inion suggests confusion and a silent, but pervading, disquiet. The past remains alive in the personal memory of many, some of whom embrace a lingering nostalgia for what was good, and others who remember the bad with bitterness. For the young, whose memory is dim or vacant, the past is a story read or told by others. They listen, but their eyes and heart foresee a new horizon and a promise there of a better day.
Public opinion in Ukraine today, therefore, seems grounded in a mix of regrets, dashed hopes, and great expectations, all of which combine to measure the present on the basis of a different time and place. A consequence of this is that divergent views reach consensus on one point: an apparent disenchantment with the way things are or have become, and with the new democracy and its political managers.
What can be said about this disposition by an outside voice? One response might be to pose questions that, in the current assembly, have neither been asked nor considered. Is it, for example, too early to pass judgment on the Ukrainian democracy, or has its stewardship had plenty long enough to set things right? Has too much been expected too soon, or have constituents been too passive and unduly tolerant of an obviously bad thing? And what about grievances? Are they special to Ukraine or reflective of an ongoing love‑hate relationship between peoples and their government in democracies everywhere? Importantly, does the voicing of critical dissent imply a pathology, or rather does it underscore and validate the essential democracy of a political system which allows its expression?
These are tough questions that might usefully be considered in some comparative perspective.
Democracy has historically been the rarest form of government; today it is the most common. There are now about 120 states that formally are democratic; three times as many as there were at mid‑century.
The other side of this proliferation is the very high mortality rate of infant democracies; more than half of those that form are soon aborted or otherwise fall victim to assassins. The question of concern here is why some succeed and some fail. One school of thought warns that democracies should not be artificially or prematurely conceived. It contends that there are preconditions for their establishment that must be met beforehand. Such prerequisites are mainly of a socioeconomic nature and include urbanization, industrialization, a high rate of literacy, a certain civic or national character and similar indicators of a modernizing society. These naturally assume an advanced stage of development and the capacity to generate wealth.
There is much evidence in support of this perspective. Research indicates that democracies tend to flourish in affluent societies and wither wherever resources are scarce, limited or undeveloped. Some scholars argue that for democracies even to survive, a per capita gross national product of between $5,000 and $6,000 is needed. This is required, according to this view, to develop a stable infrastructure, respond to the high expectations for material gain which democratization arouses, and to generate and mobilize a sizeable middle class, which many consider a stalwart of democracy. In stable democracies, this class may exceed 50 percent of the population.
The dominant view these days is that the very establishment of democracy generates the basic “preconditions” essential for its survival. The clearest example of this is India, the world’s largest democracy. Here substantial progress has been made and democracy sustained despite the fact that the per capita GNP is a low $1,500 and the number of those in the middle class a paltry 10 percent of the population.
Where Ukraine fits in this equation needs to be researched. While it may cut between, the Ukrainian democracy has the added burden of managing an ethnically plural society. A history of troubles and the related potential for conflict are seen by some as a major obstacle to the development of a stable democracy. So it may be. But, more generally and contrary to this, research shows that democracy can thrive in plural societies; and further, that diversity and dissent are the hallow ground for democratic growth.
The institutional arrangements designed to facilitate compromise and to temper the conflict of groups may vary, but generally three procedural imperatives are involved. The first is to channel conflict between groups into the election process. The second is to ensure that in every election contest the winner does not take all. Success in elections thus must always entail a partial victory. The task of the third imperative is to limit the extent to which numerical majorities can command the legislative process. By various and complicated systems of formal and informal balances and impediments, democracies strive to form concurrent majorities, that is those which embody a consensus among competing forces and factions.
There is no question that the management and reconciliation of ethnic relations is one of the most arduous tasks that confront democracies. The history of democracies generally underscores this trial. Few of these can look back at a history that is not smeared by episodes of intolerance, discrimination and ethnic violence. In regard to the United States, for example, what has been called “the woeful tale of the American Indian” verged on genocide; Blacks were originally enslaved and denied a rightful place in the American democracy for nearly two hundred years; and only recently has the so‑called White Anglo‑Saxon Protestant establishment been forced to share power with those formerly excluded. Other democracies likewise have not been without taint. In Canada, a French separatist movement battles for autonomy, as do ethnic enclaves in the United Kingdom, Spain and India. And what about the Eurocentric empires that long denied to colonies the very rights and freedoms that in their own democracy were sacrosanct?
Maybe overall democracy does better in this area of human relations than do other forms of government. Perhaps, at least, it is more obliged to try. The Canadian and American democracies, for example, were built with the toil of an ethnic mix and on the basis of an immigration policy that invited diversity. Today this pluralist foundation is inseparable from the democracy it helped to shape; ethnic relations in both countries have been effectively pacified if not entirely reconciled. A more recent case is South Africa where, in the face of notorious racial torment and almost universal skepticism, a multicultural democracy has emerged and seems to work.
But next‑door in Zimbabwe it has not. And, in the Balkans, only fragmentation seems the way to disarm and contain ethnic violence. So we are left with a dilemma. Why does the pacification and reconciliation of ethnic relations work in one place and not in another? Why at one time and not at all times? We cannot probe this matter fully here, though I have a suggestion. My own research and study over the years, particularly my long involvement in the development of a constitution for South Africa, has led me to conclude that ethnically heterogeneous democracies can only realize their promise of freedom and equality by crafting a culture of tolerance. The first step in this process is a consociational democracy; that is one in which leaders of ethnic factions agree to resolve political differences constitutionally rather than by war. Such “chiefly democracies” are common in more primitive societies, though they might effectively work informally in more modern ones as an adjunct to the formal democratic institutions in which decisions must finally be made. To craft a culture of tolerance is not easy. It can be written into a constitution as it was in the case of South Africa where a long enumeration of rights was agreed upon by leaders of formerly warring factions. In the new Canadian Constitution, a multicultural mosaic is given special status and the preaching of hate is made unlawful. The Constitution of the United States is much more lenient regarding freedom of expression, though in other ways its interpretation has become strongly in favor of diversity and of the rights of minorities. More than this, the American electoral and political infrastructure is such as to reward bridge‑builders and peace‑makers who are able to form politically opportune coalitions.
But in the final analysis, no culture of tolerance can forever be enforced. It will never effectively work, and, in fact, tolerance can never become a culture until its values are embedded in the hearts and minds of people and when, as with democracy itself, it becomes a way of life.
What all this means for the Ukrainian democracy is something to be pondered. What must be kept foremost in mind by both its stewards and constituents, is that tasks which may now seem Herculean, may only require a stronger heart and a continually renewed commitment to remain steady on the long road ahead. To end with some words and a thought inspired by Robert Frost, the great American poet, let democracy in Ukraine be not the road less traveled.
Dr. Calvin A. Woodward is a professor in the political science department at Valdosta State University, Georgia. He is a visiting fellow under the Civic Education Project at the V. Vernadsky Tavrida National University in Simferopol.
