake that Hong Kong people have in the direction of political and socioeconomic change in China as a whole. Some Hong Kong organizations and activists supportive of democratization and stronger protection for human rights and the rule of law in the territory have been involved in supporting citizen movements struggling for complementary reforms on the mainland. Especially since the Tiananmen crisis, the PRC leadership has treated such activities by Hong Kong people as unpatriotic and emphasized that under “one country, two systems,” well water is not permitted to mix with river water ( jingshui bu fan heshiu) (Pepper 2008). The maxim points to an ongoing paradox inherent in the regime asymmetry of the special status arrangement. Outcomes Stability Assessment of the stability of the special status arrangement depends on one’s interpretation of the JD and BL, which, as discussed earlier, contain contradictory norms. The contradictions allow both the central government and its HKSAR allies as well as the pro-democracy opposition to argue that they are acting in a manner consistent with the BL. Arguably, however, the HKSAR has continued to exist on

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the basis of the JD and BL through two changes in state president and CCP general secretary in the PRC and one change of chief executive in the HKSAR. Despite some erosion of the legal system and of the protection for civil rights and freedoms, the important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain the institutions of special status have largely continued. Therefore, the arrangement can be considered minimally stable to date. The arrangement is shakier in terms of maximal stability. There has been no mass violence or other extra-institutional political action nor repression by the state or HKSAR authorities, despite continuing concern with media self-censorship and the HKSAR authorities denying entry to the territory of some practitioners of Falun Gong, an organization banned in China, but permitted in Hong Kong (U.S. State Department 1997–2006). Nevertheless, there is a latent threat of state repression, given the recentness of the PRC government’s brutal crackdown on student demonstrators in 1989, which had a deep psychological and political effect on Hong Kong people (see Yahuda 1996; Pepper 2008). Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: The Strength of Political Autonomy To summarize earlier analysis, Hong Kong’s political autonomy is uneven, based on the indicators examined in the present study. The territory has total de jure fiscal autonomy and significant de facto fiscal autonomy. However, its final decisionmaking authority is constrained by the role of central authorities in appointing the chief executive and interpreting and amending the BL. In policy matters considered politically sensitive by the central government, territorial authorities have more limited final decisionmaking authority in practice. The de jure inf luence of HKSAR authorities and representatives in state decisionmaking processes is limited by the small size of its representation in PRC political bodies and by the control of central authorities over the selection of Hong Kong members on the Committee for the Basic Law and of territorial delegates to the NPC and the CPPCC. The ability of these representatives to defend Hong Kong’s autonomy in state decisionmaking processes in practice is restricted by the collusion of pro-Beijing elites with central authorities, as evidenced by the role of Hong Kong members of the Committee for the Basic Law during the right of abode case (Lo

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2008). Nevertheless, outside politically sensitive areas, the HKSAR has significant de facto scope to adopt policies distinctive from those in the mainland, scope which is also ref lected in the de jure provisions of the JD and BL. Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities The above analysis has already begun to show that conf licts between territory and central government actors over Hong Kong’s special status and autonomy have been intertwined with conf licts over citizenship norms and practices within Hong Kong. This is not least because of the political alliance between PRC political elites and territorial business and other pro-China conservative elites, based on their clientelist ties and shared interest in maintaining the political economic order on both sides of the border. This intertwining of the two axes of political contention important in special status arrangements remains hidden if Hong Kong is conceptualized individualistically, as a territorially bounded, internally undifferentiated community in which the costs and benefits of the arrangement are similar for everyone. The special status arrangement mostly did not create the exclusionary citizenship that marks the territory. However, it has done much to perpetuate the marginalization of women, the poor, and vulnerable ethnic and racialized groups. Internal Economic Inequality Hong Kong has seen significant and growing income inequalities, increasing structural unemployment, and significant absolute poverty, all of which began before 1997. Living standards improved for many in Hong Kong in the 1970s and 1980s. However, in all but the 1966–1971 period, income inequality steadily augmented as the income growth of poorer households did not keep pace with that of richer ones. Measured by Gini coefficients, inequality reached .525 in 2001, the highest in the developed world (Sing 2004b; Zhao, Zhang, and Sit 2004; Sautman 2004; Zhao and Zhang 2005). The high-income bracket was 23 times wealthier than the lowest income bracket, compared to 13 times greater in 1996. The percentage of middle income families had fallen to 58.6 percent from 64.4 percent (Law and Lee 2006; see also Zhao and Zhang 2005). Meanwhile, in 1995, before the post-1997 economic downturns, unemployment had already hit 3.5 percent, the highest official rate in ten years. The Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions

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estimated a rate closer to 13 percent (So 1999). The welfare roll had risen to more than 100,000, up from 83,000 in mid-1993. Inf lation was greater than 9 percent. After the Asian financial crisis hit in 1997, official unemployment climbed to 6.3 percent in 1999 and remained high for several years (Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Zhao, Zhang, and Sit 2004). Wages, already dropping, fell further. The proportion of lowpaid, fragmented, and part-time work in the service sector increased. Poverty grew and remained high for a wealthy economy. Unofficial estimates from the mid-1990s for the numbers of individuals living in poverty (i.e., on less than half the median income)—again, before the post-1997 downturns—ranged from 575,000 to 847,000 in a population just under 7 million (Yip and La Grange 2006). The Hong Kong Social Security Society states that, in 1999, the crisis had expanded that number to more than 1 million, about 360,000 of them working poor (Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; see also Social and Economic Policy Institute 2001). This inequality and poverty were serious issues prior to 1997. Since then, the institutions and representational practices of the special status arrangement have helped institutionalize inequality and poverty and to hide their increasingly structural nature. As earlier sections discussed, the institutions of special status aimed to preserve the laissez-faire capitalist political economic order in Hong Kong, including its signature policies of “keeping expenditure within the limits of revenue,” low taxes, and prudent fiscal reserves. This has been accompanied by a discourse of economism with a similar purpose. The discourse largely continues British-era representations of Hong Kong people as profitseeking, politically apathetic and conservative, and self-sufficient in the family (see Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Lau and Kuan 1988). In the colonial period, these representations helped justify a residual approach to public social protection. Public social welfare was deemed unnatural interference in the family and local culture, even as the government increased its involvement in these areas after World War II, as detailed earlier. In the post-1997 period, economism has functioned similarly to naturalize socio-economic inequality, the political domination of business interests, a residual welfare state, and an instrumental approach to law and civil and political rights. The latter refers to the notion that law and rights can legitimately be overridden if higher values—particularly economism, but also patriotism—are threatened (see Jones 1995; 1999; Scott 1998). Economistic representations of Hong Kong people have only strengthened since the 1997 handover to PRC rule and, in the first few

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years, was combined with an emphasis on the ethnic Chinese roots of this ethos. In public speeches, Tung, the first HKSAR chief executive, declared that to be Chinese was to be apolitical and preoccupied with wealth creation, deferential to authority, committed to mutual care in the family, especially of the elderly, and hard-working (HKSAR 1997; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Sautman 2004). Reinforcing the Chineseness of Hong Kong people reinforced the political order and vice versa. The public statements of Donald Tsang, Tung’s successor, have also stressed economistic values, but with less emphasis on their supposed ethnic roots (Tsang 2005–6; “Asia: A knight of the people’s paradise,” The Economist June 18, 2005). The discourse of economism constitutes Hong Kong people as market actors and subjects, at times also as co-ethnics, but not as citizens with a range of social, economic, political, civil, and cultural rights (see Ghai 2001). It helps perpetuate the idea that, with hard work and some luck, anyone can get rich and that a meaningful public social safety net is an unnecessary and harmful public burden. The current reality of poverty and precarious livelihoods for many is made to disappear, with exclusionary consequences for citizenship. As Cheung puts it: the hardships of poverty have been, so to speak, petrified, distanced as a faraway historical period—archaeologically termed the Age of Poverty—and thus, in effect, removed from the presentday social memory of Hong Kong . . . poverty and the impoverished are suppressed by this glittering totem and are effectively removed from the social agenda. (Cheung 2000: 236) The discourse of economism is powerful in a society where so many grew up comparatively poor and the increase in wealth is new, where competition and the drive for efficiency have been experienced as natural, and where money has been one of the few things Hong Kong families could count on, given their experience as refugees from political instability and poverty in China and as colonial subjects (Mathews and Lui 2001; Hong Kong People’s Alliance [HKPA] n.d.). Nevertheless, significant segments of the population have challenged the exclusionary effects for citizenship of the economistic representation of Hong Kong values and the economistic purposes of its self-rule. Contradicting the supposed political apathy of Hong Kong people, this resistance continues the pattern of public political mobilization in defense of citizenship that marked post–World War II British Hong Kong. This mobilization included movements defending Chinese national dignity,

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against racism, demanding the use of spoken Cantonese and written Modern Standard Chinese in public institutions, and defending women’s rights, freedom of association, and economic fairness and equity (Lam Wai-man 2004; Klein 1995). Citizenship activism increased in the run up to the 1997 handover as limited electoral competition was introduced and as economic restructuring brought major job losses in manufacturing (Lam Wai-man 2004). Protests related to economic grievances continued with the economic crises in the first years of the HKSAR. In the worst of the Asian financial crisis, there were daily demonstrations outside government offices, demanding economic fairness (So 1999). Many who took to the streets in the major public demonstrations of July 1, 2003 and 2004 voiced discontent with Chief Executive Tung’s handling of the economic downturn. There have also been major protests by professionals and workers demanding reforms to address economic, social, and political inequalities and exclusion (Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Sing 2004b). The early years of the HKSAR had seen the government use its authority in ways that perpetuated the socioeconomic inequalities of the British days. In the external affairs realm, it continued to pursue the global strengthening of neoliberal economic policies, including through its participation in the WTO (HKSAR 2006). It also continued the British Hong Kong government policy of denying the application of International Labour Organization (ILO) conventions that protect freedom of association with respect to trade union membership and the right to collective bargaining (Hong Kong Human Rights Commission 1998; Social and Economic Policy Institute 2001; “SAR government violates international labour conventions,” Hong Kong Voice of Democracy November 21, 1998; Automotive Market Research Council 2002). The territorial authorities also maintained policies that continued to marginalize FDWs by failing to provide them with status and legal protections that would reduce abuse and exploitation by employers, such as permanent residency, welfare benefits, and union rights (Migrants Rights International, 2003; Bell 2001). The Coalition for Migrants Rights claims these policies violate the ILO Conventions to which the HKSAR government is a signatory through China. In its early days, the post-1997 Provisional Legislature, with its pro-Beijing and business elite majority, overturned laws aimed to improve social programs and labor protection, which had been passed in the exceptional circumstances of the last days of British rule (So 1999). Faced with declining revenues in the context of the Asian financial crisis, the Tung administration canceled most promised social program improvements.

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It introduced new policies that reduced welfare access through workfare and regulations reinforcing the family as the economic and welfare provisioning unit. Pre-1997 reforms introducing market mechanisms into welfare services continued (So 1999; Ho 2004; Chan, Raymond K.H. 2003; Chow c. 2004; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998). During the downturns, government and conservative elites represented Hong Kong people as aggressively self-reliant individuals and families in a global city facing intense competition. Welfare recipients were portrayed and often treated as outsiders who lacked the traits of real Hong Kong belongers (Hui 2004; Chan Chak-Kwan 1998). In his regular “Letter to Hong Kong”(Tsang 2005–6), Chief Executive Tsang talked of how Hong Kong people “don’t want special treatment. They just want to be able to compete fairly” (October 16, 2005). Stressing the pragmatism and “craftiness” of local people ( June 24, 2006; August 26, 2006) and papering over inequality and the clashing socioeconomic interests and ideologies underlying the dispute over democracy, Tsang declared that “Working industriously together, we have forged an economic miracle. And that is why I am confident that all political differences can be resolved . . .” (August 26, 2006). Yet, civil society groups, political parties, and individuals have fought to maintain political space in which their demands for expanded socioeconomic citizenship are heard. They have had some limited success in challenging the legitimacy of the existing order and its laissez-faire, economistic understanding of Hong Kong values. Aware of intense public hostility to the economic policies of his predecessor, Tsang spoke of “fairness” and “improving people’s livelihood” in his 2006 policy address. He said the government would experiment with sector specific voluntary minimum wages and promised to study standard working hours (Tsang 2006). In the early months of the global economic crisis in October 2008, given public disgruntlement with the poor results of the voluntary approach, the government announced that it would impose a legally enforceable minimum wage for the first time (“HK to impose statutory minimum wage,” Financial Times October 16, 2008). At the time of writing, details of the policy were unavailable. Yet, a deeper shift in the political economic order will have to occur if socioeconomic inclusion is to be seriously taken up as a citizenship issue by the territorial authorities. Democratization is a necessary first step if these issues are to have political weight. However, democracy alone will not achieve fundamental change, particularly given the inconsistent record of the pro-democracy camp with respect to issues of socioeconomic inequality (see Sing 2004a; So 1999; Sing 2004b).

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Rather, pro-democracy parties have largely focused on expanding political autonomy, protecting liberal institutions and values, and securing democracy, the issues that dominated their “foundation moment” in the transition period. In a bid to attract middle-class voters, the largest pro-democracy party, the Democratic Party, shifted to a stronger freemarket platform after 1997 and advocated only minor socioeconomic reforms (Lau and Kuan 2000: 716; see also Lau and Kuan 2002). Gender Women are more likely to experience exclusionary socioeconomic citizenship than other residents. This did not begin with the special status arrangement, but it has continued with it. At the same time, there have been some gains in formal gender equality associated with the arrangement, particularly in the years leading up to the 1997 handover. These gains were due to longer-term socioeconomic changes as well as the introduction of limited direct elections, the spillover into civil service employment of women’s growing participation in the paid labor force, the imminent handover to PRC rule, and pressure from territorial women’s groups in a climate of increasing politicization. The special status arrangement that would begin in 1997 aimed to preserve the established political economic order in Hong Kong, minus British colonial rule. Nevertheless, adjustments to that order had to be made to secure the legitimacy of the arrangement and preserve economic and political stability. With this in mind, in its final years and working within the terms of the JD, the British Hong Kong authorities introduced legal reforms to improve formal human rights protections, including prohibitions against discrimination, and introduced limited direct elections. Improvements to the formal status of women in the 1990s need to be understood in this light. The 1991 Bill of Rights Ordinance explicitly provided for the first time in Hong Kong law that entitlement to rights was without distinction as to sex and that men and women were equally entitled to civil and political rights (Art. 1). A 1995 ordinance prohibited sex-based discrimination. The following year the government established the Equal Opportunities Commission, while the British government extended to Hong Kong the UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. Facing pressure from women’s and human rights groups, the Hong Kong authorities also repealed a legal ban on women inheriting property in villages in the New Territories. The decision challenged JD and BL provisions interpreted by some as giving the long-standing male-only

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inheritance laws quasi-constitutional status (see Samuels 1999; Hong Kong Association of Business and Professional Women n.d.). However, both before and after the establishment of the HKSAR, there were problems of enforcement with respect to these rights, not least because of the ongoing socioeconomic marginalization of many women, who could not afford to challenge rights violations in court (Peterson 2003). Hong Kong women had in recent decades made substantial gains in educational attainment and in participation in the paid labor market (Lee 2003), but were still less likely than men to gain senior positions. In 2002, median monthly employment earnings for women, even excluding FDWs, were still 21 percent below men (HKSAR Government 2004). Women had disproportionately borne the costs of the loss of industrial jobs. The discourse of self-reliant families, which was stepped up after the 1997 handover, reinforced patriarchy, placing a double burden on women as homemakers and wage earners (Lee 2003). Politically, women continued to be underrepresented in the political decisionmaking institutions and the administration of the HKSAR despite their formal equality with men in terms of political rights. On the administrative side, in 2002, women accounted for 34 percent of civil servants, but only 24 percent of those at directorate level or above (see HKSAR 2004; UN, Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women 1999). A woman, Anson Chan, has served as the chief civil servant of the HKSAR. However, in terms of elected office, the number of women in the Legislative and Executive Councils has remained well below their proportion of the population. This is despite the number of women legislators having increased to 18 percent by 2000 compared with 11 percent in 1991. In 2001, women held only 3 of 14 Executive Council seats (HKSAR Legislative Council Secretariat 2004). The continuing use of functional constituencies to choose half of HKSAR legislators is not only undemocratic and has a class bias, but contributes to the under-representation of women. The system allocates seats to sectors of the economy deemed to have a productive function. Women, especially poorer women, are disproportionately represented in several groups denied seats because these groups apparently have no such productive function. These groups include the unemployed, the majority of Hong Kong workers, homemakers, and FDWs (Hong Kong Women’s Coalition for Beijing ‘95 1997; Young and Law 2004). Women’s groups have demanded the abolition of functional constituency seats, linking the democratization of the legislature to advancing

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women’s political representation (Leung Lai-ching 2004). However, democratization would not on its own solve the political exclusion of FDWs, who are denied the permanent residency status required to qualify as voters (BL Art. 26; Migrants Rights International, 2003; Bell 2001). Ethnicity and Racialization The nationality law was one of the few PRC laws to apply to the HKSAR (BL Annex III), although it was adapted to the Hong Kong context through the provisions of memoranda attached to the JD and of the BL. In effect, Hong Kong has its own nationality regime based on the articulation of adapted PRC nationality norms with a formal territorial membership status termed permanent residency (BL Art. 24). Together, they contribute to maintaining what Sautman (2004: 125) has termed is a “quasi-ethnocracy” favoring Hong Kong ethnic Chinese over other residents. As applied to Hong Kong, the PRC law reserved Chinese nationality to Hong Kong ethnic Chinese who are HKSAR permanent residents. Individuals not ethnic Chinese were typically eligible to become PRC nationals only if they had near relatives who were recognized as ethnic Chinese, if they were settled in China, and if they renounced nationality in other states. The latter requirement was not applied to Hong Kong Chinese given PRC nationality in 1997. HKSAR permanent residents who were not ethnic Chinese normally could not get an SAR passport, even if they were locally born. They were also subject to stricter residency requirements to maintain permanent residency status (Sautman 2004; BL Art. 24). Once class hierarchies are taken into account, ethnicity-based exclusion is revealed as having more continuity with the pre-1997 period. Then, as under the special status arrangement, migrant workers from outside China and recent mainland migrants racialized as outsiders experienced considerable marginalization, due to their presumed cultural interiority and their poverty and lower education levels (Chiu and Lui 2004; Sautman 2004; see Pun and Wu 2004; Leung Hon-Chu 2004; Law and Lee 2006). They have also been disproportionately poor and faced discrimination or exclusion in the workplace, in accessing public services, and in society at large. White expatriates, who are typically professionals or managers, usually have experienced less socioeconomic marginalization (Sautman 2004; Law and Lee 2006). After much lobbying by civil society groups, the HKSAR government passed an anti-racism law in 2006 (Stephen Vines, “Race law

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‘is a memorial to my Harinder,’ ” The Observer December 3, 2006). However, critics of the policy said it would not counter the general exclusionary thrust of HKSAR government policies and widespread community attitudes. These hit women newcomers from the mainland particularly hard in terms of unemployment, poverty, and racialization (Sautman 2004; Sze 2004). Government policies block access to social services for many individuals, while inhibiting the reunification of families divided by the HKSAR-mainland border that would allow these women better to share income and social reproduction responsibilities with family members. Amongst recent mainland migrants, single parents (who are mostly women) and married women with children pay especially dearly for the HKSAR’s residual approach to public social protection and patriarchal policies. There is a shortage of affordable daycare. Programs allocate benefits according to lifetime paid employment patterns typical of male permanent residents and presume women engaged in unpaid social reproductive work are married to men with incomes. Official discourses accompanying the introduction of workfare programs after 2000 stigmatized all social service users, but especially newly arrived mainlanders (Leung Lai-ching 2004). It is in this context that the NPC Standing Committee interpretation of the BL in the 2001 right of abode case was not only alarming for its harm to judicial independence, but for its exclusionary effects on citizenship based on class and racialization. To recall, the interpretation overturned elements of a Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal ruling that affirmed the right of abode in Hong Kong of all mainland-born children of Hong Kong permanent residents. The effective result was that many ordinary mainland-born individuals with Hong Kong parentage were denied right of abode, while skilled mainland workers and professionals continued getting work visas and permanent residency. The HKSAR government tried to legitimize the Standing Committee decision using economistic logic and racialized representations of mainland migrants as unemployed, welfare-dependent outsiders. It made the exaggerated claim that, unless the ruling were overturned, 1.67 million mainland-born individuals would be eligible to come to the territory, overloading public services and social programs and taking jobs away from Hong Kong residents (Law and Lee 2006; Ku 2001). The claims appealed to widely held prejudices, so swayed considerable public opinion to the government side. However, others in the territory challenged the exclusionary understanding of Hong Kong values legitimated by the government’s actions and representation of the situation. Church, human rights, and welfare activist groups, legal professionals,

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university students, and some legislators waged a protracted and intense campaign in support of the right of abode claimants already in Hong Kong, some of whom went on hunger strikes to protest their exclusion. In addition to public marches, protests, petitions, and candlelight vigils, the protestors communicated their concerns to the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (Ku 2001). Conclusions The HKSAR is a highly unusual special status arrangement because it has aimed primarily to protect the liberal capitalist institutions and way of life of the former British colony and only secondarily and inconsistently to protect Hong Kong’s outward-looking, intercultural, and Cantonese identities. Several mutually reinforcing characteristics of the arrangement limit its stability, the political autonomy it permits the HKSAR territorial authorities, and the citizenship it provides for internal minorities. The first is its embeddedness in the social relations that underpin China’s recent economic transformation, including Hong Kong’s role in these processes. The territory’s economic integration with and dependence on the mainland has fostered clientelist relations between PRC political elites and Hong Kong’s big business and other pro-China elites. These Hong Kong elites have proven willing to sacrifice liberal pluralist values and inclusive citizenship in the name of smooth relations with Beijing and the preservation of the existing political and socioeconomic hierarchy in Hong Kong. The second danger comes from the regime asymmetry that marks the arrangement. Despite 20 years of economic liberalization, expanded social freedoms, and strengthened rule by law, China’s political system remains illiberal and Leninist and officially communist. Its authoritarian political institutions and processes clash with Hong Kong’s liberal, pluralist political institutions and culture. Despite the federal f lavor and possibilities in elements of the special status arrangement, the PRC remains a fundamentally centralized, unitary state with an approach to sovereignty and an understanding of patriotism premised on individualistic conceptions of state and nation. Thus, there are significant tensions between the autonomy and special status promised Hong Kong and the statebuilding elements of the arrangement, inherent in its integrative directionality and authoritarian context. Progressive elements in Hong Kong civil society have fought to protect the territory’s autonomy and its liberal institutions. Prominent

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amongst them are some members of the Hong Kong scholarly community, NGOs concerned with protecting human rights, advancing gender equality, improving public social protection programs, and strengthening environmental sustainability, churches, and many in the legal and social work professions. They have used, reinforced, and tried to expand the political space made possible by the special status arrangement, demanding democratization to open a broader dialogue about the exclusionary values that define Hong Kong and the purposes of self-rule as well as to strengthen political autonomy. Some have also sought to expand the capacity of the special status arrangement to advance the substantive socioeconomic citizenship and political rights of vulnerable internal minorities. In the absence of political liberalization and democratization in China as a whole, the democratization of the Hong Kong political system only has limited potential to make the special status arrangement more open-ended in terms of the kind of community Hong Kong might become. Moreover, in the absence of changes to the political, economic, gender, and ethnocratic order in Hong Kong itself, democratization will do little to expand the citizenship of the poor, women, and ethnic and racialized minorities.

CH A P T E R

SE V E N

Central Tibet from the Sino-Tibetan Seventeen-Point Agreement to the Tibet Autonomous Region

The task of building successful states is far from easy but the building of nations, particularly simultaneously with state building may probably be even more difficult. Linz 1993: 360 Given the cycle of protest and rebellion and state repression that has characterized Sino-Tibetan relations in recent years, it is easy to forget that, for most of the 1950s, the governments of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and of the Dalai Lama coexisted in central Tibet. The special status framework that made this possible was formally called the Agreement of the Central People’s Government and the Local Government of Tibet on Measures for the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet, but known as the Seventeen-Point Agreement (hereafter, the Agreement). A 1951 accord between the central Tibetan and PRC authorities, the Agreement affirmed the PRC takeover of Tibet, but temporarily gave central Tibet a degree of autonomy unavailable to local authorities elsewhere in China. The Agreement allowed the continuation of the religiously based central Tibetan government under the Dalai Lama, of Tibetan Buddhist institutions and practices, and of the Tibetan manorial socioeconomic system. The PRC authorities also agreed to delay socialist reforms until Tibetan elites voluntarily agreed to them. It was the only time the new regime settled the terms of its takeover of a territory through a written agreement.

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Why did a nationalist, communist, atheistic regime make concessions apparently so inimical to its values and goals? After all, Chinese Communist Party (CCP) leaders thought Tibetans backward, priestridden, feudal, and reactionary. This chapter argues that the Agreement was a state-building strategy thought necessary due to the distinct situation the new regime faced in central Tibet. For Mao Zedong, the principal CCP decisionmaker on Tibet, the Agreement would help the party-state establish physical and military control of central Tibet in the short-term, while building alliances with Tibetan elites that would eventually allow the Chinese authorities to reform and integrate the Tibetan political economic and social orders into the emerging socialist nation. In short, the Agreement was a state-building strategy that aimed to ease nation-building at a later date. The special status arrangement survived until 1959, when an uprising in Lhasa caused the Dalai Lama and his government to f lee into exile in India. The chapter argues that tensions between the statebuilding and the autonomy and special status dimensions of the Agreement contributed to this collapse. These tensions were exacerbated by the acute regime asymmetry between central Tibet and China and by revolts that broke out in ethnic Tibetan areas outside the special status territory. Nevertheless, for much of the 1950s, the Agreement largely allowed central Tibetans to continue their way of life and gave the central Tibetan government significant political autonomy. At the same time, because it protected established hierarchies in the territory, the arrangement did not enhance the citizenship of the most vulnerable community members, including the poor rural Tibetan majority. After 1959, the party-state gradually integrated central Tibetans more closely into its socialist nation-building project, eventually establishing the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) of today. Overall, in comparison with the 1950s, the new autonomy arrangement reduced the political autonomy of central Tibetan authorities, including their scope to diverge from standardized policies. Moreover, the majority of Tibetans are still amongst China’s most marginalized residents. The prioritizing by the central government of state security, patriotism, and externally driven development policies has contributed to the ongoing instability and exclusionary citizenship associated with the TAR. The analysis that follows deals with the Seventeen-Point Agreement and the TAR in separate sections.

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Tibet under the Seventeen-Point Agreement Background More than the other cases studied here, the academic literature on Tibet is as deeply polarized as the political debate about the status of the territory in China. Neither the PRC nor Tibet have traditions of independent, critical scholarship. There is also comparatively little usable data on Tibet, due to a paucity of reliable current or historical statistics and the difficulty of freely conducting research on politically sensitive topics in the territory. A good deal of the literature is also problematic to use because it replicates monolithic, static, bounded conceptions of identity and political community associated with the modern territorial state and citizenship model. To navigate around some of these difficulties, the present study uses the words “Tibet” and “Tibetan” and “China” and “Chinese” to designate general geographic entities and societies whose social make-up, political loyalties, governments, and boundaries have changed over time and which are internally diverse and contested, both internally and externally. The term “political Tibet” refers to the territory ruled by the Dalai Lama’s government in Lhasa in recent centuries (Goldstein 1997: xi), much of which is now part of the TAR. Peoples with Tibetan cultural identifications today number well over 5 million and live in many parts of Central Asia, including the southwestern PRC (the present TAR and parts of neighboring Xinjiang, Qinghai, Sichuan, Gansu, and Yunnan provinces), northern India (including areas of Ladakh, Sikkim, northern Uttar Pradesh, and Arunachal Pradesh), northern Nepal, and Bhutan (see Goldstein 1997). In the present study, “ethnographic Tibet,” following Goldstein (1997: x–xi), refers to people with Tibetan cultural identifications who live in parts of China outside political Tibet. According to official PRC statistics, there are approximately 2.4 million ethnic Tibetans in the TAR and 5 million in all Tibetan autonomous entities in China. Historically, political Tibet, like China prior to 1949, cannot be understood in terms of a single, centralized, territorially discrete polity based on the modern territorial state and citizenship model. From the seventh to the ninth century, early Tibetan kings based in Lhasa united much of the then culturally Tibetan world under their rule. Later, some outlying regions became independent or semi-independent, or fell under the sway of neighboring rulers. Weak central government remained the rule. From 1913 to 1951, when the Thirteenth Dalai Lama

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brief ly ran a relatively strong and centralized state, his government had only 400 to 500 fully gazetted monk and lay officials. They formally administered some 1 million people spread over a territory nearly the size of Western Europe (Samuel 1993; Goldstein 1989). Consequently, as Geoffrey Samuel writes, “most Tibetans, through most of Tibetan history, lived in communities that were not under the day-to-day control of any strong centralized government, whether that of Lhasa, some other Tibetan regime, or the Chinese” (1993: 143–44). Political claims based on the assumptions associated with the modern territorial state and citizenship model are, thus, misleading, particularly when analyzing political Tibet before 1949. Samuel instead advocates the use of Stanley Tambiah’s notion of a “galactic polity” to capture the overlapping and incompletely territorialized orbits of its nodes of power and authority. At the galactic center was the Lhasa government, dominated by Buddhist religious orders and noble families and resting on a religiously based ideology that supported the Dalai Lama’s rule. The latter was seen as the incarnation of Avalokitisvara (Chenresig in Tibetan), the Buddha of compassion. Claiming “the universality of religion as the core metaphor of Tibetan national identity” (Goldstein 1989: 2), the Lhasa government ruled through a network of patronclient relations. The agricultural areas of central Tibet had loosely associated power centers that were significantly autonomous, including hereditary noble manorial estates, large Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and their estates, and the estates of powerful lamas. On the eastern and northeastern fringes of central Tibet were the predominantly herding communities of Kham and Amdo. Even more loosely associated with Lhasa, and sometimes under the direct or indirect tutelage of China-based empires, the local chieftains and headmen of these regions resisted the control of any state. At the time of the PRC invasion in 1950, Kham and Amdo were largely outside both central Tibetan and PRC government control (Goldstein 1994; Samuel 1993). It is important to note that the Agreement that granted special status to central Tibet excluded both territories, forcing their comparatively rapid integration into the emergent PRC nation-state. This was to give rise to violent resistance in Kham and Amdo to the monolithic and bounded understandings of nation that underpinned this project. Tibet had long been at the junction of competing empires. In recent centuries, the China-based Manchu Qing dynasty (1644–1911), Russia, and British India had vied for inf luence over the territory (Goldstein 1989). PRC leaders saw control over central Tibet, Kham, and Amdo as crucial to the security of the emergent state’s southwest frontier, as

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had their predecessors. That said, PRC claims to sovereignty over Tibet need to viewed in light of the fact that, before 1951, political Tibet and much of ethnographic Tibet had not been part of China in the modern territorial state sense. The reality was more complex. In its golden age, the expanding Tibetan kingdom sometimes seriously challenged the power of Chinese rulers, conquering their subordinate kingdoms and, at one point, taking the Tang dynasty capital at Changan (Xi’an) (Goldstein 1997). During the Ming dynasty (1368– 1643), the Tibetan and Chinese polities had little contact. Under the Mongol Yuan (1279–1368) and Manchu Qing, the political and administrative control of China’s rulers over culturally Tibetan areas and rulers f luctuated (van Walt van Praag 1987; Mackerras 1994; Goldstein 1989). Indirect rule characterized imperial China’s relations with borderland areas, as discussed in chapter two. Moreover, this rule was highly formalized, typically based on pledges of non-aggression and ritualized loyalty from Tibetan leaders (Teiwes 1993). It demanded little of ordinary Tibetans, for whom religious and/or local attachments remained primary: they identified with a particular school of Buddhism, monastery, or religious leader, and/or with local leaders in their particular valley, confederation, or area (Stoddard 1994). It was not until the late nineteenth century that the Qing tried to establish forms of rule more akin to the modern territorial state model, when they attempted to exercise direct rule in the parts of Sichuan within ethnographic Tibet, in reaction to rising British imperial inf luence (Goldstein 1997). More broadly, Qing rulers had a f luctuating protectorate role in political Tibet after the early eighteenth century. They wielded power through little more than periodic military occupations, typically in support of and invited by Tibetan authorities, through imperial residents stationed in Lhasa, and through an occasional formalized role in selecting the Dalai Lama (Mackerras 1994). With the collapse of Qing rule in 1911, the Lhasa government declared its independence. Although Chinese Republican governments claimed sovereignty over Tibet and all other territories claimed by the previous Qing rulers, their authority was absent on the ground in many areas, including political Tibet. From 1913 to 1951, the Tibetan government in Lhasa was independent in practice. If it did not gain international recognition as a state, Tibet did gain territory in military confrontations with Nationalist and Sichuan warlords in Sichuan in the 1920s. By the 1940s, it exercised its own foreign and defense policies (see Kirby 1997). The society that the central Tibetan government ruled over before 1951 was organized around manorial estates. Owned by aristocratic

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families, monasteries, and incarnate lamas, the estates depended on the labor of poorer monks and peasants, linked to them hereditarily by ascription. Society was hierarchical and unequal, and gender relations were patriarchal, but social immobility and levels of poverty were less intense than in feudal Europe (Samuel 1993). Some peasants became quite rich, income differences were relatively small, and education through monasteries was open to all males. The authority of lords was often diffuse: an overarching legal system formally subjugated both peasants and lords to the authority of the Dalai Lama if mutual obligations were breached. Governmental posts were held by equal numbers of lay officials and monks, the latter sometimes from poorer backgrounds (see Goldstein 1971; Miller 1987). Prior to the PRC invasion, some central Tibetan officials had wanted to introduce some modernizations to Tibetan society, but conservative elites had blocked most reforms. Consequently central Tibet was especially ill-equipped to confront the Chinese. Its army was small, disorganized, badly trained, and poorly equipped relative to the People’s Liberation Army (PLA).1 Its officials, few of whom could speak English or understand international law and politics, were ill-equipped to make Tibet’s case diplomatically. There were no roads and almost no modern infrastructure. Radio Lhasa, the first broadcaster, had just begun to operate. Central Tibet had no modern industries: 80 percent of exports—mostly wool, but also furs, yak tails, and musk—were sold to the United States via Indian buyers. There was little trade with China (Goldstein 1989). By January 1950, the PLA had taken all the territory of the presentday PRC except Hainan Island and Lhasa-ruled Tibet. These, along with the renegade province of Taiwan, were its declared targets for the new year. PRC representatives attempted to negotiate Tibet’s “peaceful” incorporation. Talks stalled as the Lhasa government sought international recognition and military support from the U.S., British, and Indian governments and the United Nations (UN). PLA advance units reached Kham and Amdo by April 1950. By August, the PRC was positioned along the frontier of political Tibet and on October 7 defeated the Tibetan army after 14 days of fighting. Mao then halted the advance and tried again to negotiate. After making more failed attempts to get international backing, Tibetan negotiators began talks on April 29 the next year. In less than two weeks, with few meaningful concessions to the Tibetan side, the parties concluded the Seventeen-Point Agreement. On September 9, nearly a year after the Kham invasion, the first PLA units arrived in Lhasa after a largely peaceful march. The

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Dalai Lama telegraphed Mao on October 24, recording his acceptance of the Agreement (Smith 1996; Goldstein 1989). The implementation of the special status arrangement is the subject of a later section. The collapse of the arrangement in the March 1959 Lhasa uprising was followed by a sweeping military crackdown in central Tibet, on top of the counterinsurgency campaigns already underway in Kham and Amdo due to major revolts that had begun in 1956, more of which below. In the two years after the Lhasa uprising, approximately 80,000 Tibetans f led China, most settling in India, Bhutan, and Nepal (Goldstein 1989). Meanwhile, the state waged harsh campaigns against religious institutions and the clerical and secular elite. Strikingly, however, the PRC leadership again applied distinctive policies in central Tibet. It was not until 1965 that it formally established the TAR, with institutions similar to other minority nationality regions such as for the Uyghur in Xinjiang and modeled on the Han-majority provinces. Origins The Agreement that established the special status arrangement for central Tibet in 1951 originated in the state-building needs and nationbuilding challenges of the new PRC regime in the context of the early Cold War. The willingness of PRC leaders to make these exceptional concessions appears to have been facilitated by several factors: the existence of Tibetan moderates, CCP civil war experiences in non-Han Chinese areas, the inf luence of Soviet policies, weak international support for Tibet independence claims, and practices of indirect rule in China’s imperial past. The party-state faced particularly difficult circumstances in its desire to bring central Tibet into People’s China. The territory had weak transportation and communications links with China, and its climate and terrain were harsh. The party-state also lacked a military presence in the territory and had no political bases. It confronted a minority territorial community whose culture was perceived as antithetical to communism and radically different from the ways of the Han Chinese, China’s politically dominant majority nationality. Thus, Mao anticipated that central Tibetans would resist incorporation into the PRC if they immediately had to give up valued institutions and ways of life. Mao thought that altering the status of Tibetan Buddhism or the Dalai Lama would meet with particularly stiff popular resistance (Mao 1987–1992). By allowing Tibetan institutions to continue in the short term, the Agreement postponed the most controversial aspects of

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the standardizing processes associated with nation-building until the party-state had military control of central Tibet and until it could convince moderate Tibetan elites to convince ordinary people to accept reforms. The strategy emerged in a context where China’s leadership understood itself to be fighting a multifront battle against international capitalism, led by the U.S. government, which was allied with the CCP’s civil war enemy, the Chinese Nationalists, and other reactionary elements. China’s leaders believed Tibetan independence claims were being used and fomented by China’s Cold War adversaries. Diplomatically, using special status to secure Tibet’s “peaceful liberation” would potentially strengthen the international legitimacy of China’s sovereignty claim over and military advance into the territory. Militarily, the aim was to avoid a guerrilla-style conf lict that would leave the PLA dependent on long and exposed supply lines, given the lack of roads and railways connecting central Tibet with China (Goldstein 2007). In 1949 Mao wrote that, if an agreement could be reached with the Tibetan government, leveraged with the offer of special status, then “next year’s march on Lhasa might be smoothed a little” (Mao 1987–1992: 475). The Tibetan invasion was planned and the special status offer drafted before the onset of the Korean crisis in June 1950. However, events on the Korean peninsula may have strengthened Mao’s resolve to avoid a protracted military conf lict in Tibet. The Kham invasion began the day the U.S. army crossed the 38th parallel in Korea, only days before Chinese troops first engaged UN forces on October 25 (see Mao 1987–1992; Smith 1996; see also Chen 1994; Gurtov and Hwang 1980). Although the geopolitical context made the PRC leadership anxious to assert its claim to Tibet and to control the southern Tibetan frontier, the diplomatic context in some ways made the special status concessions less risky for China and more attractive to the Tibetan government. In the months leading to the Agreement, the British, Indian, and U.S. governments had shown themselves somewhat sympathetic to the Tibetan government’s position, but did not support its independence claim. They demanded the Sino-Tibetan dispute be settled peacefully in a manner consistent with Tibet’s history of de facto autonomy from China. The aim was to avoid antagonizing the PRC government, as the British, Indian, and American governments were unwilling and unable to defend Tibet militarily (see Goldstein 1989; Grunfeld 1987; Smith 1996). The only way the British or Americans could act was with the cooperation of newly independent India, through which military aid on any scale would have to pass. For its part, the Indian government

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was unsupportive of U.S. involvement in Tibet and sought good relations with the Chinese government to facilitate Indian efforts to broker a ceasefire in Korea (Goldstein 1989; Mackerras 1994; Zhai 1994; Addy 1994). The CCP civil war experience also facilitated the decision to make special status concessions. During the Long March and the fight against the Japanese, the CCP had often fought in minority nationality areas. Its leaders had learned the value of affirming and working through the political authority of established minority leaders, appropriating their legitimacy and expertise to smooth relations with local people. The strategy had also helped distance the party from the assimilationist policies of the Nationalist Chinese (Teiwes 1993). In the civil war years and the war against the Japanese, the CCP recruited members of minority nationality communities into the army, party, and state, where possible to more senior posts. It used the forms and nomenclature of minority nationality communities in its work in minority territories. It promoted minority languages and cultures and trained Han Chinese cadres to respect minority nationality ways of living (Ibid.). These policies probably had other inf luences, beyond the CCP’s own direct experience. Mao’s thinking may have been affected by the forms of indirect rule that China’s imperial governments had used to manage its diverse and far-f lung realms, including relations with strategically important borderland communities (see chapter two),2 for he is said to have been a keen student of Chinese history (Snow 1968). The policies were also a unitary version of the nominally federal ethno-territorial autonomy arrangements used by the Soviets, who in the early 1950s were close allies of and mentors for the CCP. The Soviet nationalities policies, based on Lenin’s concept of “national in form, socialist in content,” had similarly facilitated Soviet state-building in minority nationality areas during and after the Russian civil war (see Connor 1984). With the Soviet model and communist ideology came the materialist expectation that the political salience of ethno-territorial differences would disappear over time. The process would be aided by political education campaigns stressing the unity of the Chinese motherland and a class-based world view; Han migration into minority nationality areas; closer transport and communications links with Han territories; and socialist economic modernization, all under the leadership of the CCP. However, in the short term, concessions to local differences were needed to reduce resistance (Eberhard 1982; Teiwes 1993). As such, the comparatively extensive autonomy granted central Tibet in 1951 was the most extreme example of wider CCP policies, particularly evident

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until 1955. They involved using pragmatic lags in policy to achieve longer-term goals. Generally, the regime first implemented reforms in North and Northeast China, where socioeconomic and political conditions were most propitious. They expanded the reforms southward as circumstances allowed, before attempting them in the particularly sensitive minority nationality areas in the Northwest and Southwest (Teiwes 1993). The expectation that special status concessions would allow the Chinese authorities to exploit internal Tibetan cleavages in a united front strategy also facilitated concessions (see Anand 2002).3 Through the arrangement, they hoped to gain the support of moderate central Tibetan elites who would then persuade ordinary people and harder line elites to accept reforms (Goldstein 2007). The Dalai Lama, who was attracted to the egalitarian promises of communism, was one such moderate Tibetan (Ibid.). The expectation was also that poorer Tibetans could be convinced that Chinese rule was beneficial when they realized it would bring them previously unavailable educational opportunities, medical care, material improvements, and advancement and status as cadres, soldiers, and party members. However, it was expected that this would occur more easily once Tibetan elites willingly agreed to integrate into socialist China (Ibid.). In short, the PRC leadership used special status instrumentally. With the Agreement, they backed away from an individualistic understanding of the emerging nation-state, for the time being allowing the minority territorial community to exist as a distinct collectivity within China with its pre-1951 leadership and institutions largely intact. The Nature of Central Tibet’s Special Status The Agreement created a special status arrangement notable for its marked regime asymmetry and the tension between its integrative, or state-building, and its autonomy elements. The Agreement was also vague and effectively temporary in that it was expressly aimed at protecting established institutions in order to prepare the way to reform them in future. In terms of self-rule, the Agreement formally allowed extensive political, functional, and symbolic asymmetrical autonomy. It permitted the established manorial system to continue, along with Tibet’s religiously based political, cultural, and social systems. The government of the Dalai Lama was to remain in place (Point 4), although it would now be a local authority with “national regional autonomy under the

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leadership of the Central People’s Government” (Point 3). The central authorities pledged not to change the Dalai Lama’s “established status, functions, and powers” and to allow officials to remain in their usual posts (Point 4). Tibetan religious beliefs, customs, and habits were to be respected. The Agreement also pledged to protect the “Lama monasteries,” including their income (Point 7), which came from land-holdings, the labor and payments-in-kind of dependent peasants and monks, and donations from adherents. The central Tibet government was permitted its own army, f lag, currency, tax collection, and criminal and civil justice systems. It would continue to make its own spending decisions and run its own bureaucracy. As Goldstein notes (2007: 541–42), under the Agreement, “[a]mazingly, even runaway serfs could still be caught and whipped with impunity. In the history of the PRC, the scale of this was, and still is, unique.” As noted earlier, the special status provisions of the Agreement were intended to be temporary in the sense that it explicitly stated that there would eventually have to be reforms in central Tibet. However, the precise implications of the reforms were unclear. Firstly, there was no date specified for their implementation. Nor did the Agreement detail the reforms that would take place. However, it was stated that the reforms would not be forced on Tibet without the consent of Tibetan elites. “There will be no compulsion on the part of the Central Authorities,” the Agreement read. “The Local Government of Tibet should carry out reforms of its own accord, and when the people raise demands for reform, they must be settled through consultation with the leading personnel of Tibet” (Point 11). However, it was also clear that the PRC party-state meant to bring change to Tibet’s established institutions eventually, in the form of development, understood as socialist modernization and transformation (see Goldstein 2007). The Agreement stated that education, agriculture, industry, and commerce would be developed “step by step in accordance with the actual conditions in Tibet” (Points 9 and 10). That the specific nature of the reforms was left unstated was in keeping with the approach of PRC leaders to statebuilding and the reconstruction of China more generally in the early years after 1949. At this time, the leadership stressed the need to solve immediately pressing problems and the gradual nature of the CCP program, only giving socialist transformation more emphasis from 1953 (Teiwes 1993). The national reunification and state-building elements of the Agreement were strong from the start and in tension with the promised continuity of preexisting institutions. The Agreement was said

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to return central Tibet to the motherland, driving out the imperialist aggressors and ending the anti-patriotic attitude of the central Tibetan government (Preamble, Point 1). It required Tibetan authorities to “actively help the PRC to enter Tibet and consolidate the national defense” (Point 2). However, the PRC authorities pledged to pay the cost of its military penetration (Point 2, 13, 16) and that the PLA would respect Tibetan autonomy (Point 13). The Agreement affirmed China’s sovereignty, too. It declared external affairs and defense matters entirely central government prerogatives (Point 14) and that the PLA would gradually absorb most of the Tibetan army (Point 8). The central government was also to establish a military and administrative committee as well as a military headquarters staffed by central party-state personnel and PRC-approved Tibetans (Point 15). Elsewhere in China, military and administrative committees were interim administrations until “people’s governments” could be established. The Chinese tried to reassure the Tibetan elites that, in the case of central Tibet, the committee would not infringe on the autonomy of the Tibetan government because the former would deal with “new activities” related to implementing the agreement and to modernization, not “traditional” activities. It promised that the Dalai Lama would head the committee. The vice-chair positions would be given to a PRC representative and the Panchen Lama who, after the Dalai Lama, was the most important incarnation of the Gelugpa sect of Tibetan Buddhism and the second largest estate-holder after the Tibetan government (Goldstein 2007). The role of the Panchen Lama in the special status arrangement is discussed further later. To gain the support of Tibet elites, the PRC authorities made other gestures, such as agreeing secretly to allow some Tibetan army regiments to remain intact, to a Tibetan police force, and to a phased introduction of PRC currency (Goldstein 1989). The Agreement said those who had sided with the “imperialists” and Chinese Nationalists could remain in office if they supported the new regime (Point 12). Central Tibet was spared the political campaign waged elsewhere in China, which by 1951 had seen more than 2.5 million “reactionaries” arrested and some 710,000 executed (Chen 1994). The lack of detail in the Agreement is stark, in comparison with the Sino-British Joint Declaration setting out the special status of Hong Kong (see chapter six). The Agreement had only 1,375 words excluding the secret clauses, in comparison with the 10,095 of the Joint Declaration, including its memoranda and annexes. In the early 1980s in comparison with the 1950s, the Chinese government was anxious

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to demonstrate its credentials as an international law-abiding state and was negotiating with a government that was based on constitutionalist practices. The vagueness of the 1951 Agreement likely also ref lected the comparatively wide asymmetry of power favoring China over central Tibet in the early 1950s. A significant silence in the Agreement was that it made no provision for an institutionalized means legitimate to both sides for resolving disputes arising during implementation of the arrangement. It would come down to the preferences of PRC authorities, although, as we will see, Mao did agree to many concessions in the hope of winning the support of moderate Tibetan elites. Finally, the Agreement needs to be placed in the context of PRC policies in ethnographic Tibet and with respect to the Panchen Lama. A rival of the Dalai Lama, the Panchen Lama had been absent from central Tibet for three decades. Prior to 1951, the CCP had struck a strategic alliance with him (Goldstein 1989). The Agreement then restored the Panchen Lama to his traditional seat at Shigatse, near Lhasa (Points 5 and 6), while the PRC authorities also promised to give him one of the vice-chair positions on the military and administrative committee. Meanwhile, Amdo and eastern Kham were excluded from the special status arrangement and mostly incorporated into neighboring provinces. Unlike central Tibet, from 1955 these ethnic Tibetan areas began experiencing “democratic reforms,” which in the wider PRC context referred to land redistribution, policies to suppress landlords and counter-revolutionaries, and campaigns instigating class divisions and class struggle. Some areas of ethnographic Tibet were almost simultaneously subject to collectivization, without the preparatory stage of establishing mutual aid teams and cooperatives typically used elsewhere (Smith 1996). The decision to bring ethnographic Tibet into the emergent socialist nation so quickly was to have momentous consequences. Tensions over Asymmetry and Autonomy Throughout the 1950s, there were significant tensions over asymmetry and autonomy due to contradictions between the norms and practices associated with state-building and reform in an authoritarian, communist context and the norms promising autonomy and continuity with established institutions. It proved difficult to separate state and nationbuilding in practice. Regime asymmetry, the temporary nature of the arrangement, and the exclusion of Kham and Amdo further contributed to the 1959 collapse.

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As we have seen, although the Agreement promised the continuity of pre-1950 central Tibetan institutions, its purpose was to facilitate state-building policies on the way to establishing what aimed to be the first de facto modern territorial state and citizenry in Chinese history. These short and longer-term goals had consequences on the ground. There was an inf lux of PRC personnel into central Tibet, efforts to link the territory physically with China, and initial steps at modernization and development. So, while the Tibetan government continued to operate and Tibetan institutions remained intact, some aspects of life began changing for some people and the precariousness of Tibetan autonomy became increasingly evident. PRC authorities almost immediately began building roads from Sichuan and Qinghai to link Tibet with China. By 1952, they had also begun establishing telegraph and telegram lines and branches of Chinese banks. They introduced Tibetan and Chinese newspapers, radio programs, and book and pamphlet printing, as well as hospitals, health clinics, medical training, and veterinary stations. Airline services began in 1956, coal mining in 1958, and the first blast furnace in 1959 (Grunfeld 1987). Some cadres, sometimes contradicting central government directives, attempted to begin reorienting the identities, values, and practices of central Tibetans toward the emergent Chinese communist nation. They discouraged and even prohibited aspects of Tibetan customary law they found most objectionable. Some tried to reduce the use of corvée labor and to withdraw the power of some local officials to tax and to adjudicate legal disputes. They established political associations and began holding public criticism sessions. They offered peasants new power vis-à-vis landholders by paying them in cash for road-building and to encourage children to attend newly established secular schools. Opportunities for ordinary Tibetans to train as cadres created new means of social mobility outside established Tibetan institutions (Ginsburgs and Mathos 1964; Grunfeld 1987). It is unclear how many ordinary central Tibetans were affected by these actions. Central Tibetans were disunited in their responses in the early 1950s. Tibetan government elites felt their authority threatened, but while some more strongly resisted PRC policies, others were willing to cooperate with Chinese authorities in limited ways, whether because of China’s power or because of the CCP promise to build a more egalitarian and modern society. The young Dalai Lama largely fell into the latter category (see Goldstein 2007). For their part, ordinary Tibetans, to

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the limited extent they had contact with Chinese authorities, may have remained suspicious of PRC officials because their alliance with Tibetan elites and commitment to maintaining existing institutions appeared to contradict their egalitarian claims (Shakya 1994). Moreover, in the early years of the Arrangement, the presence of hundreds of Chinese cadres pushed up the price of food and other essentials, sparking unrest in Lhasa that led to significant protests in 1952 (Goldstein 2007). Meanwhile, Chinese political elites were themselves divided over how to create political conditions conducive to securing long-term PRC goals. Throughout the 1950s, Mao backed the continued use of special status in order gradually to win over Tibetan elites who would then bring ordinary people over to the PRC project. Others argued for more rapid reforms in central Tibet. Following the 1952 protests, Mao reaffirmed the decisions not to reorganize the Tibetan army or create a military and administrative committee “until conditions are ripe” and until the army was “truly able to produce its own supplies and gain the support of the masses” (Mao 1987–1992: 384–87). He also moved to strengthen direct CCP Central Committee control over ideologically zealous cadres in Tibet (Mao 1987–1992). He would take similar steps again following the outbreak of a major rebellion in ethnographic Tibet in 1956. In the year leading up to the rebellion, the regime appeared to be in a stronger position. The roads into central Tibet had been completed. The Indian government had formally recognized PRC sovereignty in Tibet (Smith 1996). The Chinese had moved to establish the Preparatory Committee for the Autonomous Region of Tibet, which would oversee the creation of minority nationality autonomy institutions in central Tibet similar to those being used elsewhere in the state (Smith 1996). The Preparatory Committee embodied the contradiction between sovereignty and autonomy at the heart of the special status arrangement and the thinness of the promise that deeper integration into China would be at a pace chosen by Tibetan authorities. Although the Preparatory Committee had a Tibetan leadership and majority, actual decisions were made by the CCP Tibet Committee and had to be approved by central party-state authorities (see Grunfeld 1987; Ling et al. 1968; Smith 1996). From 1956, events in Kham and Amdo made the tensions between the PRC and Tibetan political and socioeconomic norms more evident. From 1955, Kham and later Amdo underwent land and labor reforms, collectivization, and policies deemphasizing religion (Grunfeld 1987;

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Smith 1996). By 1956, initially isolated incidents of armed resistance to the changes had become a more general, organized rebellion, which was to spread to Amdo. The PRC policies increasingly challenged the centrality of religion to Tibetan values and ways of life. They also subjected the people of Kham and Amdo, who had a history of resisting the rule of any state, to the rule of an especially intrusive one. The PRC nation-state project would require not only the personal political allegiance of Tibetan elites, but a shift in the identities, loyalties, and political worldview of ordinary people away from their local and religious foci and toward the secular, socialist, Chinese nation and political center (see Teiwes 1993; Teufel Dreyer 1976). Roderick MacFarquhar (1983: 172) has characterized the rebellion in ethnographic Tibet that resulted from these policies as “the gravest episode of internal disorder [in the PRC] prior to the cultural revolution” (see also van Walt van Praag 1987; Grunfeld 1987; Norbu 1994; Smith 1996). It is unclear whether the Kham rebels demanded special status concessions similar to those given to central Tibet, somewhat akin to the snowballing of autonomy and special status demands in post-Franco Spain. Despite their ethnic commonalities with central Tibetans, Khamba leaders had, prior to 1950, regarded the mounting Sino-Tibetan tensions as a conf lict between the Lhasa and Chinese governments that had little to do with them (Goldstein 1989; Smith 1996). Locally focused loyalties, socioeconomic divisions, and the long-standing animosities between the Lhasa government and Kham elites initially prevented the rebellion from assuming a nationalist character (Norbu 1994).4 Over time, however, some central Tibetan elites found common cause with rebel leaders as news of the effects of PRC policies on Tibetan religion and way of life in ethnographic Tibet spread into the territory along with refugees from the fighting. By August 1958, Kham rebels were recruiting supporters in the central Tibetan capital, although not all central Tibetans welcomed their presence. With tensions rising, the Chinese government further extended the period of the special status concessions in central Tibet. By the end of 1956, collectivization would largely be completed elsewhere in the PRC. However, Mao announced in February that central Tibet’s exemption from reforms would extend throughout the Second Five-Year Plan (1958–1962) and perhaps into the Third (MacFarquhar, Cheek, and Wu 1989; see also Smith 1996). Grunfeld (1987) says that, in late 1957, the PRC government actually withdrew many of its cadres, claiming the move demonstrated its commitment to the Agreement. It also largely

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excluded central Tibet from the political campaigns waged elsewhere in China during the second half of the 1950s, including those fostering class struggle, anti-rightist policies, and the Great Leap Forward (MacFarquhar 1974; Grunfeld 1987). Central Tibetan leaders were divided over their response to the overtures of the rebels. The Dalai Lama appears to have expressed public support for the Chinese and encouraged both sides to negotiate peacefully, while not openly condemning the rebels (Smith 1996; Grunfeld 1987). There are conf licting accounts of the events immediately preceding the 1959 Lhasa uprising (e.g., MacFarquhar 1974; Grunfeld 1987). Most pertinent here is that, by early that year, some Tibetan officials felt the Dalai Lama should seek asylum abroad to fight for independence; others felt compromise with the PRC the only realistic course. Lhasa was crowded with rebels and Lunar New Year pilgrims. Tensions were high. An invitation from local Chinese leaders for the Dalai Lama to attend a play unaccompanied appears to have sparked fears for his safety. An uprising ensued that lasted about a month in an organized way (Smith 1996). Both lay people and members of monastic orders participated, as did both women and men (Shakya 1999; Butler 1999b). It is less clear how much active support the revolt had outside Lhasa. The CIA had a role in the uprising, but did not instigate it (see Goldstein 1997; Smith 1996). With the f light to India of the Dalai Lama and his government, the PRC officials withdrew the Agreement. Counterinsurgency operations were already underway in Kham and Amdo. The Chinese now aggressively cracked down on dissent in central Tibet, too. Tibetan figures place the numbers killed at 5,000 to 10,000, with as many as 20,000 arrests (Smith 1996). Many ended up in labor camps, often only accused of indirect participation in the uprising. According to Shakya (1999), widespread public resentment resulted: to many ordinary rural Tibetans, who often had had no direct contact with PRC authorities up to that point, China and communism had now established themselves as alien and threatening, whatever the injustices of the old system. In this sense, the special status arrangement had failed because it had not convinced most central Tibetan elites or ordinary people to accept reforms voluntarily. In fact, following the uprising, Mao actually further delayed some reforms, more of which later. At the same time, from the party-state’s point of view the special status arrangement had been successful in the narrow sense that it had helped forestall major open resistance in central Tibet until the party-state was in a better position militarily to quell it.

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Stability For several years, the special status arrangement was minimally stable in that the PRC and central Tibetan authorities largely kept to the terms of an admittedly vague and contradictory Agreement. However, this minimal stability proved fragile, for the Agreement collapsed in an uprising. Arguably, the failure of the Agreement to achieve maximal stability played a role: the threat of state repression had never been much below the surface. The agreement of central Tibetan authorities to the arrangement had been achieved coercively. Moreover, the PLA remained a significant presence in central Tibet and, after 1956, in the counterinsurgency campaigns aimed at quelling rebellion in Kham and Amdo. Arguably, it was only a matter of time before the latter extrainstitutional, armed political action, and the coercive state response undermined the survival of the special status arrangement in central Tibet. Throughout the 1950s, China’s maintained its territorial integrity with respect to Tibetan areas, but at a cost in terms of its ability to maintain its rule without resorting to repression. Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: The Strength of Political Autonomy The above analysis of political dynamics under the special status arrangement suggests that the central Tibetan authorities had significant de jure final decisionmaking authority through the 1950s, but that PRC state-building and reformist policies had begun eroding that authority in practice. Until the 1959 uprising, it appears that the Tibetan government had considerable scope for policy asymmetry, although it was clear that this would narrow once central Tibet accepted the reforms being implemented elsewhere in the state. The information available points to Tibetan authorities having significant de jure fiscal autonomy, although this may have sometimes been more limited in practice, such as when PRC cadres attempted to limit the use of corvée labor. Finally, the Agreement gave Tibetan authorities de jure control over state decisionmaking with respect to the pace of reforms in the territory, effectively giving them a formal veto over amendments to the arrangement. Although some PRC cadres infringed on the veto of Tibetan officials in practice by trying to reduce what they saw as the worst inequalities in Tibetan society, Mao affirmed the veto and continued to delay reforms. At the same time, despite the formal leadership of the Dalai Lama in the Preparatory Committee for the Autonomous Region of

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Tibet, de facto final decisionmaking authority was in the hands of the CCP central leadership, for there were no autonomous courts capable of holding the central authorities to the terms of the Agreement. Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities The special status arrangement largely did not cause the socioeconomic, gender, and ethnic exclusion that characterized central Tibetan society in the 1950s. Rather, the exclusion was mostly perpetuated by the Agreement’s protection of the pre-1950 manorial system, the religiously based system of elite-centered, non-democratic government, and patriarchal gender relations. At the same time, PRC policies also initially exacerbated the socioeconomic vulnerabilities of some ordinary Tibetans. To recall, the presence of PRC cadres and soldiers caused food shortages and inf lation that aggravated the economic hardships of ordinary people and, by 1952, had ignited mass protests and other open challenges to PRC rule in Lhasa. Events saw the emergence of a Lhasa residents’ group called the People’s Association, or Assembly (Mimang Tsondu), the first nonelite organization to act politically independent of the Tibetan government. Although anti-Chinese and anti-Communist, the association was also critical of the Tibetan government’s dealings with the PRC (Goldstein 2007). It advocated both some reform of the existing socioeconomic system, but also an arm’s length relationship for central Tibet with China, akin to the loose protectorate status of the territory under the Qing dynasty. Paradoxically, the People’s Assembly gained support from hard-line Tibetan elites, who were often the least supportive of internal reforms, but were strongly anti-China (Goldstein 2007). Prior to the special status arrangement, Tibetan women had had important roles in both social reproduction and production in the territory. They sometimes ran major businesses or estates and acted as heads of household even when married (see Government of Tibet in Exile 1995b; Thonsur 2003). However, they also had fewer educational opportunities than men and were excluded from participation in the central Tibetan government and from senior leadership roles in all but a few religious institutions. Patriarchal interpretations of Buddhist doctrines and popular culture legitimated these inequities (Tsomo 1995; Nimri 1995). Little changed under the special status arrangement. The central authorities did sponsor the establishment of the Lhasa Patriotic Women’s Association in 1953, which introduced the idea of organized political activity by women into central Tibet. However, very few Tibetan

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women joined voluntarily. The association was primarily a united front organization subordinate to the CCP and aimed at mobilizing support for PRC policies. It gave gender equality secondary attention (Butler 1999a; 2003). Little information was available regarding the fate during the 1950s of the diverse communities of Muslims and Nepalese that had long been resident in Tibetan areas. Given the centrality of Tibetan Buddhism to traditional government institutions, members of these communities normally could not become officials, but were prominent in trade and commerce. As intermarriage did occur, they were often of mixed culture in practice (Chen 2003; Rahul 1961; Mishra 2003). Prior to the 1950s, these internal minorities had some distinctive citizenship rights including exemptions from some local laws, the protection of “home” governments, and trade privileges (Rahul 1961; Butt 1994). These group-differentiated rights were disrupted or withdrawn under the PRC. With the collapse of the special status arrangement and the hard-line policies that followed, some Muslims f led central Tibet and some went into exile (Butt 1994; Mishra 2003).5 The Tibet Autonomous Region The Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) saw Tibetans suffer vicious attacks on their ways of life. The campaigns against tradition of these years affected all of China, but were especially devastating for Tibetans due to the centrality of religion to their ways of life. Radical leftists, ethnic Tibetans amongst them, destroyed most of the material elements of Tibetan Buddhism that had survived earlier political campaigns. Religious practices were prohibited (Goldstein 1998). It was not until 1980, following the death of Mao and the fall of the Gang of Four, that Tibetans in the TAR experienced a period of comparative freedom. In the early 1980s, the central government tried to undo some of the cultural and economic damage of previous policies, which had left TAR Tibetans amongst China’s poorest people with their culture and self-rule in tatters. However, by the late 1980s, a cycle of protests by Tibetans and state crackdowns had begun and the political space for self-rule and distinctive policies contracted. The years since have been marked by an unknown number of Tibetans in the TAR and many Tibetans in exile criticizing PRC political and development policies in Tibet for failing to provide meaningful political autonomy, for eroding Tibetan identities and ways of life, for failing significantly to

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improve material standards of living, and for human rights abuses by the state. Some Tibetans demand Tibet’s independence. Background Following the 1959 uprising, the authorities had abolished traditional government and Tibet’s special status as a theocratic manorial entity. They ended the social, economic, and political dominance of clerical and secular elites and confiscated their estates. They closed most monasteries and attacked religious practices (Goldstein 1997). To improve the material conditions of ordinary people and win their support, officials also abolished corvée labor, reduced rents, and began “democratic reforms” by redistributing land. They conducted political campaigns against “feudalism.” Paradoxically, they then delayed socialist reforms for five more years because of continuing local resistance and as part of the delays in communization across China due to the devastating famines of 1959–61 (Grunfeld 1987; Lieberthal 1993; Yan 2000). The TAR was finally established in 1965 as was the Tibet branch of the CCP, marking the institutional integration of central Tibet into the political structures used throughout minority nationality and other areas of China. The Cultural Revolution then ushered in a decade of extremely harsh attacks against tradition in which only class mattered. Ethnic and religious identifications were deemed anti-revolutionary. Radical leftists, including some ethnic Tibetans, destroyed virtually all remaining material vestiges of religion in central Tibet, while new policies prohibited religious practices (Goldstein 1998). Following Mao’s death in 1976 and the fall of the Gang of Four, the new CCP general secretary, Hu Yaobang, instituted dramatic changes that brought a period of unprecedented liberalization and cultural recovery. He ordered the hiring of more Tibetan cadres, Tibetanoriented development policies, and schooling in the Tibetan language. For much of the 1980s, Tibetans could more freely practice their religion. Monasteries were reopened and given more autonomy in matters of custom, language, and education. With the introduction of marketization policies, rural Tibetans experienced less state control over household economic decisionmaking. The PRC authorities allowed the Panchen Lama, who had been imprisoned during the Cultural Revolution, some inf luence in policymaking (Shakya 1999; Goldstein 1994). They also appointed the first non-Han Chinese as CCP secretary in the TAR, although Wu Jinghua was from the Yi minority nationality, not a Tibetan.

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The period of relatively strong collective autonomy and personal freedom ended in 1987. The TAR has since seen an intermittent cycle of Tibetan protests and state crackdowns. In 1989, when Hu Jintao, now PRC president and CCP general secretary, was CCP head in Tibet, Lhasa began what was to be nearly 14 months under martial law. Protestors—often led by monastics—have sometimes called for independence for Tibet, but demonstrations have also often had more limited aims, protesting state restrictions on religion, economic policies, and inf lation (see Mackerras 2005). In this political climate, state security has been the main preoccupation of the central authorities in the TAR along with the economic development of what has remained a very poor society. After 9/11, PRC authorities used the U.S.-led “war on terror” to justify the harsh treatment of Tibetans charged with national security crimes. Largescale military exercises in the TAR and other borderland minority nationality areas were billed as anti-terrorism efforts (Human Rights in China 2007). Meanwhile, the post-Mao state has channeled massive public spending into the TAR, particularly for infrastructure development, aiming to reduce the territory’s development gap with the rest of China and to strengthen state control. As we will see, these policies have proven highly controversial and protests against Chinese policies have continued. Given ongoing restrictions on freedom of expression in the TAR, the voices most openly critical of PRC policies have been in the Tibetan diaspora. More than 111,170 strong as of 1998, members of the diaspora still live mainly in India and Nepal, as well as the United States, Canada, Bhutan, Europe, Taiwan, Japan, Australia, and New Zealand. The Tibet Government in Exile, based in Dharamsala, India, claims to represent both the diaspora as well as Tibetans in China. It is still headed by the Dalai Lama, although he has reduced his own political role and supported democratization and other reforms to expand inclusiveness and popular accountability (see Boyd 2004). Nevertheless, adherents to all sects of Tibetan Buddhism continue to revere the Dalai Lama and understand themselves as owing allegiance to him, although the extent of his temporal and spiritual authority is contested by some nationalists (Misra 2003). The Dalai Lama has earned international respect for his insistence on nonviolence and commitment to finding a compromise status between full independence and the status quo for Tibet. As discussed in chapter five, in recent years, he has asked that the TAR be given a status similar to Hong Kong, but with some additional special autonomy.

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PRC leaders have rejected the demand, accusing him of fostering separatism (“Attempt to separate Tibet from China doomed to failure: Chinese diplomat,” Xinhua June 28, 1988; see also Sha Zhou, “What is it behind the Dalai Lama’s ‘plan’?,” Beijing Review February 19–25, 1990, 22) (see chapter six). Despite China’s past willingness to use innovative and exceptional forms of group-differentiated rights for minority territorial communities, its current policies are highly constrained by individualistic understandings of state and nation. The current impasse also stems from a similar tendency on the part of the most vocal Tibetan nationalist group, the Tibetan Youth Congress (TYC). The TYC supports Tibetan independence rather than greater autonomy and has criticized the Dalai Lama’s policy of peaceful resistance for achieving little for Tibetans (Misra 2003; Dhume 2000; Smith 1996). Both PRC authorities and the TYC rejected the Dalai Lama’s Five Point Peace Plan, the so-called middle way proposal that won the Tibetan leader the Nobel Peace Prize. The proposal envisioned Tibet as a self-governing democratic community “associated” with China, but autonomous in all external affairs except defense. Internally, it would have a democratic and autonomous government entrusted with “the task of ensuring economic equality, social justice and protection of the environment” and all matters relating to Tibetans (Dalai Lama 1988). The proposal was later withdrawn. The periodic talks held between the Tibet Government in Exile and PRC officials since 2002 have failed to find common ground (see Michael Bristow, “Tibetans blamed for failed talks,” BBC News (online), November 10, 2008). The PRC authorities have the advantage due to their military and political control over Tibetan areas and the active nonintervention of major outside states, who are unwilling meaningfully to challenge the PRC government over its Tibetan policy. Therefore, they may be biding their time until the death of the present Dalai Lama, now 73, hoping his passing will weaken the Tibetan cause (Human Rights Watch 2003). The Nature of Tibet’s Status under the TAR The 1982 PRC Constitution states that China is “a unitary multinational state built up jointly by the people of all its nationalities” (Preamble). It provides that China’s 54 officially recognized minority nationalities have the right to protect and develop their “ways and customs,” to use their own languages, and to equality and nondiscrimination (PRC Constitution Art. 4, 117–119). Minority nationalities

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living in “compact communities,” such as central Tibetans, are allowed “regional autonomy” and “organs of self-government” through which they “exercise of the right of autonomy” (Art. 4). Within this framework, there is some formal scope for asymmetry. The authorities of minority nationality autonomous regions, prefectures, and counties are permitted “to implement the laws and policies of the state in the light of the existing local situation” within limits set by the state Constitution and laws (PRC Constitution Art. 115). The people’s congresses of autonomous regions such as the TAR are also allowed “to enact autonomy regulations and specific regulations in the light of the political, economic and cultural characteristics of the nationality or nationalities in the areas concerned,” although these must be approved by the Standing Committee of China’s National People’s Congress (Art. 116). Like other autonomous regions, prefectures, and counties, the TAR formally has financial autonomy (Art. 117); the authority independently to administer local economic development “under the guidance of the state plans” (Art. 118); and the right to have territorial interests duly considered with respect to the state exploitation of natural resources and building of enterprises (Art. 118). The TAR has independent administrative authority in educational, scientific, cultural, public health, and physical culture matters (Art. 119). TAR authorities, like those of other minority nationality autonomous areas “may, in accordance with the military system of the state and concrete local needs and with the approval of the State Council, organize local public security forces for the maintenance of public order” (Art. 120). At the same time, the Constitution formally gives state rights precedence over minority nationality autonomy and stresses the unitary nature of the state. TAR political institutions are organs of “state power” (Art. 96). Although the Constitution protects the equality of the nationalities, it also prohibits “any act which undermines the unity of the nationalities or instigates their separation” (Art. 4). PRC authorities have interpreted these provisions expansively. The 1984 Law on Regional Ethnic Autonomy (LREA) states that “[i]nstitutions of selfgovernment in ethnic autonomous areas shall place the interests of the state as a whole above all else and actively fulfill all tasks assigned by state institutions at higher levels” (Art. 7). The right to autonomy of the minority nationalities is exercised through the people’s congresses and people’s governments of the autonomous area. The members of the nationality or nationalities with regional autonomy are represented in these institutions, while members of other nationalities living in the area are also given “appropriate

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representation” (Art. 113). The administrative head of an autonomous region must be a member of the nationality or nationalities exercising regional autonomy in the area (Art. 114), as are one or more of the chair and vice-chairs of the standing committee of the people’s congress of an ethnic autonomous area. An equitable share of the administrative posts must also be held by such minority nationality individuals (LREA Art. 16, 17). With respect to the TAR, the PRC authorities claim that, in 2003, ethnic Tibetans made up nearly 70 percent (298 out of 400) of deputies in the TAR People’s Congress and 81 percent (13 out of 16) of its Standing Committee seats. At that time, 92 percent of TAR residents were of Tibetan ethnicity. Two Han Chinese and a Hui held the other Standing Committee seats (Xinhuanet 2003). Tibetans have also occupied the chairs of the TAR People’s Congress and its Standing Committee and headed the territorial administration (see Shakya 1999). Tibetans made up nearly 79 percent of the territorial Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) (Ibid.). On the administrative side, PRC authorities claim that, by the late 1990s, Tibetans made up 60–70 percent of territorial cadres (Goldstein 1998). Due to the expansion of state employment in recent years, however, the proportion had fallen to less than 50 percent by 2003 (Fischer 2005). Formally, the Constitution and the LREA give Tibetans the right to develop and use the Tibetan language, to freedom of religious belief, and to protect and develop Tibetan culture (PRC State Council 2004). Trial regulations of the TAR People’s Congress formally require that both Tibetan and Chinese are used, with Tibetan given precedence. Resolutions, laws, regulations, and decrees adopted by the people’s congresses and official documents and proclamations issued at all levels in the territory are supposed to be in both languages. Court cases involving Tibetans are supposed to be conducted in Tibetan and legal documents are to be written in Tibetan. Schools are supposed to teach in Tibetan up to the secondary level (Ibid.). In addition to these collective rights, TAR Tibetans, like the members of all minority nationalities, have individual rights over and above their rights as PRC nationals. Of particular note are provisions that generally permit Tibetans to have more than one child and give them preferential access to administrative jobs and related training as well as to higher education, special economic assistance for business startups, and some tax relief (Gladney 2004; Kormondy 2002). Gladney (2004) points out that these group-differentiated rights may be highly desirable to some people, given that increasing numbers of groups and

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individuals in China have asked to be recognized as minority nationalities or the members of such groups. Tensions Related to Asymmetry and Autonomy State Sovereignty, Security, and Patriotism The central authorities see politics in the TAR mainly through the lens of state sovereignty, particularly security, stability, and territorial integrity. A preoccupation with central control and a tendency to distrust the patriotism of Tibetans characterize many Chinese policies in the territory, as do militarized responses to Tibetan protests. From the perspective of the Chinese government, the response is justified because the territory sits on a strategically important border region and has a history of political unrest including nationalist mobilization. Moreover, the government sees the claims of the Tibet government in exile and the Dalai Lama that they speak for Tibetans in China, and their demand that Tibet be given more political autonomy, as violations of Chinese sovereignty and attempts to provoke political instability and undermine China’s territorial integrity. The preoccupation with central control also ref lects the authoritarian and unitary nature of the PRC political system. This manifests itself in a disconnect between formal institutional authority—which is significantly in Tibetan hands—and actual power—which lies with Han-dominated, centrally controlled institutions. Although the problem characterizes political institutions across China, it is especially sharp in the TAR. Despite the relatively large proportion of Tibetans in the territorial administration, they tend to be concentrated at lower and middle positions, where they mainly have had symbolic roles or acted as intermediaries between the party-state and ordinary Tibetans. Few hold senior posts (Shakya 1999; Norbu 2001). Moreover, the most Tibetanized institutions have been the ones with the most formal authority and prestige, but little actual power. Despite having formal authority to implement state laws in light of local conditions and enact certain regulations, to make local laws, and to select and appoint the TAR government, the territorial People’s Congress and its Standing Committee have mostly had administrative roles in practice and mainly served to legitimate state policy (Barnett 1999). The two most powerful institutions in the TAR are also the most Han-dominated and centralized: the CCP and the PLA. The de facto senior decisionmaker in the TAR is the regional CCP party secretary, who, as we have seen, has never been a Tibetan. The party itself is

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more domineering and centralized than elsewhere in China due to the heightened political sensitivity of state policy in the TAR. The CCP National Forum on Work in Tibet, the main policy organ on Tibetan issues, is Beijing-based and composed of senior central CCP leaders (Shakya 1997). The CCP makes all significant state and party appointments and manages the indirect elections by which TAR representatives are chosen in the people’s congress system to ensure the outcomes will not threaten the interests of central authorities.6 The PLA has also had a particularly domineering role in the TAR due to its preeminence in state-building, in quelling resistance, and in security infrastructure and installations in strategic border areas (Norbu 2001; Shakya 1999). The intensity of police surveillance and control has often been higher than elsewhere in China (Shakya 2008). PRC authorities have sometimes claimed that they give TAR Tibetans special treatment, individually and collectively, due to the distinctive characteristics of the territory (Sautman 2002; Sautman and Lo 1995). According to a 2004 PRC government White Paper, TAR authorities have more scope for policy asymmetry related to “longterm household land use and independent management” and “longterm private ownership of livestock and independent management” in agricultural and pastoral areas. It claimed that Tibetan citizens were given special treatment as individuals in the form of “preferential taxation policy at a rate three percentage points lower than in any other part of China,” “preferential interest rate [sic] on loans two percentage points lower than in any other place in China, as well as a low rate on insurance premiums.” The government also claimed to exempt Tibetan farmers and herders from taxes and administrative charges and to give them free medical care, as well as free board and lodging for their children attending school (PRC, State Council 2004). In terms of collective autonomy, the PRC authorities have also claimed that the TAR People’s Congress has been given more scope to modify state laws according to local conditions than other provinces, municipalities directly under the central government, and autonomous regions (China Internet Information Centre n.d.). PRC authorities claim that the TAR People’s Congress and people’s congresses at the lower levels in the TAR have authority to adopt special rules, regulations, and laws in such areas as marriage, traditional festivals, hours of work, economic development, natural resources, and environmental protection (PRC, State Council 2004; He 2005). These claims have not been independently verified and have been treated skeptically by outside analysts. He (2005: 70–71) suggests that

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in the TAR, as in the rest of China, “most local laws passed by local people’s parliaments are . . . formalistic in that they only repeat national laws . . . [and] cannot override the authority of national law which emanates from the center.” According to the NGO Human Rights in China, the constraints on adapting national laws to local conditions in the TAR have been greatest with respect to politically sensitive matters such as civil and political rights and cultural protection, including religious matters (Human Rights in China 2007). In these areas, Tibetans in the TAR have often in practice had fewer rights and less not more de facto self-rule than other parts of the state (see Gladney 2004; Norbu 2001; Shakya 1999). By contrast, in less politically sensitive socioeconomic areas, they may sometimes have had more protection for their way of life in comparison with Tibetans in neighboring provinces (Shakya 1997). There is little information available about the extent to which Tibetan TAR representatives or cadres have tried to challenge the preferences of central authorities. In the late 1980s, some Tibetan members of the territorial CPPCC reportedly criticized the PRC handling of Tibetan demonstrators and the failure of PRC authorities to recognize the Dalai Lama. However, Shakya (1997) suggests this was a rare departure from the territorial CPPCC’s normal function as an institution to contain dissent and disseminate party-state policy. It is also unclear whether the introduction of direct village-level elections in the TAR in the early 1990s has given greater weight to local Tibetan preferences in policymaking and implementation, though it is doubtful that this has occurred much in politically sensitive policy areas given the personal costs to those who challenge the authorities. There is little independent information available about these elections anywhere in China, let alone the highly politicized TAR. Research does suggest that in parts of China where there is less unrest, the competitiveness of these elections, their free and fair nature, and voter participation rates have been highly variable at best. This has been due to differences in the speed and style of implementation by officials as well as differing economic and political circumstances (see Kennedy 2002; Zhong 2004; Tan 2004; Hu 2005). The stress on state sovereignty in the TAR has not only limited the political autonomy of the territorial community, but the protection and development of the Tibetan language, a situation worsened by state development policies and, as is detailed later, the increasing impact of market forces. Despite the policies formally protecting the use of Tibetan in public spheres, spoken Mandarin and written Modern

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Standard Chinese, the state language, have higher prestige in that they are the languages of social mobility. As Han Chinese-controlled, centralized institutions dominate, much government business still occurs in the state language. Many ethnic Tibetan cadres are illiterate in Tibetan. Tibetans with the educational qualifications necessary for senior positions as teachers and officials are often the most assimilated, having been educated from an early age predominantly in Chinese, often in “inland” schools in Han areas (Teufel Dreyer 2003).7 The higher one advances beyond Grade 3, the more likely classes are taught in Chinese, especially in cities. University entrance exams and instruction are primarily in the state language, except for classes on Tibetan language and literature. Some Tibetan parents seek to have their children educated in Chinese or at least bilingually to increase the opportunities available to these children (Kormondy 2002; Johnson 2000; Sautman 2003). The state’s stress on sovereignty has also helped undermine aspects of religious freedom, despite the religious revival that has occurred in Tibetan areas since the early 1980s (Goldstein 1998). This apparent contradiction stems from the political role of Tibetan Buddhism. The Dalai Lama is both a political and religious leader, and religious figures, institutions, and claims have been key elements in Tibetan mobilization against Chinese policies. Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns make up the majority of Tibetan political prisoners (Amnesty International 2000–2005). Chinese policies repressing some religious institutions and practices are also inf luenced by the anti-religion bias of Marxism and the materialist view that religious beliefs and institutions inhibit modernization. For all of these reasons, the PRC authorities tend to see religion as the element of Tibetan culture most threatening to sovereignty, political stability, and development. At the same time, religious institutions and practices are too important to Tibetan life to suppress entirely without risking further political instability. So, while there has been considerable religious freedom since 1980, from the demonstrations in the late 1980s forward the government introduced restrictions. Many Tibetans who openly practice Buddhism have been excluded from cadre selection and promotion (Shakya 1999; U.S. State Department 2004). Human Rights Watch has reported that those Tibetans who resist patriotic re-education campaigns, demonstrate support for independence, or express identification with the Dalai Lama have been treated especially harshly by authorities, including being subject to arbitrary detentions, unfair trials, and long jail terms. In 2003, “officials and neighborhood committee leaders told Tibetan government workers in Lhasa that they were in danger of

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losing their pensions and even their jobs if they traveled to Mount Kalish, a sacred site in western Tibet” (Human Rights Watch 2003). There have been aggressive efforts to delegitimize the Dalai Lama by forcing individuals to denounce him and by prohibiting his photos and worship. Authorities have tried to reduce the political inf luence of monasteries by demanding a high level of patriotism from monastic personnel, ridding the monasteries of political dissidents and limiting their size and activities, and prohibiting the founding of new religious institutions (Goldstein et al. 2006; Goldstein 1998). Central authorities have also insisted on approving the selection of reincarnations of important lamas, including the Panchen and Karmapa Lamas (PRC, State Council 2004). Moreover, hard-line moral education discourses emphasizing Marxist-Leninist content have continued in public education campaigns and schools in the TAR since the 1990s, even while similar programs have declined in Han areas of China (Bass 2005). The attempt to make Tibetans into what the state sees as patriotic Tibetan Buddhists and PRC citizens has generated conf lict with those with conf licting understandings of Tibetan identity, an example of the dialectical politics of identity discussed by Tully. There have been periods of significant open protests. Restrictions on religious institutions and practices remain a major underlying reason for the resentment of ordinary Tibetans (Goldstein et al. 2006). The especially intense protests in spring 2008 suggest that the discontent had become more widespread and that it focused not only on religious restrictions and the barring of the Dalai Lama from returning to Tibet, but a generalized anger with human rights violations and restrictive state policies. The protests began in Lhasa, then spread in the TAR and into ethnographic Tibet. They were notable for their sustained nature, lasting for several months despite harsh state repression, and for their diverse participants, including not just monks and nuns, but also students, schoolchildren, urban workers, nomads, farmers, and intellectuals (Shakya 2008; see also Barnett 2008). Shakya (2008: 20) argues that the comparatively broad mobilization was the result of a tendency of PRC authorities, since the early 1990s, to see any political criticism as a dangerous manifestation of a separate Tibet identity that must be suppressed: “The Chinese government became unable to distinguish between those who did actively oppose its policies and the rest, and so succeeded in creating a gulf between the government and the whole Tibetan population.” The protests reportedly resulted in the detention of more than 6,000 people, more than 100 deaths and the injury of hundreds more (Ibid.; Economy and Segal 2008).

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In the post-Mao period, debate has continued within the party-state over whether Tibetans in the TAR should be allowed more expansive, distinctive autonomy to more effectively reconcile them to China (Sautman 2002). However, since the early 1990s, those claiming significantly broader asymmetrical autonomy would harm rather than help PRC unity and political control appear to have dominated. In the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen massacre and the collapse of Soviet Communism, then Tibet CCP Secretary Chen Kuiyuan used debate over the need for more generous policies toward Tibetans to determine political allegiance to the state: those who supported the relatively liberal policies of the early 1980s were labeled as unpatriotic and soft on separatism (Shakya 1997). More recently, as we have seen, the central government has claimed that it grants the TAR more scope to adapt state laws to local circumstances than is allowed other provincial, municipal, or autonomous region authorities, while labeling as “splittist” the Dalai Lama’s demand that Tibet be given Hong Kong–style special status. Social Solidarity, Economic Modernization, and Development The TAR’s economic dependence on the central government and the top-down, externally determined character of state economic development policies have also generated tensions. The TAR has had some of the highest state subsidies and growth rates in western China since the mid-1990s, averaging 12.8 percent from 1993 to 1999 and remaining in the double digits afterward, according to official figures. However, the underlying policies have been largely based on externally determined priorities and solutions designed for the Han-majority provinces. They have mainly benefitted outsiders, resulting in significant Han Chinese migration into the TAR and leaving the majority of Tibetans very poor (Teufel Dreyer 2006). State policies have focused on building fixed assets and expanding administration. Comparatively little state spending has gone to improving the quality and expanding the coverage of education and health care in rural areas (Fischer 2005), with consequences discussed later. Policies ref lect the priorities of central agencies and senior policymakers, of wealthy, mainly Han-dominated public authorities, and of Han Chinese entrepreneurs from rich coastal provinces and major western cities. The construction companies undertaking infrastructure projects are mostly from other parts of China. They repatriate most profits and hire mostly non-Tibetan workers, who send their earnings home (Bass 2005; Teufel Dreyer 2006). With the completion of

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the Golmud to Lhasa railway in 2006, the state has also had greater capacity to tighten its military and political control in the TAR, while Han migration into the territory is expected to increase as a direct and indirect result of this major infrastructure project (Norbu 2001; Shakya 1999; Hoh 2004).8 State economic development policies and spending have failed to foster self-sustaining locally integrated, internally productive activity (Fischer 2005). Urban Tibetan administrative elites have benefitted from state spending and development policies, as have the few rural Tibetans who have found lower-skilled construction, commercial, and service-sector jobs. The rural Tibetan majority and the urban poor have gained little, being disadvantaged in labor markets compared to Han and Muslim migrant workers, who have more education and Chinese-language skills as well as economically beneficial links to other parts of the state (Fischer 2004b; Teufel Dreyer 2003; see also Winkler 2002). Complaints that employers discriminate against Tibetans in hiring have become common (Amnesty International 2007; Sautman 1999). In addition, there has been growing concern that infrastructure development and policies aiming to expand agriculture and animal husbandry, threaten the sustainability of local ecosystems and ways of life (Fischer 2005; 2004a; 2004b; see also Saichi 2004). Recent years have seen tension in the TAR and ethnographic Tibet over state policies aimed at relocating an estimated 250,000 farmers to roadside houses, with what Tibetans claim has been inadequate compensation, and the announcement of plans to settle 100,000 nomads (Barnett 2008). According to state authorities, the policies are meant to take pressure off vulnerable lands and enhance access to economic opportunities and public services for rural families. However, they have been criticized as coercive, destructive of ways of life, and ineffective at reducing poverty (Human Rights Watch 2007; 2006). Discontent over China’s economic development strategy in the TAR is closely connected to resentment over the unequal, colonial terms by which Tibetans are included in China as a community of social solidarity. The spring 2008 protests included an anti-Han Chinese riot in Lhasa that, according to Shakya (2008: 19), was sparked by anger over “the disparity between the migrants’ success and the status of the indigenous [that] is so glaringly obvious there” (see also Barnett 2008). On the Han Chinese side, the protests caused a nationalist backlash. Some Han Chinese bloggers reportedly criticized Tibetans for being ungrateful for all that they had been “given” by the Chinese government and people (e.g., boingboing.net/2008/03/16/tibet-china-blocks-y.html). Yet, given the non-democratic nature of the PRC political system, the central

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government may be in a stronger position than its democratic counterparts to def lect majority nationalist pressure to reduce state spending in Tibetan areas. Outcomes Stability Arguably, the post-1980 TAR has been minimally stable in the sense that the most important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain the political institutions and other elements of the autonomy arrangement have continued. State borders remain intact and the TAR has survived on the basis of an operative political document through central party-state leadership successions. However, this conclusion must be accompanied by the caveat that political institutions and operative political documents mainly provided thin mostly formal administrative autonomy to the TAR. As such, they were insulated from some of the tensions related to the periods of political unrest and state repression that have characterized the arrangement since the late 1980s. Moreover, maximal stability has eluded the arrangement. There are lingering memories of the 1959 uprising and the rebellions in ethnographic Tibet after 1956 as well as of the harsh state counter-insurgency measures they triggered, not to mention the severe human rights abuses of the Cultural Revolution. More recently, the protests of 2008 led to the most extensive military involvement in an internal-security situation anywhere in China since the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown, with the PLA supporting the mobilization of the People’s Armed Police (IISS 2009). Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: The Strength of Political Autonomy The TAR authorities have little political autonomy across the four indicators used in the present study. They have some de jure final decisionmaking authority, but little in practice due to the power of central, Han-dominated party-state institutions and leaders and the political sensitivity of many policy matters. The territory has some de jure fiscal autonomy, but little in practice due to the region’s underdevelopment. State economic development policies and spending actually contribute to economic dependence on central authorities, whatever their intent (Fischer 2005). With the central government controlling the purse strings and development failing to produce growth that can generate sustainable tax revenues locally, TAR institutions have little financial

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clout with which to negotiate with central authorities or set their own priorities (Shakya 2008; Teufel Dreyer 2006; Yu 2006). In terms of effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes, the TAR authorities have little de jure or de facto inf luence and certainly no effective veto over processes for amending state laws, constitutional norms, or policies that affect the status and prerogatives of the territorial authorities or the rights of individual residents. The most powerful political institutions, the CCP and the PLA, are Han dominated. Finally, the territorial authorities appear to have some de jure, but little de facto scope to diverge from centrally and externally determined policy preferences, especially in politically sensitive realms. Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities Compared to central Tibet under the Seventeen-Point Agreement, the current autonomy arrangement under the TAR and PRC constitutional order has provided more formal citizenship rights for the poor, women, and some non-Tibetan ethnic minorities. However, substantive socioeconomic and political exclusion continues, in some cases exacerbated by the weakness of the political autonomy provided by the autonomy arrangement. The Tibetan Majority The largest marginalized group in terms of substantive socioeconomic and political citizenship is the poor, mostly rural ethnic Tibetan majority. Formally speaking, these ordinary Tibetans have more political citizenship than in pre-1959 Tibet, with its manorial and religiously based socioeconomic and political structures. However, their actual clout in political decisionmaking is limited both by the authoritarian and centrally controlled political system and by the socioeconomic marginalization of this huge group. A 2005 UN Development Program report found that TAR scores on the human development index (HDI) have been improving, but remain the worst of all provincial-level jurisdictions in China by almost all indicators.9 Mainly Tibetan Qinghai province had the second lowest rank (UNDP 2005; see also Goldstein et al. 2006). In 1990, the TAR’s HDI was 57 percent of Shanghai’s; by 2003 it had reached 70 percent (UNDP 2005). This is consistent with the research of independent scholars that suggests that the material living standards of most Tibetans have improved markedly since 1980 compared to the 1959–1980 period (Goldstein et al. 2003). The average Tibetan has more and more diverse food and more access to clothing and consumer items (Teufel Dreyer

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2006; see also Goldstein et al. 2006). However, life expectancy was still 65.81 years, compared to 71 in China as a whole and 75.2 years for urban residents across the state. Nearly 55 percent of TAR residents older than 15 years of age were illiterate, compared to 23.45 percent in Qinghai and 10.95 percent country-wide.10 School attendance rates were just under 78 percent, compared with 98.7 across China. 13 percent of people in the TAR have attended at least junior high, compared to 67 percent in the major cities of China, Beijing, Shanghai, and Tianjin. The numbers of health agencies, hospitals, and practicing doctors in the TAR were the lowest in the PRC, while rates of participation in basic pension insurance and basic medical insurance were alarmingly low, even by Chinese standards (UNDP 2005). Andrew Fischer perceptively underlines that the nature of socioeconomic exclusion has changed since traditional times and the 1950s. Thus, comparisons are difficult to make. In the earlier period, such exclusion was based on patterns of land and livestock ownership and access to higher monastic education. Today, it is mainly due to differential access to nonagricultural, off-farm employment and to higher secular education, as well as to differences in skills and education between local Tibetans and migrant workers (Fischer 2004b). The TAR today is characterized by an urban-rural divide that significantly coincides with ethnicity and with patterns of political exclusion. This gap is wide even by the standards of China, which has some of the world’s biggest disparities between urban and rural human development (UNDP 2005; Khan and Riskin 2005). TAR urban dwellers are, on average, wealthier and have more political clout than their rural counterparts. Due to in-migration, more than 50 percent of urban TAR residents are now Han Chinese, meaning they are also more likely to be better off materially, although Tibetans working in the state sector also are comparatively well off (Sautman 2002). By contrast, rural Tibetans without access to off-farm income and poor urban Tibetans have been excluded from the benefits of growth and from the educational opportunities as well as the political and economic power associated with cities (Fischer 2004a; 2004b). The weaknesses of the special status arrangement have tended to reinforce the socio-economic marginalization of the Tibetan majority. Material exclusion and limits on political autonomy and cultural protection have tended to be mutually reinforcing. For instance, poor educational attainment, especially in rural areas, is a major reason for continuing poverty. Improvements in education levels have been negatively affected by slow progress in bringing Tibetan language

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instruction and cultural content into the school systems despite formal policies providing for the use of Tibetan in public realms such as schools. There has also been insufficient attention to improving rural education and health care in state development policies. Dropout rates tend to be high not only because the quality of education is generally poor, but because Tibetan families need children to provide household labor. In any case, graduates often cannot find paid off-farm work, given their lack of competitiveness in an economy that tends to ref lect externally driven preferences. All of these factors have undermined support for state schooling in communities where it is a relative new idea, distant from traditional monastic education and divorced from local ways of life. In the 1990s, state policies also kept agriculture commodity prices low and forced schools to charge fees, which many rural families could not afford. The fees now appear to have been dropped (Postiglione et al. 2005). Ironically, the preferential treatment given most Tibetans under the one child policy has also contributed to rural poverty because it has encouraged relatively high fertility rates. Larger families increase pressure on agricultural and pasture lands and augment the need for off-farm income (see Goldstein et al. 2006; 2002). Despite an autonomy arrangement that formally recognizes and values Tibetan culture, the PRC authorities have sometimes blamed the poverty of Tibetans on their culture (see Kapstein 1998). The view ref lects a Marxist understanding of ethnic groups as hierarchically ordered along a continuum of development defined in historical materialist terms. Critics have instead pointed to the ways modernization itself and related state policies have contributed to producing underdevelopment in the TAR (Fischer 2005). One PRC sociologist has argued that Tibetans do want to modernize and improve their material living standards, but are distrustful of the motives and outcomes of PRC policies when local concerns, views, feelings, and aesthetics are not adequately considered (Yu 2006). Indeed, the individual and collective cost to Tibetans of such material advancement as has occurred since 1980 has often been the loss or weakening of valued ways of life and local control (Shakya 1999). The tendency of the central authorities to associate aspects of Tibetan culture with threats to state sovereignty and security has also had negative effects on the livelihoods of some. The state has often distrusted central Tibetans who strongly identify with the Tibetan language, education, religion, or other elements of local culture and has subjected them to political persecution and sometimes loss of livelihood, including the denial of state employment or promotion as cadres (Bass 2005).

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The resulting socioeconomic exclusion for some also diminishes the quality of Tibetan self-rule by barring such individuals from decisionmaking roles in political and administrative bodies. Gender As in traditional times, Tibetan women experience greater socioeconomic exclusion than men (see International Committee of Lawyers for Tibet 1995; Tibetan Women’s Association 2006). A key reason is their poor educational attainment, which limits their participation in the paid labor market. The 2005 UNDP report found that nearly 63 percent of women were illiterate, compared to just under 46 percent of men. The gender illiteracy gap has narrowed in recent years, but remains 7 percentage points greater than in China as a whole (UNDP 2005). As in Catalonia and Corsica, central government policies along with social change have helped increase women’s formal roles in political decisionmaking and administration in the TAR, compared to their nearly complete exclusion prior to 1959. Women now work as public sector administrators and hold public office. However, participation rates remain substantially behind those of men. According to official figures, in 1996, 20 percent of TAR People’s Congress deputies were women, a rate similar to the National People’s Congress at that time (PRC 2004). As in China as a whole, the introduction of direct elections at the village level in the TAR actually reduced the number of women public office-holders. The TAR was among the jurisdictions where central authorities introduced gender quotas to offset the drop. The quotas required that village committees have at least one woman member (Cheng 2004). On the administrative side, by 2000, slightly more than 30 percent of all TAR cadres were women, although these figures were not broken down by ethnicity. There were also some Tibetan female judges, procurators, police officers, and lawyers (PRC 2004; “Tibetan women enjoy higher status, political rights,” People’s Daily Online, October 27, 2001; “Tibetan women urged to improve education,” People’s Daily Online, August 16, 2001). Access to state employment advances the economic inclusion of women, given that public sector jobs tend to be comparatively well paid. It was unclear whether the greater presence of women in these positions has resulted in policies and practices that better ref lect the experiences and needs of women, especially of poor ethnically Tibetan women. The central government’s role in fostering gender equality should be commended. Nevertheless, there is no reason to think that Tibetans would be unable to advance gender equality on their own. The Tibetan

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diaspora has also made significant progress in gender equality in recent years. In response to public pressure, the Tibetan government in exile has moved to grant women equal political participation rights with men and to increase the representation of women in the diaspora parliament and administration. Women are represented in the professions, and literacy rates have reportedly reached 97 percent for both girls and boys (Sangay 2003; Thonsur 2003). Internal Ethnic Minorities Most non-Tibetans in the TAR have been materially better off than most ethnic Tibetans. The former included Han Chinese cadres, managers, traders, and laborers, Hui from northwest China, Kazaks from Xinjiang, and other business people and workers attracted to the territory by the economic opportunities accompanying growth in recent years. On the other hand, some indigenous non-Tibetans remained poor. Perhaps the worst off were the Menba (Monpa) and Luoba (Lhoba). With populations of 8,923 ad 2,965 respectively, they are the smallest of the officially recognized minority nationalities in China and live in isolated areas in the southeastern TAR and in Yunnan. In 1998, the government identified 58 percent of the members of these groups as “absolute poor,” with 65 percent primary school enrolments and 89 percent illiteracy (Asian Development Bank 2003). However, their conditions may be comparable to Tibetans living in the same area,11 with whom they are culturally similar. There is no evidence to suggest their marginalization is due to their “minority within a minority” position within the TAR. Notably, despite their very small numbers, the Menba and Luoba have the right to formal representation in the people’s congress system in the TAR, as do the members of some other non-Tibetan groups (PRC 2004). At least in formal terms, this is an improvement over traditional times, but whether it enhances their substantive citizenship is unclear. The Tibetan government in exile has also taken steps to include non-ethnic Tibetans in political decisionmaking, including by appointing members of the Tibetan Muslim diaspora to administrative positions (Chauhan 2000; Butt 1994; Government of Tibet in Exile 1995a; 2000). Conclusions The period of the Seventeen-Point Agreement was the high-water mark of central Tibet’s political autonomy in the PRC, with the state

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instrumentally allowing generous special status concessions to facilitate short-term state-building and longer-term socialist nation-building. However, for many reasons—not least a major rebellion against “democratic” and socialist reforms in Tibetan Kham and Amdo—these unprecedented concessions did not avert the 1959 uprising nor the subsequent withdrawal of the Agreement. Under the TAR from the late 1980s, the state has emphasized state sovereignty and security and central control as well as economic development. Tibetans have enjoyed considerably less political autonomy than in the 1950s, including much less special status, and uneven and incomplete protection for their religion, language, and other elements of culture. While the autonomy arrangement is arguably minimally stable and there has been no real threat to PRC territorial integrity or political and military control, political unrest has been to varying degrees an ongoing challenge since the late 1980s. Despite improvements in material standards compared with the 1959–1980 period, PRC policies have limited the ability of TAR Tibetans individually and collectively to choose their own development path (although there was more freedom in the early 1980s) and to benefit from recent growth. The levels of socioeconomic marginalization remain high by Chinese standards, especially for the rural Tibetan majority and Tibetan urban poor, Tibetan women, and some indigenous non-Tibetans. State policies marginalize and persecute Tibetans who identify strongly with Tibetan language, religion, and other elements of culture. Yet, compared to the pre-1959 period, there have been gains in formal political participation rights for women, ordinary Tibetans, and some non-Tibetan minorities. With the exception of the Cultural Revolution years, PRC authorities have always given or claimed to give central Tibet a distinctive status in response to its political, socioeconomic and cultural, geographic, and other specificities, however reluctantly or without substance this special status has been in practice (see Teufel Dreyer 2006). The Dalai Lama and the Tibet government in exile have also demanded that Tibetans be given greater autonomy, which, if granted, would make their status distinctive amongst China’s minority nationalities. More than half a century after the PLA first invaded central Tibet, special status remains an important modality for legitimating state rule and for expanding citizenship for a mobilized and unassimilated minority territorial community, even if it is a modality currently more honored in the breach. The lack of freedom of expression and democracy in the TAR and China as a whole make it impossible to know what proportion of

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central Tibetans support the current autonomy arrangement and how they would like to see it changed. However, the geographic breadth and diversity of groups involved in the 2008 protests suggest that there is significant discontent, for the costs of openly expressing political dissent is high in Tibetan areas of China. Yet, a move towards substantially more political autonomy for the TAR seems unlikely in the current circumstances. The comparison with Hong Kong is stark. There is no independence movement in the former British territory, nor in the Hong Kong diaspora. Moreover, there is less perceived cultural distance between Hong Kong’s ethnic Chinese majority and the Han Chinese of the Chinese mainland compared to between central Tibetans and Han. Hong Kong, unlike Tibet, is perceived as being economically useful to rather than a net drain on the central treasury. Yet, even in Hong Kong, the PRC central government has made patriotism, defined in an authoritarian manner and premised on individualistic conceptions of the nation-state, a condition for expanding political autonomy through democratization. For the TAR, it may take a transition from authoritarian rule in China as a whole or, at least, a period of significant constitutional shift akin to the early years of the PRC or the early post-Mao period, before the central authorities are again willing to give the TAR more political autonomy, including greater scope for adopting distinctive policies that better address the multiple citizenship deficits in the territory.

CH A P T E R

EIGH T

Conclusions

Collectively, the case studies suggest a number of findings, which require further study to determine whether they can be generalized to other instances of special status arrangements. Overall, the experiences of central Tibet, Hong Kong, Corsica, and Catalonia, as well as China, France, and Spain, point to the growing importance of asymmetry in emergent patterns of territorial governance and of asymmetrical autonomy arrangements as modalities of the contemporary state. These arrangements have proved both instrumentally and normatively important in attempts to build and hold together states with minority territorial communities and for achieving other state goals. The cases also affirm the centrality of constitutional ruptures or shifts as contexts in which state decisionmakers sometimes overcome the biases against asymmetrical territorial governance and the recognition of territorialized cultural identity claims associated with the modern territorial state and citizenship model. The cases further suggest that special status arrangements do not end political conf lict over asymmetry and autonomy. Rather, they show how de jure formally asymmetrical autonomy was difficult to implement and sustain. Finally, the cases point to the achievements and the limits of special status arrangements in terms of the order and justice criteria studied, that is, stability and inclusive citizenship. The arrangements made substantial contributions to state stability, understood in minimal terms, but more variable and limited contributions to the citizenship of the minority territorial communities. Although, with exceptions, they largely did not cause the citizenship exclusions experienced by internal minorities, neither did they substantially contribute to expanding the citizenship of these groups.

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However, on the whole, this failure had more to do with the citizenship limits of the wider political economic and gender orders in which the arrangements were embedded than with the arrangements themselves. With the exception of Hong Kong, state-wide institutions, norms, and political struggles played important roles in protecting formal equality rights for internal minorities in the territories studied. There were also significant differences in the origins, nature, political tensions, and outcomes of the four arrangements. The following paragraphs offer some comparative observations on the contextual factors that help account for this variation. They also provide more details of the study’s wider conclusions. The study found that regime type was a major factor accounting for differences across the cases: in comparison with the democratizing/democratic context arrangements for Catalonia and Corsica, the authoritarian context of the special status arrangements in central Tibet and Hong Kong did weaken the political autonomy of the minority territorial communities and some dimensions of inclusive citizenship for vulnerable internal minorities. Authoritarian contexts were also associated with weakened stability, understood in maximal terms. In some respects, authoritarian and democratizing/democratic context special status arrangements might be considered distinctive subtypes of asymmetrical minority territorial autonomy. Yet, this would also be an oversimplification. The order and justice outcomes of the special status arrangements were also significantly affected by other factors: the state’s position on the unitary-federal continuum, the political and economic weight of the minority territory in the state and its level of wealth and development, and the nature of the wider political economy and gender orders in which the special status arrangement was embedded, including its position in processes of economic globalization, amongst other factors. The impulse of state-wide authorities and actors to recentralize and standardize existed across the cases, but there were more institutionalized checks on this happening arbitrarily in the democratization/democratic context cases. In addition, democratic and liberal institutions and processes did contribute to building special status arrangements that more closely approached Tully’s ideal of openendedness. However, the liberal-democratic context arrangements, like their communist authoritarian counterparts, had a mixed record with respect to advancing the citizenship of the poor and women. The authoritarian context arrangements were better able to sustain stronger asymmetries overall, being less subject to institutionalized formal equality norms.

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Origins These findings add weight to the arguments of Kymlicka that the policies states use to respond to substate nationalism in Western democracies are different from those in most other political contexts. To recall, the former “accept the principle that their substate national groups will endure into the indefinite future, and that their sense of nationhood and nationalist aspirations must be accommodated in some way or other, typically through some form of territorial autonomy” (Kymlicka 2007: 35). In other polities, minority groups are often considered “fifth columns” and threats to state security that justify limits on democratic politics and liberal rights (Ibid.; 2002). These observations help make sense of why authoritarian state elites in China and early post-Franco Spain made special status concessions in the context of highly disruptive regime changes. The political pressures associated with these constitutional disjunctures facilitated changes in state decisionmaker preferences for centralized, standardized territorial governance based on “one nation, one state, one citizenship.” In democratic contexts, minority self-government claims resonate with ideas of rule by the people and freedom, so are more difficult to ignore and paint as mere threats to the state and nation. Yet, the cases also suggest that the origins of special status arrangements were somewhat similar in all the cases, regardless of regime type. First, they point to the instrumental character of special status arrangements in both authoritarian and democratic/democratizing contexts, even if state elites may have also sometimes believed in their intrinsic normative value. In all cases, state leaders agreed to special status concessions because they were means to other ends important to the state. In France and Spain, some state elites may have agreed to the arrangements due to their potential to advance democratic justice in a multinational state. However, the normative commitments of state elites cannot be separated from their political interests. What is certain is that post-Franco Spanish state elites needed to build political alliances with territorial political parties and political elites, especially in populous and wealthy Catalonia, and to quell Basque nationalist mobilization, if they were to democratize Spain and remain in power. Special status concessions helped them do so. In France in the early 1980s, the creation of the “political region” was, amongst other aims, a means of consolidating the local and regional power bases of the newly elected Socialists. With this policy, the French government hoped a special statute for Corsica would revitalize the island’s democracy

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and economy, while reducing ethnonationalist violence, a mix of instrumental and normative aims. In 1950/51, PRC leaders used special status concessions to smooth their state-building in central Tibet and prepare the way for reforms. Years later, early post-Mao leaders, particularly Hu Yaobang, appeared to have been partly motivated by the intrinsic normative value of self-rule when they allowed central Tibetans a period of relative personal freedom and somewhat stronger political autonomy under the TAR in the early 1980s after the tragedy of the Cultural Revolution. By contrast, the instrumental purposes of the “one country, two systems” policy stand out, for it was a means to incorporate Hong Kong into China and to end British rule while advancing economic modernization and potentially resolving the “one China” question with respect to Taiwan. Constitutional ruptures and shifts were not the only facilitating conditions common to the special status concessions across the cases. Another was the presence of moderate minority territorial community elites. These were territorial elites with whom state actors shared some common interests or commitments and whose support could potentially help ensure the arrangement would contribute to reconciling the territorial population to its inclusion in the state rather than fueling centripetal politics. This facilitating factor is closely related to the interculturality of minority territorial populations and their multiple class, ideological, political, and cultural identifications, some of which can enhance mutual trust between states and minorities or foster relations of interdependence between state and territorial elites. With respect to Hong Kong, state concessions under “one country, two systems” were perceived by state leaders to be less dangerous because of the attachments of Hong Kong elites to Han Chinese civilization, alongside their Cantonese identifications and distinct history and way of life. State and Hong Kong business elites also had a shared material interest in China’s post-Mao development strategy, partly ref lected in their strengthening clientelist ties. Although identifying with Corsica, traditional Corsican elites expressed commitments to Republican values and often had a material interest in the existing status of Corsica within France and in maintaining close ties to the state. Catalan nationalists sought autonomy, not independence. The dominant nationalist group shared the Center-Right ideology of Francoist state elites and the goal of democratizing Spain. In central Tibet, some Tibetan elites were attracted to the egalitarian ideals of the Chinese communists and were more open to the modernization of Tibet, a cleavage essential to Mao’s united front strategy.

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In each case, the decision of state elites to grant special status may have been facilitated by what Keating termed a usable past, meaning, as we have seen, historical examples of the state accommodating (semi-) sovereign power centers and minority territorial communities, which could be used to legitimate special status concessions in the present. To recall, Ryan (1990) has argued that state actors will be more likely to make multicultural accommodations for minorities when they perceive the geopolitical environment as relatively unthreatening to their sovereignty and security, a condition more likely to pertain in liberal democracies in the West. The case studies broadly affirm this view. In all the arrangements studied, the decision to grant special status occurred in a context where key outside governments and international organizations did not support the independence of the minority territorial community, but rather that it be granted autonomy. These conditions appear to have made concessions seem less risky for state elites. At the same time, in the two cases outside the liberal democratic West, PRC state elites still saw their geopolitical environment as threatening and, related to this, perceived some Tibetan nationalists and Hong Kong pro-democracy groups as fifth columns, backed by outside forces bent on destabilizing China. This was one reason that the concessions made to these territories, including formal provisions and informal practices, restricted the political autonomy of the territories. In three out of four cases, decisions to grant special status appear to have been facilitated when the territory was perceived to be politically and/ or economically valuable to the state. For PRC state elites, central Tibet was important as a strategic borderland. It was also symbolically valuable because taking it appeared to lend legitimacy to the claim of the Chinese communists to sovereignty over all the lands that had been claimed by the Qing. Post-Mao leaders saw Hong Kong as symbolically valuable for similar reasons. In addition, taking back the territory was important because Hong Kong symbolized China’s humiliation by European imperialists and was crucial for reunification with Taiwan, not to mention for China’s economic modernization. For their part, Spanish elites could not ignore the electoral weight of Catalonia nor its economic clout. Corsica seems an exception to the pattern that special status concessions were more likely when central government elites perceived the minority territory to have political and/or economic value to the state. The island’s very marginality—politically, economically, geographically, and culturally—appears to have made it easier for French state elites to justify allowing Corsican authorities to deviate from standard institutions and policies, much as it had with respect to the French overseas territories.

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The study began by defining special status arrangements as forms of minority territorial autonomy characterized by some degree of de jure asymmetry, that is, as grants of formally distinctive autonomy along claimed territorialized identity lines. However, seeing special status arrangements as a subtype of minority territory autonomy arrangements does not fully capture the interconnectedness of asymmetry and autonomy as features of the phenomenon, nor the f luidity of the interplay between them. Asymmetry and autonomy were interconnected features partly because asymmetry has two functions for mobilized minority territorial communities. It can be both symbolically important in and of itself and instrumental, that is, a means of achieving a desired degree of autonomy. The former is perhaps the most obvious dimension. Here, distinctive forms of autonomy serve the symbolic purpose of providing institutional recognition for the distinctive identity claimed for the minority territorial community. Thus, Catalan nationalists have demanded distinctive forms of self-government, including legal recognition as a nation, as recognition of their “hecho differential,” as have their Corsican counterparts. Here, asymmetry becomes an end in itself, although recognition as a “nation” in a statute of autonomy or constitution may simultaneously serve instrumental purposes if it can be used as a resource for claiming new entitlements. However, in all of the territories studied, the demand for special status was also instrumental in that it was a by-product of the struggle for adequate political autonomy and for the protection of territorial values and interests. It was a means to achieve these ends. For instance, the marked regime asymmetry that characterized the Hong Kong special status arrangement was not so much symbolic in importance as recognition of Hong Kong’s difference, though it had this role to some degree. Rather, it was mainly a consequence of the need for the territory to have significant autonomy in order to protect the continuity of British-era institutions so as to reassure Hong Kong people and investors nervous about Chinese rule. Special status and autonomy may also be interconnected because of the nature of identity politics in special status territories. Even in functional areas where their authority was not formally asymmetrical, territorial political elites sometimes gave state actions distinctive significance or used their standard authority in distinctive ways, impelled by nationalist or regionalist aims and politics. For instance, there was clear evidence of the latter in the ways that Catalan authorities under

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CiU-led governments aggressively developed linguistic normalization policies and external affairs activities. One expects that further investigation of the other cases would reveal similar examples. As such, de facto asymmetry may be as important as de jure asymmetry to the actual functioning and stability of special status arrangements, particularly where strong de jure asymmetry is controversial and difficult to maintain. A later section will discuss comparative findings related to the degree of political autonomy permitted under the four special status arrangements. For now, note that the degree of de jure political and functional autonomy of the arrangements correlated with not only state regime type, understood as a continuum, but also with where the state and state-territorial relationship fell on the unitary-federal state continuum. The cases suggest the hypothesis that the more federal and democratic the context of the arrangement, the greater its de jure functional and political autonomy. The Catalonia Autonomous Community (AC), located in federalizing Spain and within a democratizing and then a democratic state, had comparatively high de jure political and functional autonomy. The TAR, located within an authoritarian, unitary state and with a strongly unitary relationship with the central government, had low de jure political and functional autonomy. The HKSAR was located within the same authoritarian, unitary state as the TAR, but had a somewhat federalized relationship with the central government, some liberal institutions, and limited competitive elections without being democratic. The special status arrangement permitted comparatively high de jure functional autonomy, but low de jure political autonomy. During the 1950s, Tibet had relatively high de jure functional and political autonomy under the Seventeen-Point Agreement. While the PRC state was authoritarian, its relationship with central Tibetan authorities was not fully unitary in that the former had a formal veto over elements of China’s policies in central Tibet. Finally, the Corsica special status arrangement was a mixed case. It had relatively low, expanding to moderate de jure functional and political autonomy, ref lecting the unitary character of France, but also its democratic political system. Tensions Regime type was an important reason for variation in the nature of the political tensions related to asymmetry and autonomy across the cases.

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However, there were other factors at work, too: the directionality of the arrangement, that is, whether it was integrative (associated with bringing a previously separate minority territorial community into the state) or devolutionary (associated with accommodating a minority territorial community already part of the state); its temporality (whether it was formally temporary or permanent); its type of autonomy and asymmetry; state-territorial disparities of wealth and development; and immigration. Regime type In the democratizing/democratic context arrangements, a major source of tensions were the conf licts between asymmetry and formal equality norms, embedded in constitutions, laws, and political culture and mobilized in the partisan electoral competition central to liberal-democratic political systems. Institutionalized equality norms limited the degree of formal political and functional as well as institutional and symbolic asymmetry permitted in both the Corsican and Catalan arrangements. These pressures also led state actors to extend concessions made to the minority territorial communities to other territorial authorities, making the special status arrangements an engine of wider decentralization. These tensions also help explain why the French government agreed to a special statute for Corsica as part of state-wide decentralization and why Spanish state elites agreed to give Catalonia special status while establishing ACs across the country. Norms protecting formal individual equality—in this case, the equal rights of all citizens to be educated in and speak the state language—combined with norms protecting national unity and indivisibility, made it harder for territorial authorities to protect and advance the use of the territorial language. At the same time, the resulting conf licts were not merely between the native speakers of the territorial language and native speakers of the national language. Rather, they manifested the complex interculturality of territorial residents, their simultaneous identifications with state, territorial, and other communities, and, in linguistic terms, their increasing bilingual and even multilingual lives. Market forces often further undermined the ability of territorial authorities to expand use of the territorial language given that such forces tended to further reinforce the power of the state language, albeit to differing degrees. Catalan was in a much stronger position to resist than Corsican because of its relatively high prestige—learning it was more likely to increase an individual’s life chances.

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As we have seen, in Catalonia, the democratization process itself created tensions with respect to asymmetry and autonomy. Although some of these tensions might be found in all cases of special status arrangements established during democratization, others grew out of the specific characteristics of the Spanish transition. An example of the former was that the introduction of competitive multiparty elections across the state increased demands for territorial and individual equality, leading to the establishment of ACs across the state. Further, with democratization came the establishment of a European-style welfare system based on individual and territorial equality as well as countrywide social solidarity. This development encouraged the standardization of social policies across Spain and fiscal centralization. A more distinctive feature of Spanish democratization was Spain’s accession to the EU, which had an ambiguous effect on Catalonia’s autonomy, including a reduction in its policy choices in several functional areas within its competence. The Corsican arrangement has also experienced tensions related to European integration, particularly over pressure to cut tax concessions and subsidies for the island. In Hong Kong and central Tibet, China’s authoritarian political system also had a significant effect on the nature of tensions over asymmetry and autonomy. If many of the limits on special status in the democratic/democratizing context cases were justified in terms of citizen and territorial equality, in the authoritarian context cases most were justified in terms of the need to protect state sovereignty, security, and patriotism. Given the relative weakness of institutionalized formal equality norms and the absence of competitive party electoral competition in China, equality norms were not a major source of conf lict with respect to the arrangements. The arrangements for central Tibet and Hong Kong did not originate in a context of state-wide devolution, nor trigger widespread snowballing calls for similar autonomy by the elites of other territorial authorities. To discredit the Dalai Lama’s demand for Hong Kong–style special status for Tibet, the central government was able to represent the Hong Kong special status arrangement in nationalistic terms as an exceptional status necessary to end imperialism. This is not to say that equality norms of a sort have had no role in conf licts respecting the status of central Tibet and Hong Kong. In 1950s Tibet in particular, the communist goal of equality conf lict: Mao had to reign in cadres keen to end the inequalities associated with traditional Tibetan institutions protected by the Seventeen-Point Agreement, as immediate reforms would have undermined the goal of getting moderate Tibetan elites to accept change willingly and bring the masses along.

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To the extent that formal equality norms are weakly institutionalized in authoritarian regimes, authoritarian governments may actually find it easier to establish and maintain special status arrangements than their democratic/democratizing counterparts. Also, authoritarian governments may find special status arrangements attractive precisely because they allow for autonomy concessions to be limited to particular parts of the state, leaving the rest more centralized and unitary in structure. He (2007) has made this argument with respect to highly centralized states as a whole (see also Conversi 2007). Directionality Beyond regime type, directionality also inf luenced the nature of the conf licts over asymmetry and autonomy that characterized the arrangements. The two cases of integrative special status—central Tibet in the 1950s and Hong Kong—had tensions characteristic of the state-building process of which the special status concessions were a part. As the territory has just been incorporated into the state, by definition, we might expect that there would typically be greater perceived and actual political, socioeconomic, and cultural difference between the state and the special status territory in such integrative contexts compared to their devolutionary counterparts. The territorial political and economic regimes in central Tibet and Hong Kong were indeed very different from those of the PRC, which led to tensions. Moreover, the two simultaneous processes underway—state-building, which involved assertions of state authority, and autonomy-making, which involved keeping the state at bay—were contradictory, all the more so because of the regime asymmetry mentioned earlier. The two cases of devolutionary special status, Catalonia and Corsica, experienced conf licts between autonomy processes and those associated with maintaining state authority. They also experienced conf licts rooted in perceived cultural difference, but both were comparatively mild. After all, both Corsica and Catalonia had already been part of France and Spain for two centuries or more, the states and territories had the same regime type and less perceived cultural distance separated the state and territorial societies than was the case with either the central Tibet or Hong Kong arrangements. Temporality Whether the special status arrangements were temporary or permanent also affected the nature of the tensions that emerged. In 1950s central

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Tibet, the temporary nature of the arrangement contributed to its illegitimacy over time amongst Tibetan elites and its ultimate collapse, particularly as central Tibetan elites learned of the devastating effects of “democratic” and socialist reforms in Kham and Amdo, reforms they feared they would eventually have to accept. In Hong Kong, the temporary nature of the “one country, two systems” arrangement had not at the time of writing created significant overt tensions. However, it will likely do so as the 2047 end date approaches, especially if Hong Kong people are denied a democratic role in decisionmaking about their political future. These specific types of tensions were absent from the permanent arrangements, Corsica and Catalonia. Norms related to regime type may account for the difference. It would be politically difficult for state-wide governments in democratizing or democratic states to put a time limit on a special status arrangement without the democratically expressed agreement of the minority territorial community concerned. At the same time, while the Corsica and Catalonia arrangements were permanent, they were not static. The institutions of special status were periodically revised as circumstances changed. The revision process was itself tension-ridden, although considerably more institutionalized and democratic than the parallel processes in central Tibet and Hong Kong. We will return to this issue later. Type of Asymmetry and Autonomy The types of asymmetry and autonomy associated with each arrangement had a bearing on political tensions, too. Struggles over maintaining or expanding the political autonomy of the territory, including its final decisionmaking authority, fiscal autonomy, effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes, and scope for policy asymmetry, were especially contentious across the cases. The conf lict was greater when increased political autonomy would result in sharper regime asymmetry. An example of the latter was the ongoing conf lict over the democratization of Hong Kong. However, even without regime asymmetry, demands for greater political autonomy were f lashpoints. During negotiation of the 2006 autonomy statute for Catalonia, there were major conf licts over territorial demands for greater autonomy for territorial courts, more de jure fiscal autonomy, and a state-territorial bilateral commission to strengthen Catalonia’s effectiveness in state decisionmaking. The Corsican arrangement has seen nearly three decades of contestation over efforts to give the Corsican Assembly some legislative and regulatory authority in its areas of functional competence.

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Symbolic asymmetry was also a political f lashpoint in each case, especially when it appeared to challenge the “one state–one nation” underpinnings of the modern territorial state model. Demands from Catalonia and Corsica politicians that the territories be recognized as a “nation” or “people” in their autonomy laws were examples, as was the Dalai Lama’s demand that Tibet be recognized as a self-governing democratic community “associated” with China in his “middle way” proposal. On the whole, horizontal, or functional, asymmetry on its own was less controversial than either political or symbolic asymmetry, but was difficult to separate analytically or politically from them. The extensive and highly asymmetrical functional autonomy of the HKSAR, for instance, was less threatening to central authorities because it was accompanied by comparatively weak political autonomy. Finally, as already discussed, regime asymmetry directly or indirectly produced the most destabilizing conf licts of all. Disparities of Wealth and Development Disparities in wealth and development between the state and territory were also sources of tension with respect to asymmetry and autonomy. For one, these disparities underlay conf licts over competing communities of social solidarity. In relatively wealthy Catalonia, there has been ongoing conf lict over how to balance the commitment of territorial taxpayers to Catalonia and to Spain as communities of social solidarity. This has been exacerbated by the demands placed on public protection schemes by poorer immigrants in recent years and broader pressures on state authorities to reduce spending to meet the criteria for the Eurozone. The tensions between special status territories and states as communities of social solidarity had not surfaced as explicitly in Hong Kong, the wealthiest part of China. This will likely change as the 2047 end date of the arrangement nears and the territory’s status has to be renegotiated. In contrast with Catalonia and Hong Kong, both Corsica and the TAR were dependent on state revenue and received very high per capita levels of state transfers, so that tensions between the state and minority territorial community as communities of social solidarity played out differently. In both, there was potential for a state-level nationalist backlash against territorial autonomy demands and anti-state mobilization, resulting in popular pressure on the state to reduce state revenue transfers to the territories in question. In both central Tibet and Corsica, also, continuing disparities in wealth and development within the territory and between territory and state fueled tensions

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because of the view of substate nationalists and other members of the minority territorial communities that state economic policies had contributed to this inequality by failing to promote locally integrated and productive economic development that benefitted the majority of territorial residents. Immigration In all cases, the in-migration of workers from abroad or elsewhere in the state was a source of political tension, although in ways that ref lected the distinctive political economy contexts and the particularities of the intersection of class, ethnicity, and residency status in each territory. In Corsica and Catalonia, the local economy depended on growing numbers of permanently settled non-Europeans, whose presence complicated efforts to protect territorial languages and to reinforce the social cohesion needed to advance internally inclusive citizenship through high-cost social protection programs. In post-Mao Tibet, market reforms, an expansion of tourism, and infrastructure development was shifting power to cities and to externally oriented economic activity dominated by mostly Han Chinese migrants, external capitalists, and cadres. Unassimilated rural Tibetans, the majority in the TAR, as well as poor urban Tibetans have been socioeconomically and politically marginalized through these processes. The resentments and resulting political tensions were evident in some of the spring 2008 protests, which were a major indictment of PRC policies in the territory and in ethnographic Tibet, too. In Hong Kong, most people are themselves descendants of mainland Chinese migrants. Yet, the newer arrivals, especially poorer individuals, have been represented by government and the media as culturally inferior and threats to Hong Kong economistic values and so a drain on taxpayers. These representations helped make the Hong Kong public more accepting of the interference of HKSAR and state institutions in the autonomy of Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal in the context of the right-of-abode case. Outcomes Stability By and large the special status arrangements advanced the building and maintenance of the states concerned, although none of the arrangements,

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with the exception of the Catalan AC, were more than minimally stable. As Hechter (2007: 126) put it, “nationalist sentiment . . . [can] be bought off.” It can also be intimidated by state repression. However, neither cooptation nor fear work forever, nor with everyone. In the integrative cases—Hong Kong and 1950s central Tibet—the special status arrangements aided the extension of the institutions of state power and authority into the newly acquired territories. The newly established frontiers of the state subsequently remained intact. If the Seventeen-Point Agreement did not prevent revolt against Chinese rule in central Tibet, it did delay it until the state could quell it relatively easily. Nevertheless, the Seventeen-Point Agreement was the only arrangement studied that actually collapsed and violently so. Its successor, the TAR, endured in the post-1980 period. This durability appears to have been a consequence of policies offering at various times and to differently situated Tibetans, weak collective political autonomy and some additional individual citizenship rights, improved living standards and household economic freedom compared to the 1959–1980 period, some opportunities for upward mobility as political representatives and cadres, and repression, including extended periods of martial law and crackdowns on public protest and forms of religious expression deemed by the state to be politically threatening. The Hong Kong arrangement has been durable to date. It has helped secure and legitimate PRC rule in the territory as a consequence of policies offering to differently situated intercultural Hong Kong residents, variously, limited political and extensive functional autonomy, civil rights and freedoms, clientelist patronage, economic stability and prosperity, affirmation of nationalist and anticolonial identities, and threats of repression. The Catalan and Corsican arrangements were also durable. The former aided Spanish democratization and has increased the legitimacy of and sense of attachment to Spain for most Catalans. Support for independence has increased in recent years, but remains a minority preference. The Corsican arrangement has not ended nationalist violence, but has seen nationalist politicians participate in democratic elections, becoming the second force in the territorial assembly. There were signs during the Matignon Process of the late 1990s that Corsican politics has the potential to become more pluralistic. The arrangements for post-1980 central Tibet, Hong Kong, Catalonia, and Corsica were minimally stable, marked by continuity in the most important patterns of political behavior needed to maintain the political institutions of the state and special status arrangement. Yet, only the Catalonia arrangement had achieved maximal stability, being free

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from mass violence and other extra-institutional mobilization and state repression or their threat except indirectly from the Basque Country. By contrast, the TAR and Corsica both experienced challenges to maximal stability, the degree varying over time. At the same time, the democratic context of the Corsican arrangement had two institutional features largely absent in central Tibet and which contributed to stability: the first was meaningful legal and political cultural barriers to state repression; the second was democratic elections, which, as we have seen, have encouraged some nationalists to use the ballot box instead of the bomb. As such, there had been no mass extra-institutional mobilization on the island, although violence linked with nationalism remained a serious problem. Maximal stability had eluded the HKSAR, too, particularly as the memory of the harsh 1989 state crackdown on Tiananmen Square demonstrators still inf luenced politics in the territory, a reminder of the latent threat of state expression. As chapter three discussed, critics have suggested that minority territorial autonomy arrangements such as the ones studied here cannot contribute meaningfully to state stability because they do not end demands for autonomy or special status on the part of the minority territorial communities. Such a view implies that special status arrangements are able permanently to settle conf licts over the citizenship of minority territorial communities within a state. The four cases examined suggest this is unrealistic. They provide evidence for Tully’s view, discussed earlier, that the f luidity and intercultural multiplicity of individual and collective identities means arrangements need to be continuously renegotiated in as open-ended and democratic a manner as possible. They also provide evidence for Campbell’s view, also raised earlier, that the exclusion inherent in territorialized political institutions means that citizenship conf licts can never be permanently solved. What was notable about the renegotiation process in the cases concerned was that ongoing demands for more autonomy and asymmetry were not mainly territorial political elites grabbing power for its own sake. Rather, the cases suggest that ongoing demands for more autonomy and special status are often defensive reactions to perceived intrusive, centralizing, standardizing, assimilationist, and sometimes repressive state policies, or their threat. Or they were reactions to the failure of states to implement promised autonomy concessions. The demands for democratization in Hong Kong and for greater self-rule and cultural protection in central Tibet were cases in point. In Catalonia during negotiations for the new autonomy statute, politicians from virtually all political parties—including the non-nationalist ones—saw the Catalan demands

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for stronger political autonomy as a defensive response to years of central government incursions on Catalan authority. In Corsica, popular mobilization in defense of the island’s special status was often a response to the actual or threatened withdrawal of state subsidies and special tax treatment. Ongoing demands for more autonomy and special status might be a characteristic of special status arrangements for yet another reason—the need for territorial politicians to compete for the support of intercultural individuals, not all of whom could be mobilized with claims and policies focused on the defense of ethnic or other cultural identities. This dynamic is perhaps likely to be strongest in democratizing/democratic context arrangements. As such, the strengthened fiscal autonomy that Catalan politicians sought during negotiations for the new statute was partly motivated by a need for resources to spend on underfunded social and education programs, which would attract voters of diverse ethnic, class, and other identifications. A similar dynamic may have helped motivate some Corsican politicians to support expanded roles for the territorial authority under the proposed single territorial authority reform, although the change was ultimately defeated in the 2003 referendum. For Hong Kong and Catalonia territorial elites in particular, economic globalization also impelled some of their demands for more state-like autonomy in order to increase the effectiveness of territorial authorities in external economic decisionmaking processes, strengthen territorial economic competitiveness, and expand the benefits accruing to the territory from migration f lows. These demands were not a drive for independence. In the 2006 autonomy statute, Catalan territorial authorities sought and won expanded de jure competencies in external affairs, especially related to the EU, and in immigration policy administration as well as greater fiscal autonomy, to allow for more spending on programs that are underfunded due partly to significant immigration and to improve economic competitiveness. The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region had from its inception state-like competencies, such as extensive de jure autonomy in external economic affairs, its own currency, and significant de jure immigration autonomy. These provisions ref lected the commercial importance of Hong Kong and the desire of business elites and both the PRC and British governments to preserve economic arrangements that had contributed to the territory’s economic prosperity prior to 1997. It must be underlined that none of the special status arrangements threatened the territorial integrity of the state. Except for an

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indeterminate number of Tibetan nationalists and a small minority of Corsican and even fewer Catalan nationalists, the struggle for greater self-rule was an attempt to remake rather than gain independence from the state. This is not to say that strong independence movements could not emerge in future. Nor is it to deny that the special status arrangements did sometimes challenge deeply held values and powerful vested interests associated with established territorial patterns of political rule and citizenship in France, Spain, and China. However, the politics of special status arrangements, including the demands for greater autonomy and asymmetrical self-rule associated with them, may appear more threatening than they really are because, as Keating has stated (1999a), there are no models of the asymmetrical state, just numerous experiences of it. Models are being created, including through the processes studied in this book. A preoccupation with territorial integrity draws attention away from the centripetal forces that held the four special status territories to the states, namely the material benefits of membership in the state (e.g., public social protection programs and other revenue transfers, as well as trade, investment and job opportunities), civic and other political values shared with state communities (e.g., Republican values, democracy, freedom, human rights, inclusive socioeconomic citizenship, anticolonialism), shared civilizational identifications (e.g., to European, French, Spanish, and Chinese history and culture), and other forms of interculturality (e.g., ethnic, racial, gender, class, and other cross-cutting identifications that linked residents of the minority territorial community with others in the state). Inclusive Citizenship for the Minority Territorial Community: Political Autonomy This book used political autonomy as an indicator of the strength of the inclusive citizenship the territorial identity community had within the state. The outcomes were mixed. None of the arrangements, including the two in democratic/democratizing contexts, was strong across all of the four indicators of political autonomy examined: de facto and de jure final decisionmaking authority; de jure and de facto fiscal autonomy; de jure and de facto effectiveness in state decisionmaking processes; and de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry. Regime type helps account for variation across the cases, but does not provide a full explanation. Catalonia had the strongest de jure and de facto political autonomy overall, a function of its democratic/democratizing context, but also Spain’s federalizing state type, the territory’s political and

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financial weight within the state, and other factors. Hong Kong also had relatively strong de facto political autonomy, remarkably so in the PRC context. The weaknesses that existed stemmed mainly from China’s authoritarian political regime and its unitary state type, even though the China-HKSAR relationship had some mildly federal characteristics. The analysis that follows is based on an assessment of the relative strength of the political autonomy indicators across the four cases. Final Decisionmaking Authority The de jure authority and the de facto political ability of the territory authority to make final decisions was affected by regime type, but also state type (on the federal-unitary continuum), the political and economic weight of the territory in the state, the strategic political calculations of central state elites, and market forces. Overall, the lack or relative weakness of democracy and constitutionalism in China, Hong Kong, and central Tibet meant that there were some political checks on, but weak legal and constitutional barriers to the central government limiting the final decisionmaking authority of the territorial authorities. In 1950s central Tibet, the Tibetan government continued to have de jure final decisionmaking authority, albeit as a local government. In practice, the PRC authorities could override the decisions of the Tibetan government. De facto final authority rested with Mao, who allowed the Tibetan authorities considerable autonomy in practice as part of his united front strategy. Under the TAR, the de jure formal decisionmaking authority of central Tibetan administrators was weaker, despite constitutional and legal provisions allowing TAR political institutions some authority to “amend or rectify” PRC laws in response to local conditions. The limited available evidence suggests that central CCP organs had final decisionmaking authority in practice and that the scope of TAR decisionmakers to adapt laws to local conditions was slight in practice, particularly as so many policies were politically sensitive in the context of state-Tibetan relations. In the HKSAR, where constitutionalist norms and institutions were a legacy of British rule, the final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR was also highly constrained by the authority of central party-state institutions to appoint the HKSAR Chief Executive and interpret the Basic Law and by the dominance of business and other pro-China elites in territorial political institutions. At the same time, the de facto final decisionmaking authority of the HKSAR government was greater than the nature of the formal institutional arrangement and its authoritarian context would suggest. The central authorities sometimes permitted

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HKSAR authorities de facto decisionmaking autonomy, such as with respect to the national security bill, in order to maintain political and economic stability in a territory where people were used to civil rights and freedoms and many desired democracy. By contrast with their authoritarian context counterparts, the territorial authorities in Catalonia and Corsica largely had more robust de jure final decisionmaking authority in their areas of competence, due to democratic political systems, the rule of law, and other elements of constitutionalism, including independent courts. At the same, where the state fell on the unitary-to-federal continuum also had an impact. The government and parliament in Catalonia had strong de jure final decisionmaking authority due to their being accountable to territorial voters and to the parliament’s relatively strong and constitutionally and legally secured legislative powers. Under the 2006 statute, Catalan courts also lessened their dependence on the Spanish judicial authorities, further deepening territorial political autonomy. However, this was reduced by the many areas of functional authority shared with the central government. A key factor inf luencing the de facto final decisionmaking authority of Catalan authorities was the f luctuating electoral clout of Catalan deputies in the Spanish Congress, a point discussed later. Further research is needed to assess how much bargaining and reciprocity as informal features of central-territorial authority relations in the four cases studied, enhanced the de facto autonomy of the territorial authorities. Zheng (2007) argues that even in authoritarian China’s Han heartland, these dynamics and ties have sometimes moderated the actual political ability of central authorities to act unilaterally and coercively vis-à-vis lower level authorities. Given the importance of central government alliances with like-minded territorial elites in Hong Kong, the moderating effect of this informal feature of the special status arrangement on the weak de jure final decisionmaking authority of territorial authorities may be significant. Finally, market processes, in conjunction with centralist state policies, also appeared to limit the de facto final decisionmaking authority of territorial authorities in some functional areas. We have already discussed their negative effect with respect to efforts to strengthen the use of territorial languages in Catalonia, Corsica, and the TAR. Fiscal Autonomy There was huge variation amongst the cases in the relative strengths of their de jure and de facto fiscal autonomy, that is, respectively, the level of devolved authority to collect and maintain taxes and set tax levels

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and the strength of the territorial tax base. The variation ref lected formal state type and also whether the relationship between the state and territorial authorities had federal features, as well as the relative wealth and level of development of the territory. At the two extremes were Hong Kong and the TAR. The first had strong de jure and comparatively strong de facto fiscal autonomy, the second low de jure and low de facto fiscal autonomy, its economic weakness making it dependent on revenue transferred from the state. In between were Corsica and Catalonia. In comparative terms, Corsica had moderately low de jure fiscal autonomy, having narrowed the gap between transferred competencies and revenues and devolved tax-raising authority that had more significantly hampered the political autonomy of the territorial authority in the early years. Its de facto fiscal autonomy remained weak given its relatively weak economy and dependence on state revenues. Catalonia had also increased its share of tax revenue and authority over the years to comparatively high levels, although its de jure fiscal autonomy still lagged behind the foral Autonomous Communities. Amongst the cases studied, Catalonia’s de facto fiscal autonomy was comparatively high due to its relative wealth. External Effectiveness The de jure and de facto effectiveness of territorial authorities in state decisionmaking processes was also highly variable. Regime type helped explain the variation, but there were other factors. In the democratic/ democratizing cases, the relative electoral weight of the territories inf luenced their de facto inf luence in state decisionmaking processes. Notably, the inf luence of Catalan nationalist deputies in the Spanish Congress at times of minority central governments gave the territory, periodically, significant clout. This contrasts markedly with Corsica, which had many fewer seats in both French houses of parliament and no king-maker role. Both the TAR and HKSAR had formal representation in the National People’s Congress of China, but this body mainly served to legitimate state policies rather than make law. Catalonia’s experience underlines that de facto ongoing inf luence in state decisionmaking processes requires that territorial representatives be given an institutionalized role and decisive inf luence when territorial competencies and interests are at stake. The new Generalitat-State Bilateral Commissions provided for in the 2006 autonomy statute may improve the effectiveness of Catalan authorities in this regard. At the same time the experience of Hong Kong suggests that an institutionalized role for territorial representatives

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in state decisionmaking bodies will not necessarily enhance the protection of the autonomy of territory authorities. The failures of the Committee for the Basic Law to protect judicial autonomy in Hong Kong were a case in point. With respect to France, because the state remained highly unitary, the Corsican authority had no de jure autonomous legislative or regulatory authority, if by the early 2000s, it had mild de jure scope for asymmetry in that it could in limited ways adapt regulations in its areas of functional competence. In addition, while the French parliament could legally revise the Corsican autonomy statute on its own, during the Matignon Process in the late 1990s, state authorities consulted with the Corsican Assembly and a broader range of civil society groups than had previously been the case. By 2003, island voters were asked their views on other amendments to Corsica’s autonomy arrangement through a referendum the result of which was not legally binding, but proved politically decisive. By comparison, the role of Catalan authorities in amending the territorial autonomy statute was highly institutionalized. By law, although either the Catalan authorities or the Spanish parliament could initiate amendments to the statute, the changes had to be approved by a two-thirds majority of the Catalan parliament and by the Spanish parliament before being approved by the majority of Catalonia electors in a referendum. Scope for Asymmetry The final critical indicator of political autonomy was the scope the territorial authorities had to diverge from standard policies used elsewhere in the state. In each of the special status arrangements studied, territorial authorities were permitted some de jure and de facto policy asymmetry, but to starkly different degrees. The Catalonia AC had fairly strong de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry, though less so in areas of competence shared with the state. The Hong Kong arrangement had strong de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry, though the latter was weaker in areas deemed politically sensitive by the central government, such as democratization. The Seventeen-Point Agreement in 1950s central Tibet allowed the territory high de jure scope for policy asymmetry within its traditional spheres. However, this scope was more limited in practice where these spheres were affected by state-led modernization measures or state-building processes. If the territorial authorities of the post-1980 TAR had some de jure scope for policy asymmetry, most independent analysts suggest this scope was very limited in practice, particularly in politically sensitive areas such

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as religion, migration, and development policies. Overall, the Corsica territorial authority had low to moderate de jure and de facto scope for policy asymmetry by the mid-2000s. Inclusive Citizenship for Internal Minorities In all of the cases, there were constraints on the citizenship of internal minorities. These internal inequalities largely predated the special status arrangements and ref lected the political economy, gender, and other social orders in which the arrangements were embedded. In this sense, generally speaking, the cases provide evidence for the assertion that minority autonomy arrangements are not inherently harmful to internal minorities. However, the study also found that the institutions, processes, and identity politics associated with the arrangements sometimes did reinforce some inequalities. It also identified some of the difficulties involved in trying simultaneously to promote the collective citizenship of territorial identity communities and improve inclusiveness for vulnerable internal minorities. Overall, the cases suggest that a liberal-democratic political system may be a necessary, but insufficient condition for creating a form of special status that enhances internal citizenship, particularly with respect to socioeconomic inequality. Yet, this does not mean the authoritarian context arrangements fared better with respect to addressing poverty. They did not. The cases provide many examples of the ongoing, multifaceted dialogic contestation over the terms and boundaries of citizenship that Tully and Gladney identified as characteristic of identity politics in the modern territorial state. The cases illustrate the unfolding of these political dynamics in special status arrangements along two axes, stateterritorial and intraterritorial, and suggest some of the ways and reasons that the two axes are intertwined. They also point to some of the unjust outcomes of the politics of special status. To recall, we have borrowed Tully’s term “open-endedness” to refer the extent to which it was possible within this politics, for the contending parties freely to contest and change the understanding of community identity and values and the purposes of self-rule. The cases provide evidence to support Tully’s view that open-endedness is essential as a first step if inclusive citizenship for internal minorities is to be strengthened. Regime type appears to be the key factor accounting for the differences in the open-endedness amongst the cases, although not in a straightforward way. Other factors also mattered, including particularly the social character of territorial elites, including their class and

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ideological identifications, and whether state norms protecting inclusive citizenship helped compensate for internal citizenship deficits in the territorial realm. The arrangements in democratic/democratizing contexts were the most open-ended. The authoritarian context arrangements were less open-ended overall. The arrangement for central Tibet in the 1950s had the expressed purpose of institutionalizing traditional socioeconomic and political institutions and norms that marginalized many ordinary Tibetans, although this was part of a united front strategy that aimed to improve the lives of poorer Tibetans over the longer term. It is unclear how much ordinary Tibetans were able to or did challenge the exclusionary socioeconomic terms of the Seventeen-Point Agreement, given Mao’s attempts to curb the reformist enthusiasm of his own cadres. The evidence suggests that some ordinary Tibetans were at least as concerned about challenging PRC rule as they were internal exclusion, and there was little political space in which to do either. That space was further reduced under the TAR, especially from the later 1980s. This was the case both for the poor, mostly rural Tibetan majority, still the most vulnerable internal minority in central Tibet despite its numerical dominance, and for those who openly challenged PRC policies or were excluded by the state for their strong attachments to Tibetan Buddhism and other aspects of territorial culture. For these internal minorities, there was little scope for them, in practice, openly to challenge the terms of the special status arrangement that harmed their citizenship. This is despite the TAR offering ordinary Tibetans formal political participation rights and access to state employment that was relatively rare or unavailable in the pre-1959 period. The Hong Kong special status arrangement was also not open-ended because it institutionalized elements of laissez-faire capitalist norms and the values associated with the economistic and ethno-patriotic ethos attributed to Hong Kong Chinese residents by dominant discourses. The institutions of the special status arrangement were structured, through formal and informal means, so as to block changes that were perceived as threatening to the socioeconomically unequal, undemocratic, and racialized existing order. However, while there are echoes of the TAR here, vulnerable groups in the HKSAR—the poor, women, immigrants, non-Han Chinese residents, and pro-democracy and human rights activists—had more political space than their central Tibet counterparts in which to challenge exclusionary citizenship. If Hong Kong remained undemocratic and China remained authoritarian, the special status arrangement did provide meaningful, if imperfect

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legal protection for freedom of speech and assembly and other civil rights and liberties as well as multiparty competitive elections for half the Legislative Council. The democratizing/democratic regime context of the arrangements for Catalonia and Corsica made them more open-ended, but only within the limits imposed by the wider political economic and social orders. This affected the quality of democracy in practice. In both cases, liberal-democratic institutions and practices created political space in which the intercultural members of the minority territorial community, diversely situated in multiple fields of power related to ethnicity, language, class, religion, immigration status, gender and so on, could challenge the dominant collective understanding of core values and the purposes of self-rule. The Catalonia arrangement has been more open-ended in practice too. This was exemplified by the alternance in government in Catalonia in 2003, when a governing coalition of Catalan socialists with left-wing Catalan nationalists opened up the possibility of searching for better ways to articulate the struggle for stronger political autonomy for Catalonia with the struggle to build a more socioeconomically and culturally inclusive Catalan society. The relative open-endedness of the Catalan arrangement was supported by dominant representations of Catalan identity that had strong civic elements, a competitive political party system, and a pluralistic political culture, all of which were weaker in Corsica. There, a culture of impunity, a political party system significantly inf luenced by clientelist politics and radical nationalism, a weak human rights culture, as well as more exclusionary ethnic understandings of Corsican identity reduced pluralism and weakened the quality of democracy. At the same time, there were Corsicans who were using the political space available to challenge the exclusionary status quo, with some success since the late 1990s. Indeed, Catalonia’s experience also points to the limits of liberaldemocratic institutions with respect to internally inclusive citizenship. Despite their formal equality in terms of political participation rights, evidence suggests that native Castilian-speakers were more likely than native Catalan-speakers to abstain in territorial elections. Moreover, despite Catalonia’s relative wealth, its levels of public social protection coverage were relatively weak in the Spanish context, not directly because of the special status arrangements or Catalan nationalism, but significantly because of the Center-Right ideology of successive CiUled nationalist governments and the territory’s lack of fiscal autonomy, as well as other factors. If a liberal-democratic context has proven an

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insufficient condition for producing strongly inclusive socioeconomic and de facto political citizenship in special status arrangements in practice, the authoritarian contexts studied fared no better. Moreover, in Hong Kong, the poor record of most pro-democracy political parties with respect to issues of socioeconomic inclusion suggests that democratization of the territorial political system would not on its own produce policies that seriously addressed inequality as a citizenship issue. In the TAR, most central Tibetans were still amongst the poorest people in China, despite some gains since 1980. To varying degrees, representations of minority territorial identity relied on the othering of immigrant and migrant outsiders or internal ethnic minorities, although it should be noted that this othering is found in communities without minority identity claims, too. In each case, also, the presence of some migrants and immigrants complicated the goal of advancing collective citizenship for the minority territorial community. This was particularly so with respect to the protection of territorial languages, which to varying degrees faced simultaneous challenges from state language laws and practices and market forces. In addition to their often precarious socioeconomic status, immigrant, migrant, and internal ethnic minorities sometimes also experienced formal political exclusion. In terms of their voting rights in territorial elections, variation across the cases ref lected regime type and the position of the territory and of internal minorities in the global and state economy. In both Catalonia and Corsica, state-level norms based on individual equality and a civic version of modern territorial state nationality determined formal voting rights. Immigrants who were non-nationals could not vote in territorial elections, but all Spanish nationals residing in the territory could do so, regardless of ethnicity. By contrast, Hong Kong had its own distinctive territorial citizenship regime that ref lected the PRC ethno-nationalist conception of nationality as well as Hong Kong’s history of allowing the political participation of resident capitalists and transnational managers of diverse ethnic backgrounds and national statuses. In the complex pattern of exclusion based on class, ethnicity, and nationality that resulted, foreign migrant workers as well as PRC nationals without permanent HKSAR residency were denied political participation rights, while permanent residents, even those who were not PRC nationals, were given voting rights, but not the right to hold all public offices. In the TAR, Han Chinese and some other non-Tibetan groups had a small number of seats set aside for them in territorial political bodies, while the majority of seats were granted to ethnic Tibetans. Yet, real political power lay

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with the Chinese Communist Party, military, and other central state institutions, which were dominated by Han Chinese. “Multi-leveled citizenship” helped advance some dimensions of equality for women in the four special status arrangements. Linklater (1998: esp. Chapter 6) conceives of multi-leveled citizenship in terms of the ability of territorial residents to make rights claims simultaneously in multiple political communities, such that citizenship deficits and excesses in one can be offset by the other (see also Henders 2004c). In central Tibet, Corsica, and Catalonia, state-level laws and policies— the result of political struggles by feminists and their allies—offered important protection for the formal political equality of women. In these cases, state-level laws and policies enabled more women to hold seats in the territorial legislature or its equivalent (although still not at parity levels). By contrast in Hong Kong, the evoking of internationallevel equality norms by Hong Kong women played a greater role in impelling advances in the status of women in the 1990s. This was in the context of the impending establishment of the HKSAR, including the requirement, under the Sino-British Joint Declaration, that key international human rights treaties, which included norms protecting formal gender equality, be brought into Hong Kong law, although there were other factors. The continuing socioeconomic vulnerability of women at rates above men in all four societies, despite important advances in women’s labor market status in each, appeared to have more to do with lingering patriarchal social relations at multiple levels than with the institutions of special status per se, although more investigation of the gender dimensions of these arrangements and their associated nationalist and regionalist politics is needed. Special status arrangements are increasingly important modalities of the contemporary state because of their potential to contribute to developing forms of territorial governance that better articulate difference and universality in ways that enhance both order and justice. Collectively, the experiences with special status studied here point to the positive contributions, both instrumental and normative, that asymmetrical territorial governance strategies have made to the building of the PRC and the holding together of the PRC, France, and Spain. They have also contributed significantly to other state goals—decolonization, economic development, and democratization stand out amongst them. However, the cases also point to the conf lict-producing effects of special status arrangements on the political dynamics of states. They also point to the perpetually unfinished nature of the arrangements

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as citizenship projects, whether as means of providing minority territorial communities with meaningful political autonomy or as means of protecting the more vulnerable members of those communities. Even in the authoritarian contexts studied, the special status arrangements did advance the citizenship of minority territorial communities, if sometimes extremely weakly and ambiguously and always incompletely. In this respect, the citizenship deficits for Tibetans in the TAR have been particularly great. Across the cases, it was also striking how limited the arrangements were in their ability on their own to reduce state-territorial and intraterritorial inequalities and exclusion rooted in deeper social orders, including their political economy and gender dimensions. However, the relative open-endedness of the democratizing/democratic context arrangements, and to a lesser extent the Hong Kong arrangement, too, at least allowed some political space in which the minority territorial communities and the vulnerable groups and individuals within them could contest their exclusion. This book provides a number of starting points for further comparative and single case study research on special status arrangements. This research will be crucial for our understanding of the asymmetrical state and its strengths and limitations as a means of simultaneously advancing stability and inclusive citizenship in diverse and evolving societies and polities.

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NOT E S

Two Territoriality, Asymmetry, and Autonomy: Key Concepts, Historical and Contemporary Perspectives 1. On concepts of citizenship that recognize the simultaneous membership of individuals in multiple political communities see Henders (2007). 2. For taxonomies of strategies for managing minority claims see Brubaker (1996); Safran (1994); Elazar (1994); McGarry and O’Leary (1993); Coakley (1993); McRae (1990); Horowitz (1986). On varieties of territorial autonomy, see Safran (2000); Sharpe (1993; 1988); Smith, B.C. (1985); Hicks (1978); Eleazu (1977). 3. Elsewhere, I have used the term “cantonization” (Henders 1997), borrowing from McGarry and O’Leary (1993: 30–31) who define it as “devolution organised on an ethno-territorial basis.” See also Sharpe (1979); Coakley (1993); Rokkan and Urwin (1982). 4. As chapter three explains, the understanding of citizenship used in the present study goes beyond Kymlicka’s focus on “special legal or constitutional measures” as defining “groupdifferentiated rights.”

Three The Origins, Nature, Political Dynamics, and Outcomes of Special Status Arrangements 1. For examples of post-structural and feminist formulations of links between identity claims and political community see, respectively, Campbell (1998) and Anthias and Yuval-Davis (1989). 2. For reasons of space, it is beyond the purview of the present study to examine two other dimensions of citizenship politics associated with special status arrangements and their interdependence with other communities. First, it largely does not look at the effects on citizenship of processes beyond the state that have the potential to harm minority territorial communities and their internal minorities (Young 2001; see also Henders 2004c). Except for a discussion of competing communities of social solidarity, it also largely does not examine the effects of decisionmaking processes within the special status arrangement on political communities elsewhere, whether in the state or beyond (see Young 2001; 2000).

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Notes Four Catalonia as an Autonomous Community

1. The Spanish electoral system benefits large statewide parties and small parties with strong regional support over small parties with support more evenly distributed across Spain. One result is that small regional parties such as the CiU often have had significant power in the Cortes (Keating 1993; Penniman and Mujal-León 1985). 2. Robert Agranoff, communication with the author, February 27, 2009. 3. The Canaries AC, located off the African coast, had its own tax status by virtue of its geographic specificity. It kept all harbor and petroleum taxes and was exempt from EU Value Added Tax (Agranoff 2005). 4. Note that differences in social policy coverage across Spain are relatively small and levels of coverage are universally weak by European standards (Adelantado et al. 2002a). 5. High levels of social capital are thought to facilitate higher levels of coordinated action and cooperation for mutual benefit (Mota 2002). 6. The GDI does not ref lect differences in the recognition and valuing of non-paid or underpaid employment or social reproductive work (Peinado and Céspedes 2004).

Five Corsica after the 1982/1983 Special Statute 1. This term includes the framework laws of March 2 and July 30, 1982 and their elaborations in the laws of January 7 and July 22, 1983. 2. Metropolitan France includes Corsica, but excludes the overseas territories and overseas departments. 3. In INSEE Corse and FASILD (2004), the term “immigrée” refers to residents born outside France who were not French nationals at birth. Individuals who subsequently acquired French nationality were included, but not individuals born in France of immigrant parents, as these individuals would have acquired French nationality at birth. 4. Individuals who returned to France after the Algerian war of independence. 5. Methods included enforced bloc voting by extended clan families, the stuffing and stealing of ballot boxes, the misuse of absentee ballots, and the reactivation of the votes of deceased individuals (Lenclud 1988; Olivesi 1987; Dressler-Holohan 1985). 6. Barbouzes refers to those who attacked nationalist targets, allegedly with state complicity (Boisvert 1988). 7. The other attacks were linked with ordinary criminality and personal vendettas. 8. For a general argument that peripherality facilitates concessions, see Gurr (1993a). 9. Defferre had hoped to allow the Corsican Assembly to make suggestions directly to parliament and wield a suspensive veto over government decrees potentially inconsistent with the special statute pending a Council of State ruling. There had also been discussion of requiring the government or parliament to consult with the Corsican Assembly on any bill, measure, or project concerning Corsica (Boisvert 1988). 10. The Senate, chosen by an electoral college dominated by commune-level representatives, was a major focus of opposition to decentralization because of fear that elected regional authorities would undermine the power of communal and departmental authorities. 11. The regional electoral system, based on a 1985 law, used departmental districts and proportional representation based on a single nontransferable vote. It provided for a 5 percent threshold. Under this system, unstable majorities were a problem both within and outside Corsica, leading parliament to revise the system in 1992. 12. The executive had new authority over state offices for agriculture and rural development, hydrological facilities, and transport, plus a new office for the environment (Olivesi,

Notes

13.

14. 15.

16.

233

Orsoni, and Pastorel 1994; Olivesi and Pastorel 1993). The Joxe law did not repeat the provision of the special statute authorizing the Corsican Assembly to make suggestions to the prime minister concerning state public services, nor the requirement—annulled by the Constitutional Council in May 1991—that the prime minister respond within a fixed period (Ibid.). These included a threshold of five percent and the awarding of a three-seat prime to the electoral list with an absolute majority of the popular vote in the first round. In a second round, the prime was awarded to the list with the most votes, with the rest awarded by a highest averages method. Candidates from defeated lists could join surviving lists (Olivesi 1991; Olivesi, Orsini, and Pastorel 1994; Romi 1991). See also “Transcription simplifiée de la Loi du 22 Janvier 2002,” published by the Préfecture of Corsica, <www.corse.pref.gouv.fr>, viewed January 22, 2004. They included a 15-year economic investment program and exemptions from French inheritance laws. Scheduled to end in 2016, the latter permitted estates to remain undivided indefinitely, contributing to the desertion of villages, with property left in a state of disrepair. A 1996 poll found 86 percent of Corsican respondents opposed independence, but 49 expressed some nationalist sympathy (“Referendum on Corsican independence suggested” Reuters, October 13, 1996).

Six

Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region

1. The Hong Kong members must be “Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region with no right of abode in any foreign country” and are jointly nominated by the Chief Executive, Legislative Council President, and Chief Justice of the Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal (BL Appendix: Proposal by the Drafting Committee for the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region on the Establishment of the Committee for the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region under the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress). 2. For more information on the PRC people’s congress system see chapter seven n.6.

Seven Central Tibet from the Sino-Tibetan Seventeen-Point Agreement to the Tibet Autonomous Region 1. The approximately 20,000 PLA troops who attacked Tibet were battle-hardened, experienced, relatively well-equipped and commanded, and backed by an army of 5 million. Tibet had 3,500 troops in eastern Tibet and army of some 13,000 that was poorly equipped, trained, and disciplined (Goldstein 1989). Van Walt van Praag (1987) provides other troop estimates. 2. Tibetan elites were well aware the Agreement would given them much less self-rule than they had had under the Qing, when at most Tibet had been a loose protectorate of China (Goldstein 2007). 3. The united front strategy aimed to create the broadest base of legitimacy for the new partystate by building a broad alliance of supporters by setting fairly minimal goals and defining the enemy as narrowly as possible (see Teiwes 1997). 4. For a contrasting view, see Dreyfus (1994). 5. Mishra (2003) does not indicate whether Nepalese also left.

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6. As in the rest of China, the TAR People’s Congress is not directly elected through universal adult suffrage, but chosen by lower-level prefectural and county people’s congresses. The TAR People’s Congress, in turn, elects members to the NPC (Art. 97, 112, 113, 114). 7. The implications of this are unclear, as one researcher suggests that students educated in “inland” schools often become the most Tibetan nationalist (Shakya 2008). 8. Golmud was once sparsely populated by Tibetan herders. Since the arrival of the railway 40 years ago and with oil and mineral development, it has become a city of 200,000 mostly Han residents. Only 5 percent are Tibetan (Hoh 2004; Rupert Wingfield-Hayes, “China’s ambitious railway,” BBC News (online), August 1, 2001). 9. The report is based on official PRC statistics and the analysis of PRC experts. Its human development index used three indicators: life expectancy at birth; educational attainment based on adult literacy and school enrollment rates; and standard of living based on real GDP per capita and expressed in terms of purchasing power parity (UNDP 2005). 10. On the complexity of education statistics in China, see Fischer (2005). He also underlines the appallingly low education levels in Tibet, but suggests the illiteracy rate was closer to 47.3 percent in 2000 for those over 15 years of age. He also argues that slow improvements in literacy since then have mostly been in urban areas and amongst primary school-aged children, so have not addressed the immediate need of adult rural Tibetans to compete in the labor market against much better educated non-Tibetans. 11. My thanks to Andrew Fischer for this point.

SOU RC E S

CI T E D

Interviews Cleries i Gonzàlez, Josep Lluís, Deputy, CiU, Catalan Parliament, Barcelona, March 10, 2006. Estruch Mestres, M. Teresa, Deputy, PSC, Catalan Parliament, Barcelona, March 8, 2006. Giovanetti, Brigitte, Ajaccio, Corsica, June 18, 2006. Maoudj, Danièle, Bastia, Corsica, June 21, 2006. Mesado, Àngel, Advisor, ERC, Catalan Parliament, Barcelona, March 9, 2006. Paccou, André, Corsican Director, La Ligue de Droits des Hommes, Ajaccio, Corsica, June 19, 2006. Graziani Parci, Paule, Adjointe au Maire, Ville de Bastia, Corsica, June 22, 2006. Vincensini, Noëlle, President, Association “Avà Basta,” Ajaccio, Corsica, June 19, 2006.

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I N DE X

Académie de Corse, 107 Aceh, 1 Açores, 109 Agranoff, Robert, 13, 47 Aguado, José Mena, 72, 73 Ajaccio, 96, 111 Alava, 51 Algerian immigrants, 118 Alsace-Lorraine, 99 Amdo Chinese communist reforms in, 177–8, 201, 213 Chinese military action in, 168, 179, 180 exclusion from special status region, 175 relations with central Tibet, 166 revolts against Chinese, 169, 201 Andalucia, 53, 54, 58, 61, 73 Andreani, Jean-Louis, 109 Anglo-Chinese wars, 127 “anti-state institutions,” 7, 8, 11, 32 Aragon, 54 Arel, Dominique, 38 Arunachal Pradesh, 165 Asian financial crisis, 128, 148, 153, 155 Asian tiger economies, 128 asymmetry functions, 208 in pre-modern times, 6 scholarship on, 5, 6 types, 13–15, 204, 209, 210, 213–14

see also special status arrangements; individual types of asymmetry Australia, 132, 184 authoritarianism assumptions about, 3 decisionmaking and, 126, 196, 220 sovereignty and control, 161, 188, 202, 209, 211, 225 special status concessions and, 26, 43, 205, 212 stability, 204 transitions from, 49, 50, 55, 57 Autonomous Communities of Spain (ACs) central government and, 73 competencies, 61–2, 67 creation, 53, 64–5, 210, 211 foral, 62, 68, 222 internal minorities, 78, 83, 84 state constitution and, 58–60, 86 uniformism, 53, 54, 211 Avà Basta, 111, 120, 122 Avalokitesvara, 166 Baden-Wurttemberg, 68 Balearic Islands, 54, 84 Banting, Keith, 22, 78 Barcelona, 55, 56, 77 Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong SAR Chinese reunification through, 134 creation, 127 interpretation of, 145, 151, 160, 220, 223

264

Index

Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong SAR—Continued promise of democratization, 143 provisions, 137–41, 144, 150–1 Basque Autonomous Community, 53, 59, 61, 62, 68 Basque Country Catalonia and, 216–17 historical factors, 7 nationalist movement, 50, 53, 56, 57, 63, 205 regions, 51 social equality, 78, 84 special status, 49, 51, 77 tax status, 62, 68 Basque Nationalist Party, 53, 73 Basque region of France, 97, 99 Bastia, 111 Beijing, 130, 142, 197 Belgium, 22, 70 Bhutan, 165, 169, 184 Bill of Rights Ordinance (Hong Kong), 157 BL, see Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong SAR Blackwood, Robert J., 108 Bonnet, Bernard, 113 British India, 166 Brittany, 97, 98 Brown, David, 32 Campbell, David, 40, 217 Canada, 1, 23, 132, 184 Canary Islands, 61, 84, 109, 232n3 Cantabria, 64 Cantonese language, 44, 130–1, 141, 146, 155, 206 Cap Corse, 93 capitalism cultural identity and, 26, 27 equality and, 18, 50, 83 and the nation-state, 6, 19, 26 territorial autonomy and, 28 see also globalization

CARCE (Conferencia para Asuntos Relacionados con la Comunidad Europea), 62 Castile, 64 Castilian language areas of Spain, 54 in Catalonia, 48, 52, 64, 71, 75, 78, 79–80, 226 immigrants and, 83 international reach, 66, 69 official status, 59, 65–6 Spanish identity and, 73 Catalan Autonomous Community asymmetry and autonomy, 53, 54, 63–71, 209, 213, 218, 219–20 borders, 54 competencies, 15, 59–62, 67–8, 70, 71, 74–6 context of autonomy agreement, 42, 44 creation, 55–7 electoral turnout, 79–80 ethnolinguistic diversity, 54–5, 65 fiscal deficit, 68, 69, 74, 75, 79, 82 internal minorities, 48, 55, 65, 77–85, 86, 226, 228 nature of special status, 16–17, 43, 57–63 origins of special status, 55–7 outcomes of special status, 71–85 social program revenue transfers, 22, 67 stability, 72–3, 216–17 tax status, 62, 68, 75, 78–9, 222 tensions related to special status, 63–71 see also Catalonia; Generalitat (Catalonia) Catalan Autonomy Statute, 53, 57, 65, 71–6, 86, 213, 217, 218 Catalan language ban on use, 51 globalization and, 69 hostility towards, 67

Index identity and, 49, 52, 62 non-native competence, 55, 63, 65, 80 official status, 59, 61, 63, 65–6, 69, 70–1, 75, 86 prestige, 52, 80, 210 varieties, 54, 59 Catalan Republican Left (ERC), 53, 71, 79, 83, 85 Catalonia, 49–87 civil law, 51–2, 59 conceptualizations of, 86–7, 226 education, 75, 80, 82, 83 European integration, 50, 63, 65, 69 globalization and, 28, 50, 63, 65, 69 historical background, 7, 50–5 immigration, 74, 77, 81–3 nationalism, 8, 49, 62–3, 71–4, 78, 206 political elites, 74, 205 political parties, 53 population and wealth, 52, 54–5, 207 recognition as nation, 74, 76, 208, 214 socioeconomic inequality, 78–9 see also Catalan Autonomous Community CCP, see Chinese Communist Party (CCP) Central Asia, 165 Central Europe, 49 Chan, Anson, 158 Chang, Mau-kuei, 34 Changan, 167 Chen Kuiyuan, 193 Chenresig, 166 Cheung, Sin-keung, 154 China civil war, 127 feudal period, 9 imperial governance, 5, 9–11 Republican government, 11, 167 see also People’s Republic of China (PRC) Chinese Communist Party (CCP) attitude to minorities, 171 attitude to Tibetans, 164, 176, 198

265

civil war experiences, 169, 171 durability of HKSAR, 151 egalitarian promises, 176 final authority, 181, 196, 220, 227–8 Hong Kong branch, 145 Panchen Lama and, 175 people’s congress vetting process, 144 plan for Tibetan integration, 173, 177 Tibetan women’s organization and, 181 Tibet branch, 183, 188, 196 understanding of nation, 142, 172 Chinese language, 141, 187, 191, 194 see also Cantonese; Mandarin Chinese (putonghua); Modern Standard Chinese Chinese Nationalists, 170, 171, 174 Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress (CPPCC), 140, 151, 187, 190 Chirac, Jacques, 112 CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), 179 citizenship asymmetrical, 22, 24 exclusionary, 35–6 inclusive, 38–41, 48 inequalities of, 19, 31, 35 in international law, 7 minority territorial autonomy and, 12, 40, 203 multi-leveled, 228 socioeconomic dimensions, 19, 28 territorial states and, 39–40 universalist claims, 6, 14, 18, 19 Citizens-Party of the Citizenry (C-PC), 66 CiU (Convergència i Unió) brand of nationalism, 54, 63, 70, 75, 83, 86 coalition government, 53, 66, 71 gender inequality and, 84–5 policies, 68, 69, 70, 77–8, 82, 209 voter response, 67 Ciutadans-Partido de la Ciudadanía (C-PC), 66

266

Index

Cleries i Gonzàlez, Josep Lluís, 63, 74, 79, 82 Cold War, 43, 49, 135, 169, 170 Colonna, Yvan, 112 Commission de Développement Economique de la Corse, 93 Commission Nationale Consultative des Droits de l’Homme, 120 Committee of the Regions (EU), 109 communism in China, 11 citizenship and, 17, 18 egalitarian ideals, 172 marketization, 43 Soviet model, 171, 193 state-building, 33, 43, 44 Conciertos Económicos, 51 Conferencia para Asuntos Relacionados con la Comunidad Europea (CARCE), 62 Confucianism, 9–10 Constitutional Council (France), 102–6 Constitutional Tribunal (Spain), 60, 63, 65–6, 73, 75 constitutions “hidden,” 18, 32 recognition of territorial identities, 15, 210 territorial veto over amendments, 47 times of rupture, 31–4, 42, 203, 206 times of shift, 31–4, 42, 202–3, 206 Consultative Commission on Human Rights (France), 120 Convergència i Unió (CiU), see CiU (Convergència i Unió) Corse-du-Sud, 93 Corsica, 89–123 administration, 92–3 civil society groups, 110–11, 113, 117–18, 120, 122, 223 competencies, 101, 104, 106, 118 context for special status concessions in, 32, 42, 44 democracy and equality, 101–2, 110–11, 123, 206

demographic trends, 93–4, 107–8, 118 economic underdevelopment, 92, 93, 108, 114, 115 elections, 95, 100, 105 historical factors, 7, 27, 91–6, 122 identity, 95, 110, 112, 117, 120, 122, 226 immigration, 93–4, 107–8 internal minorities, 48, 91, 93–4, 115–23 marginality, 91, 93, 109, 207 names, 100 nationalism, 8, 93, 94, 113, 115, 120, 121–2 nature of special status, 16–17, 43, 99–101, 114–15, 209 origins of special status, 96–9 outcomes of special status, 112–23 public unrest, 108 recognition as “people,” 103, 113, 214 state stability and, 112–14, 217 statut particulier, 90, 96–101, 103 taxation, 92, 109–10, 211, 222 tensions related to special status, 101–12 traditional elites, 94–5, 99, 112, 117, 206 violence, 95–6, 98, 105, 110–11, 113, 117–18, 206 women, 95, 115–18, 119, 228 Corsican Assembly asymmetry and autonomy, 99–100, 104, 105–6, 112, 114, 213, 218, 223 domination by traditional elites, 102 external effectiveness, 223 nationalists in, 113 women in, 116, 117 Corsica Nazione, 110 Corsican Economic Development Commission, 93 Corsican Economic Expansion Fund, 93 Corsican language features, 91 instruction, 100, 105 nationalism and, 92

Index prestige, 210 protection, 107–8 Corsican National Liberation Front (FLNC), 96, 120 Corsican Workers Union, 113 Corte, 113 Council of State (France), 103 C-PC (Ciutadas-Partido de la Ciudadanía), 66 CPPCC (Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress), 140, 151, 187, 190 Cultural Revolution, 44, 182, 183, 195, 201, 206 Culture, Education and Environment Council (France), 99 Daftary, Farimah, 114 Dalai Lama (institution), 165, 166, 167, 169, 172–3, 174, 191 see also Thirteenth Dalai Lama; Fourteenth Dalai Lama Davis, Michael C., 136 Defferre, Gaston, 89–90, 232n9 Defferre reforms, 89–90, 97, 99, 103, 104 democracy, 25–26, 41, 42–3, 96 Democratic Pact for Catalonia (DPC), 56 Democratic Party (Hong Kong), 157 Deng Xiaoping, 133, 134, 144 Denmark, 22 de Rocca Serra, Camille, 122 devolutionary special status arrangements, 16, 43, 210, 212 Dharamsala, 184 Diada, 56 directionality, 16, 43, 137, 161, 210, 212, 216 DPC (Pacte Democràtic per Catalunya), 56 Dressler-Holohan, Wanda, 41 Eastern Europe, 49 Economic and Social Council (France), 99

267

economic development, 12, 26–9, 207, 214–15 English language in Hong Kong, 44, 131, 141, 146 international inf luence, 66, 69, 107, 108 in Tibet, 168 environmental protection, 12, 26, 44, 94, 162 Equal Opportunities Commission (Hong Kong), 157 ERC (Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya), 53, 71, 79, 83, 85 Erignac, Claude, 96, 105, 111, 112, 113 Estruch Mestres, M. Teresa, 68, 74, 79, 82 ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna), 53 ethnonationalism, 5, 8, 21, 67, 96, 111, 136, 206 see also identity European Commission, 110 European Communities, 67, 70 European Court of Justice, 76 European integration Catalonia and, 50, 63, 69, 77, 211 Corsica and, 90, 101, 104, 109, 123, 211 fiscal effects, 108, 214 weakening of nation-states and, 8 European Union (EU) Catalonia and, 61, 62, 69, 70–1, 74, 75, 218 Corsica and, 109–10 elections, 117 relationship with France, 106 standardization, 92 Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA), 53 Euskara, 59 Executive Council (Hong Kong), 158 external affairs competencies Catalonia, 70, 209, 218 central state control, 76, 174 Hong Kong, 137, 155 territorial autonomy, 12 Tibetan, 185 external effectiveness, 47, 222–3

268

Index

Falun Gong, 151 Faroe Islands, 22 federal forms of government autonomy arrangements and, 12, 47, 204, 209, 220, 221, 222 China and, 125, 140, 161, 220 Soviet Union and, 171 in Spain, 58, 59, 64, 70, 71, 98, 219 First Nations, 23 Fischer, Andrew Martin, 197 Flemish regionalism, 22, 28 FLNC (Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale di a Corsica), 96, 120 Fonds d’Expansion Economique de la Corse, 93 Foucauldian perspectives, 33 Fourteenth Dalai Lama attraction to egalitarian ideals, 172, 176 government in exile, 184, 188, 201 “middle way” proposal, 185, 214 peaceful resistance, 185 PRC distrust of, 190, 192 request for special status, 149, 184, 193, 201, 211, 214 response to rebellion, 179 Seventeen-Point Agreement and, 169, 180 France Communist Party, 89 constitution, 99, 100, 101–2, 106, 114–15 decentralization, 89–90, 97–9, 103, 114, 210 democratic maintenance in, 42–3 feudal governance, 7 fiscal policies, 108 gender parity law, 111, 117 “hidden” constitution, 90 immigrants, 119, 122 legacy of revolution, 23, 27 overseas territories, 100, 104, 105, 109, 207 regional languages, 91–2, 107 Socialist Party, 89, 90, 95, 97, 98, 103, 105, 205

unemployment, 92 unitary nature, 98, 100, 106, 123, 209, 223 women, 115–18 Franco, Francisco, 42, 49 Franco regime, 51, 54, 55, 63, 80, 86 Fraser, Nancy, 27 Fraser Institute, 147 Fredrickson, George M., 42 French language, 91, 100, 107, 108, 119 French Revolution, 90 Fronte di Liberazione Naziunale di a Corsica (FLNC), 96, 120 Front Nationale, 122 functional asymmetry, 15, 100, 136, 172, 210, 214 Galicia, 8, 49, 50, 59, 79, 84 Galician language, 59 Gang of Four, 182, 183 Gansu, 165 Gellner, Ernst, 8, 18–19 gender identity and, 19, 24, 219 modern territorial state and, 6, 35 parity laws, 85, 111, 117 special status arrangements and, 204, 224, 226 struggle for equality, 39 see also women Generalitat (Catalonia) in Bilateral Commission, 75–6, 222 competencies, 61, 69, 70, 73, 75, 83 establishment and revival, 51, 53, 56, 59 Genoa, 91 George, Alexander L., 41–2 German language, 108 Gladney, Dru C., 187, 224 globalization demands for autonomy and, 218 effects on autonomy, 63, 69, 108, 147, 204, 221 special status concessions as response to, 2, 28 weakening of nation-state, 8, 22

Index Goldstein, Melvyn C., 173 Golmud, 194, 234n8 Graziani Parci, Paule, 111, 120, 122 Great Leap Forward, 179 Green Initiative for Catalonia-United Left Alternative (ICV-EUiA), 53 group-differentiated rights in China, 182, 185, 187 Communist states and, 18 defined, 13–14 in France, 27, 104 inclusive citizenship and, 39 in special status arrangements, 47 Grunfeld, A. Tom, 178 Guangdong province, 130, 131, 141 Guangzhou, 130 Guatemala, 28 Gurr, Ted Robert, 32 Hainan Island, 168 Hale, Charles, 28 Han Chinese domination of party-state, 9–11, 188, 191 in Hong Kong, 129, 130, 142, 159–60, 206 languages, 130–1 migration into minority nationality regions, 171, 193–4, 197 Tibet and, 169, 187, 193–4, 197, 200, 202, 215, 227–8 Hannum, Hurst, 37 Hartzell, Caroline A., 21 Hashmi, Sohail H., 19 Haute Corse, 93 He, Baogang, 189, 212 Hechter, Michael, 216 Himalayas, 44 HKSAR, see Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) Hong Kong under British rule, 126–28, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133–4, 155, 157 Chinese takeover, 11, 43, 44, 125, 133–6

269

civil society groups, 143, 145, 150, 154–5, 156, 157, 159–61, 161–2 democracy, 41, 132, 143–4 economic inequality, 129, 149, 152–7 economic profile, 127–9, 147–8, 218 intercultural identities, 129–31, 136, 141, 142, 161 internal minorities, 48, 131, 152–61, 162, 225, 227 languages, 130–31, 141, 146–7 liberal-capitalist way of life, 44, 127–32, 161, 218 public protests, 140, 143–4, 145, 155 representations of, 129–30, 152, 153–4, 156, 225 symbolic importance, 126–7, 207, 211 transnational outlook, 131–2, 140 women, 128, 157–9, 228 see also Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) Hong Kong elites democratization and, 126, 143, 145, 217 institutional dominance, 220 intercultural identities, 206 pro-China stance, 132–3, 136, 144, 151, 161, 206 representations of Hong Kong people, 156 work on Basic Law, 127, 151 Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions, 152 Hong Kong Journalists Association, 142 Hong Kong Social Security Society, 153 Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR), 125–62 asymmetry and autonomy, 126, 136–50, 208, 209, 220 citizenship issues, 140, 151–2, 154, 156, 159–61, 215 creation, 43, 125–6 democratization, 126, 143–4, 150, 156, 158, 213 elections, 132, 139, 143, 144, 157 fiscal autonomy, 137, 149, 222

270

Index

HKSAR—Continued human rights, 138, 142, 150, 157 internal minorities, 126, 215 judicial autonomy, 144–5, 147, 160 nature of special status, 15, 16, 43 133–41, 149 office of Chief Executive, 139, 140, 143, 151, 220 origins of special status, 133–6 outcomes of special status, 150–61 specified end date, 16, 150, 213, 214 stability, 135, 150–1, 216, 217 temporary nature, 16, 150, 213, 214 tensions related to special status, 141–50 see also Basic Law (BL) of the Hong Kong SAR; Hong Kong; Sino-British Joint Declaration ( JD) Horowitz, Donald L., 32 Hui minority nationality, 187, 200 Hu Jintao, 184 human rights in Corsica, 120, 226 denial of self-rule and, 21 in Hong Kong, 126, 138, 143, 150, 228 international agreements on, 228 protection, 22, 157 in Tibet, 183, 191, 192, 195 Human Rights in China, 190 Human Rights Watch, 191 Hu, Yaobang, 183, 206 ICV-EUiA (Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds-Esquerra Unida i Alternativa), 53 identity across borders, 20, 99, 131, 164, 165 class, 26–7 collective, 31, 33–4 and cultural policy, 12 formation, 33, 34–7, 39, 224 institutional accommodation, 40–1, 208 internal minorities and, 227

in the modern territorial state, 2, 24, 114 and political mobilization, 218 and social boundaries, 19 and territorial asymmetry, 13, 44–5, 208–9 Ile-de-France, 68, 93, 99 immigrants in Catalonia, 55, 65, 78, 81–3, 86 in Corsica, 93–4, 107–8, 118–23, 232n3 in Hong Kong, 131, 155, 160, 225 social protection for, 68, 214, 215 in Tibet, 171, 193–4, 197 as vulnerable internal minorities, 48, 227 imperial rule, 5, 8, 9–11 independence movements in Catalonia, 49, 53, 57, 216 in Corsica, 90, 93, 95, 99, 103, 113, 121 international support for, 90, 169, 170, 207 in Taiwan, 144 in Tibet, 167, 169, 170, 179, 183, 185, 191 vs. territorial autonomy, 12, 21, 207, 218–19 India, 165, 169, 170–1, 177, 184 indigenous peoples, 23, 27, 28, 32, 36 indirect rule in European empires, 8 in imperial China, 10, 167, 169, 171 modern versions of, 11 Indonesia, 1, 32 industrialization, 6 Iniciativa per Catalunya Verds-Esquerra Unida i Alternativa (ICV-EUiA), 53 Inner Asia, 9, 10 institutional asymmetry, 14, 99, 136, 141, 210 integrative special status arrangements, 16, 43, 137, 161, 210, 212, 216 inter-governmental organizations, 12, 13, 28, 138

Index internal minorities collective identity and, 24, 36 intraterritorial conf lict and, 37 protection of, 37–8 quality of citizenship, 38–9, 203–4, 224–9 specific groups examined, 48 vulnerability, 23, 26, 29 International Convenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), 138 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), 138 International Labour Organization (ILO), 155 international law, 7, 21, 35, 134 international tribunals, 22 Iraq, 2 Italian language, 108 Italy, 91, 99 Jacobin movement, 7–8, 23, 27 Japan, 9, 171, 184 JD, see Sino-British Joint Declaration (JD) Jiang Zemin, 125 Jospin, Lionel, 105 Joxe, Pierre, 89 Joxe reforms, 101, 102, 103, 106, 109 Kabeer, Naila, 24 Kabyle, 121 Karmapa Lama, 192 Kazaks, 200 Keating, Michael, 1, 24, 28, 207, 219 Keynesian policy, 19 Kham Chinese communist reforms in, 177–8, 201, 213 Chinese military action, 168, 170, 179, 180 exclusion from special status, 175 relation to central Tibet, 166 revolts against Chinese, 169, 178, 201 Korea, 9, 170, 171 Kosovo, 16

271

Kurds, 2 Kymlicka, Will on ambivalence to minority self-rule, 21 on democratic vs. non-democratic contexts, 2–3, 205 on group-differentiated rights, 13–14 on liberal multiculturalism, 22, 23–4, 37–8, 78 Ladakh, 165 language identity and, 12, 21, 26, 210 protection for, 221, 227 rights, 22 socioeconomic participation and, 26 see also individual languages La Rioja, 64 Latin America, 28, 32, 66, 81 Law on Regional Ethnic Autonomy (LREA) in PRC, 186–7 Legislative Council (Hong Kong), 132, 139, 140, 144, 146, 158 Lehman Brothers, 145 Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, 171 Ley Paccionada (Spain), 51 Lhasa Chinese takeover, 168–9 government workers in, 192 martial law, 184 Qing dynasty relations, 167 railway to, 194 seat of Dalai Lama’s government, 165, 166 spring 2008 protests, 192, 194, 202 unrest in 1952, 177, 181 uprising in 1959, 164, 169, 179, 195, 201 Lhasa Patriotic Women’s Association, 181–2 Lhoba, 200 liberal perspectives, 5, 17–19, 23–4, 39, 43, 96 Linklater, Andrew, 228 Linz, Juan J., 49, 163

272

Index

Lister, Ruth, 4 Lo, Sonny Shiu-hing, 145 Louis XV, 91 LREA (Law on Regional Ethnic Autonomy) in PRC, 186–7 Luciani, Marie-Pierre, 121 Luoba, 200 Lustick, Ian, 38 Maastricht Treaty, 70, 109 Macau, 11, 125, 136 MacFarquhar, Roderick, 178 Madeira, 109 Madrid, 56, 64, 73, 82, 84 Majorcan language, 59 Mancomunitat, 51 Mandarin Chinese (putonghua), 130, 141, 142, 146, 190 Manifeste pour la vie, 110–11, 117 Maoudj, Danièle, 121 Mao Zedong attitude to minorities, 171 curbs on reformist zeal, 177, 211, 225 death, 182, 183 final authority, 220 hopes of Tibetan support, 175, 178, 179, 180, 206 plans for invading Tibet, 170 Seventeen-Point Agreement and, 164, 168–9 Maragall, Pasqual, 54, 72, 77 Mariani, Marie-Thé, 117 Marx, Karl, 19 Marxist perspectives, 5, 17–18, 26, 191, 198 Matignon Process, 101, 105, 111, 118, 123, 216, 223 Mauroy, Pierre, 90 Mayotte, 104 media in autonomous regions, 20, 75 portrayal of immigrants, 81, 215 restrictions in China, 45 scrutiny of Corsican politics, 120

self-censorship in Hong Kong, 142, 144, 147, 151 under Sino-British Joint Declaration, 135, 138 Menba, 200 Merry, Sally Engle, 35 Mesado, Àngel, 79 Mill, John Stuart, 25 Miller, David, 19 Mindanao, 1 Ming dynasty, 10, 167 minority territorial autonomy defined, 12–13 democracy and, 25–6 external effectiveness, 47 internal minorities, 23–4, 26, 29, 36 in international law, 21 redistribution-recognition dilemma, 27 regime type and, 2–3 scholarship, 2–3 tensions associated with, 5, 19–22 minority territorial communities citizenship and, 19, 24, 36, 38–9, 203, 229 demands, 26 identity, 33–6, 206, 210, 227 institutional recognition, 208 internal minorities, 4, 23, 24, 26 isolation, 26 negotiations with state, 96 neoliberalism and, 28, 29 in nondemocratic contexts, 3, 169 role of elites, 13, 28, 33, 35, 206, 208–9 as threats to state stability, 20, 205 types of distinctiveness, 44 Mitterrand, François, 97, 100 Modern Standard Chinese, 130, 141, 146, 155, 190–1 modern territorial state and citizenship model challenges to, 14, 17 China and, 8–11, 136, 167, 176 collective identity claims and, 31, 33–5

Index emergence, 6–7, 18–19 features associated with, 1, 2 in France, 90, 97, 106, 107, 110, 114, 119 social theory and, 17–19, 25, 27–8 in Spain, 58, 70, 86 theory vs. practice, 7, 19, 32 Tibet and, 165–6 universalist ideal, 4 see also nation-state Mongols, 9, 10 Monpa, 200 Montedison, 93 Moroccan immigrants, 55, 118, 119 Mount Kalish, 192 multiculturalism, 22, 23–4, 27–8, 37–8, 78, 207 Muslim minorities, 81, 82, 120, 182, 194 National Assembly (France), 103, 115, 116 National People’s Congress (NPC) of PRC, 127, 139–40, 143, 151, 160, 186, 199, 222 nation-state as basis of identity, 6, 7, 19, 24, 33, 35 challenges to ideal of, 14, 19–23 ideology of the, 11, 14, 18–19 weakening of, 8, 22 see also modern territorial state and citizenship model Navarre, 51, 59, 61, 62, 68, 77, 84 neoliberal political economic order, 27–8 Nepal, 165, 169, 182, 184 New Territories, 127, 157 New Zealand, 132, 184 Nicaragua, 1 Nice, 91 Nord-Pas-de-Calais, 92 Nordquist, Kjell-Åke, 38 North Africa, 48, 55, 81, 93 Ong, Aiwa, 134

273

Paccou, André, 120 Pacte Democràtic per Catalunya (DPC), 56 Panchen Lama, 174, 175, 183, 192 Paoli, Pasquale, 101 Paris, 93, 99, 112 Partido Comunista de España (PCE), 57, 63 Partido Popular (PP), 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 82, 85 Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE), 56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85 Partits dels Socialistes de Catalunya (PSC), 53, 68, 77, 79, 85 Partitu de a Nazione Corsa (PNC), 111 PCE (Partido Comunista de España), 57, 63 Pearl River Delta, 128, 130 People’s Armed Police, 195 People’s Assembly (Mimang Tsondu), 181 People’s Liberation Army (PLA), 142, 168, 170, 174, 180, 188–9, 195, 196 People’s Republic of China (PRC) anti-terrorism efforts, 184 concept of nation, 11, 142, 161, 172, 227 constitution, 136, 185–6 economic liberalization, 126, 127, 128, 133, 134, 147, 161 living standards, 197 minority nationalities, 183, 185–6, 200, 201 and the modern territorial state model, 8–11, 126 political elites, 149, 152, 161, 177, 205 political system, 134, 161, 188, 209, 211, 220 restrictions on freedom, 45, 130, 161, 191–2, 201–2 reunification goals, 134, 135, 136, 206 special economic zones (SEZs), 136, 149 special status arrangements, 1, 2, 3, 21, 43, 125, 172

274

Index

PRC—Continued state-building goals, 43, 44, 133, 134, 136, 164, 169, 173 Tibet sovereignty claims, 11, 167, 207 views on patriotism, 142, 161, 164, 174, 188, 202, 211 see also Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR); Seventeen-Point Agreement; Tibet Philippines, 1, 131 PNC (Partitu de a Nazione Corsa), 111 political asymmetry across case studies, 219 in Catalonia, 60, 223 controversial nature, 214 in Corsica, 224 defined, 15 equality norms and, 210 in Hong Kong, 136, 223 in Tibet, 175, 180, 189, 223 political autonomy, 46–7, 209, 213–14, 219–24 Portugal, 11, 109 PP (Partido Popular), 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 82, 85 Provence–Côte D’Azur–Corse, 92 PSC (Partits dels Socialistes de Catalunya), 53, 68, 77, 79, 85 PSOE (Partido Socialista Obrero Español), 56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85 Pujol, Jordi, 53, 54, 56, 57, 61, 63, 64, 77 Qing dynasty, 9, 10, 11, 166, 167, 181, 207 Qinghai, 165, 176, 196, 197 Quebec, 1, 23, 28 Radio Lhasa, 168 Raffarin, Jean-Pierre, 89, 106, 111 realist international theory, 20 regime asymmetry in Catalonia and Corsica, 212 defined, 15 destabilizing effect, 214

in Hong Kong, 136, 150, 161, 208, 212, 213 in Tibet, 164, 172, 175, 212 regime type, 210–12 comparative study and, 3, 43–4, 204 degree of autonomy and, 209, 220, 227 open-endedness and, 41, 224 political tension and, 209–10, 213 stability and, 38 Rocard, Michel, 89, 103 Roman Catholicism, 73, 81 Rothchild, Donald, 21 Rufin, Jean-Christophe, 120 Russia, 10, 166, 171 Rustow, Dankwart, 25 Ryan, Stephen, 207 Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon, 104 Samuel, Geoffrey, 166 Sardinia, 91 SARS outbreak, 148 Sautman, Barry, 159 Schnapper, Dominique, 22 Schultz, George, 135 Scotland, 1, 25, 28, 32 Second Convention of Peking, 127 Senate (France), 103, 115, 116 Serra i Salamè, Carles, 81 Seventeen-Point Agreement (Sino-Tibetan), 165–82 asymmetry and autonomy, 43, 172–81, 200–1, 209, 211, 223 collapse, 164, 169, 179, 216 establishment, 163, 168 historical time frame, 44 nature of special status, 172–5 origins of special status, 169–72 outcomes of special status, 175–9 prefiguring Hong Kong autonomy, 136 preservation of inequalities, 173, 177, 181, 225 tensions related to special status, 180–2

Index Shakya, Tsering, 179, 190, 192, 194 Shanghai, 127, 147, 196, 197 Shigatse, 175 Sichuan, 165, 167, 176 Sikkim, 165 Simeoni, Edmond, 93 Single European Act, 109 Sino-British Joint Declaration ( JD) China’s international reputation, 134, 174–5 creation, 43, 127 reception, 135 terms and goals, 137–41, 150–1, 157, 228 Socialist Party of Catalonia (PSC), 53, 68, 77, 79, 85 Soviet bloc, 2, 20 Soviet Union, 44, 169, 171, 193 Spain coup attempt, 63, 72 democratization, 42, 49–50, 52, 55, 63, 64, 67, 211 elections, 56 gender equality, 84–5 historical background, 50–5 immigrants, 81–3 medieval territorial identities, 7–8, 76–7 national identity, 73 official languages, 59, 65–6 political parties, 56–7 post-Franco constitution, 52–3, 57–60, 64–5, 71, 74 role of elites, 49–50, 52, 55, 63, 64, 205, 207 stability, 72–3 taxation, 75 see also Autonomous Communities of Spain (ACs) Spanish Civil War, 51, 57 Spanish Communist Party (PCE), 57, 63 Spanish Second Republic, 51, 53 Spanish Socialist Workers Party (PSOE), 56, 57, 63–4, 67, 84, 85 special economic zones (SEZs), 136, 149

275

special status arrangements as “anti-state institutions,” 8 centripetal forces and, 219 from de facto asymmetry, 13 defined, 1, 12 democracy and, 25–6 growing importance, 203, 228 inclusive citizenship and, 50 instrumental character, 205–6 internal minorities and, 23–4, 26, 29, 36 origins, 42–3 tensions associated with, 5, 17, 19–23 varieties, 16–17 Sri Lanka, 2 stability assessing, 38, 46, 215–19 asymmetrical autonomy and, 4, 17, 19–22, 203 and de facto asymmetry, 209 minimal vs. maximal, 38, 216–17 regime type and, 204 state-building, 5, 7, 13, 21, 43, 223 state security asymmetry and, 19–22, 46, 205, 207 Chinese focus on, 141–3, 144, 164, 184, 188–93, 198, 211 Corsica and, 98 Stepan, Alfred, 49 Stockholm, 68 Suárez, Adolfo, 49 Sudan, 1, 16 symbolic asymmetry, 15, 59, 76–7, 136, 208, 210, 214 Syndicat des Travailleurs Corses, 113 Taiwan Hong Kong as “model” for, 126, 133, 148, 206, 207 independence of, 144 sovereignty claims on, 11, 168 Special Economic Zones and, 136 Tibetan diaspora, 184 use of traditional Chinese script, 131 Tambiah, Stanley, 166

276

Index

Tang dynasty, 167 TAR, see Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) Tarradellas, Josep, 56 temporality, 16–17, 43, 210, 212–13 Thatcher, Margaret, 134 Thirteenth Dalai Lama, 165–6 Tiananmen Square protests and crackdown effect on PRC leadership, 150, 193 effects in Hong Kong, 130, 132, 135, 140, 151, 217 taboo subject, 144 Tibet protests compared, 195 Tianjin, 197 Tibet 1959 uprising, 164, 169, 179, 195, 201 citizenship issues, 164, 180–2, 202, 229 civil society group, 181 cultural distinctiveness, 44 historical background, 165–8 imperial China and, 9–10 independence claims, 167, 169, 170, 183, 184, 202 integrative and temporary status, 16–17, 43 internal minorities, 48, 181–2, 196–200, 225 protests, 177, 181, 192, 194, 202, 215 regime asymmetry in, 15, 164, 172, 175 strategic importance, 166–7, 207 traditional government, 165–8, 172–3, 183 women, 181, 199–200, 228 see also Amdo; Dalai Lama; Kham; Seventeen-Point Agreement; Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) Tibetan Buddhism Chinese repression, 169, 182, 183, 191, 225 Gelugpa sect, 174 patriarchal interpretations, 181 political role, 191 role in society, 167, 182, 192, 198, 201 role of Dalai Lama, 166, 184

under Seventeen-Point Agreement, 163, 169, 173 Tibetan elites alliances with Chinese, 164, 177, 178, 194, 206 alliances with rebel leaders, 178 Chinese campaigns against, 169 socialist reforms and, 163, 170, 172, 173, 211–12, 213 support for People’s Assembly, 181 traditional role, 167–8, 183 Tibetan language, 183, 187, 190–1, 197–8, 201 Tibetan people diaspora, 184, 199–200 ethnographic range, 165 identities, 166, 176, 178, 182, 192, 198 under imperial China, 9, 10 living standards, 196–7, 216 poverty, 44, 182, 193, 197 repression by PRC, 191–2, 216 responses to PRC, 176–7, 179, 198 Tibetan Youth Congress (TYC), 185 Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR), 182–202 asymmetry and autonomy, 185–93, 195–6, 209 comparison with Hong Kong, 202 economic circumstances, 186, 194, 195, 222 establishment, 44, 164, 169 in ethnographic Tibet, 165 Han Chinese migration into, 193–4, 197, 215 nature of special status, 185–8 outcomes of special status, 195–200 People’s Congress, 199 protests and resistance, 192, 201–2 public spending, 184, 194–6 restrictions on freedom, 184, 191–2, 201–2 stability, 164, 180, 188, 191, 195–200, 217 tensions related to special status, 188–95

Index Tibet Government in Exile, 184, 185, 188, 200, 201 Tilly, Charles, 7, 8, 11, 32 Tsang, Donald, 154, 156 Tully, James on “hidden constitutions,” 18, 32, 90 on “interculturality,” 34, 192, 217, 224 on open-ended arrangements, 86, 204, 224 on solutions to conf licts, 40–1 Tung, Chee-hwa, 125, 133, 144, 146, 154, 155 Tunisian immigrants, 118, 119, 120 Tuscan language, 91 UCD (Unión de Centro Democrático), 56, 63 UN Development Program, 196–7 UNESCO, 76 Unión de Centro Democrático (UCD), 56, 63 Union of Corsican Workers, 121 Union pour un Mouvement Populaire, 122 Unità Naziunale, 121 United Kingdom election of Labour government, 32 imperial expansion, 10, 166, 167 People’s Republic of China and, 125, 127, 133–4 Scottish autonomy, 1, 25 Tibet and, 170 wealth of South East, 68 see also Hong Kong; Sino-British Joint Declaration ( JD) United Nations (UN), 134, 157, 161, 168, 170 see also UN Development Program United States alliance with Chinese Nationalists, 170 Hong Kong and, 132, 135 invasion of Iraq, 2 Korean War, 170 liberal theory, 23 Tibet and, 168, 170–1, 179, 184 war on terror, 184

277

Uttar Pradesh, 165 Uyghur, 169 Valencia, 54, 61 Valencian language, 59 Vallet, Élisabeth A., 115 Van Cott, Donna Lee, 32 Vietnam, 9, 44 Vincensini, Noëlle, 111, 120, 121, 122 Wales, 32 War of Spanish Succession, 51 welfare state, 19, 22, 67, 78, 211 Weller, Marc, 16 Western Europe emergence of modern territorial state, 6–7, 32 fiscal policies and devolution, 28 increasing territorial differentiation in, 8, 93 view of modernity, 27 welfare state programs, 67 West Lothian question, 25 women in Catalonia, 78, 83–5 in Corsica, 115–8 in Hong Kong, 157–9 as internal minorities, 48 in Tibet, 181–2, 199–200 World War II, 99 WTO (World Trade Organization), 155 Wu, Jinghua, 183 Xi’an, 167 Xinjiang, 10, 165, 169, 200 Yi minority nationality, 183 Young, Iris Marion, 27, 40, 41 Yuan dynasty, 167 Yugoslavia, 44 Yunnan, 165, 200 Zapatero, José Luis Rodríguez, 72 Zheng, Yongnian, 221