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The revolutionary war is a war of the masses; only mobilizing the masses and relying on them can wage it. People’s War Peru’s Maoist guerrilla movement, known as Shining Path, was far and away the most radical and violent in Latin America. The group’s founder and leader, Abimael Guzman Reynoso, claimed to be a devoted Maoist and a faithful interpreter of Mao Zedong’s ideology, strategy, and tactics as he directed a people’s war based largely in rural, impoverished, and predominantly indigenous areas of Peru between 1980 and his capture in 1992. However, Guzman was trained in China as a potential Third World guerrilla during several extended visits beginning just before the Cultural Revolution (1966–76) and continuing during it, as were several other members of his organization. As a result, he and other Shining Path central committee members were much more influenced by the post-revolutionary ideological dogmatism of the Gang of Four than by Quotations from Chairman Mao , also known as the Little Red Book, or Mao’s reflections on the course of the Chinese revolution itself. However, by 1976 the Gang of Four had lost its struggle for political control in China, which meant that Shining Path was cast adrift and left to fend for itself.

[I]n a curious way, to focus upon the disobedient and the process of disobedience is to accept the perspective of the established order. It is a concession that it is the [wo]man who appeals beyond law that is in need of explanation. Robert Cover The task that remains to me then is to outline an authentically conflictual reading of tragedy, one that upholds both poles at the same time, the politics that prescribes forgetting and the mourning that regenerates memory. Nicole Loraux Politics is not made up of power relationships; it is made up of relationships between worlds. Jacques Ranciere Turning now from Part I's focus on the politics of lamentation to look in detail in Part II at the politics of lamentation, I begin by setting Sophocles’ Antigone in the context of fifth-century burial politics in Athens. Approaching the play in this context we find not a mortalist humanist Antigone but rather a partisan political actor. I read Antigone's burial of her brother, Polynices, (but also other actions of hers) as a performance of elite objections to the classical city's emergent democracy. Creon, on this reading, represents not sovereignty or the rule of law run amok, or not just that, but also and more pointedly a different elite tactic: he conspires with the new democracy and adopts many of its causes as his own. He is one of “the newer breed of elites who,” Mark Griffith argues, “are willing to work within the democratic system and to shape their own claims and choices to conform with what is ‘good for the city’” (2010: 123).

Up to this point, we have analyzed radical right parties that have been either doubly cursed or doubly blessed: Chapter 3 looked at parties that had neither the means nor the opportunity for party building, while Chapter 4 turned to parties that possessed both. This ordering brought differences in historical legacies and reactions to the radical right into sharp relief, but left open the question of whether both variables were truly determinative of success and failure. This chapter demonstrates that opportunity is not enough. None of the five radical right parties it covers – the Danish People's Party, the Norwegian Progress Party, the Swiss People's Party, New Democracy, and the List Pim Fortuyn – faced either cordons sanitaires or social sanctions. Yet while the first three successful cases emerged through a process of party transformation and thus possessed some indigenous resources, the latter two failures were constructed hastily and from scratch. Since the parties discussed in this chapter had no connection to previous far right organizations, they were not as plagued by extremist activists as were radical right parties elsewhere. And since the social environment was not repressive, they also succeeded in recruiting educated activists. The major problem each faced was how to create competent and coherent parties. Both New Democracy (ND) and the List Pim Fortuyn (LPF) failed to build any semblance of a party organization; the latter in particular demonstrates the problems that politically inexperienced and opportunistic activists bring.

This chapter develops a theoretical framework to account for Far Right performance. In line with Chapter 1, the emphasis is on the earlier phase of party development, although as suggested before, the theoretical propositions explicated here also have implications for the subsequent development of the Far Right. The focus is on two major actors: mainstream parties and the mass media. The basic argument presented here is that the fortunes of the Far Right largely depend on mainstream party and mass media behavior: on how mainstream parties compete over national identity issues and on how the media treat the Far Right. Mainstream party competition structures the political opportunities available for the entry of Far Right parties into the electoral market. Access to communication resources allows them to overcome their organizational or financial shortcomings and capitalize on these opportunities. The rest of this chapter develops these basic theoretical propositions in more detail. National Identity and Public Demand The concentration on national identity uses and extends the theoretical insights of a significant body of literature on sociocultural change. Earlier contributions to this literature documented a shift in value orientations of Western societies toward postmaterialism. This value change was thought to affect the most affluent members of society and was associated with the rise of Green parties in Western Europe (Inglehart 1971, 1977, 1990). More recent contributions have built on these earlier findings to suggest that a parallel process has been taking place on the opposite side of the political spectrum.

INTRODUCTION Every transition to democracy is a morally hazardous undertaking. This is due to the standing risk that the construction of a new society might result in the conscription of the individuals that are to be its members. This danger is particularly acute when, as in South Africa, the transition takes place in a context marked by wide-ranging and long-standing injustices. A variety of factors may make it impossible to address these through the standard mechanisms of corrective justice: criminal prosecutions might not be practically feasible and/or might threaten the possibility of a transition, while compensation and restitution might flounder on the difficulty of proving the causal link between current circumstances and events distant in time and space. Yet, if the victims of such injustices are left without ‘a moral response, one that is more specific than the hope of building a better democracy’, then, as Amy Gutmann and Dennis Thompson have insisted, ‘the new democracy will be morally flawed from its inception’. For then the victims of the past are turned into victims of the new. They are made to pay the price for a democracy in which others may hope to enjoy freedom from the sufferings they have already experienced. In so far as their specific moral interests remain unaddressed, the victims of historical injustice would be no more than conscripted members of the new democracy.

Every student of the antebellum Democracy knows that the party split along sectional lines in 1860. Southern delegates walked out of the national convention following their northern colleagues' refusal to endorse a federal slave code for the western territories. By that point, the Democracy was ailing, fractured by old divisions between Van Burenites and Calhounites, antislavery Barnburners and secessionist fire-eaters. The handwriting of disunion was on the wall. In the middle, representing the once-unifying spirit of Young America, stood moderate Democrats such as Stephen Douglas, August Belmont, and Jesse Bright. They spoke for a conservative unionism that tried to keep the party and the country together without overreaching constitutional bounds. Stepping into this role was a natural move for the Young Americans, since their ideology had offered an amalgamating rallying cry for the party since the 1840s. Instead of asking why the national Democracy collapsed in 1860, one might instead inquire how it managed to stay together for so long after the rise of sectional turmoil in 1846. This is the more illuminating question, given the sharp factional and sectional fissures that plagued the party during Young America's apex. New Democracy provides an answer to this question. The attitudes adopted by Young America Democrats kept their organization intact in times of crisis, softening differences by turning Democrats' eyes toward expansion, foreign intervention, and domestic economic growth. Without the rise of a Young America Democracy, the party (and perhaps the country) might have broken up sooner than 1860.

The Republic of Korea (hereafter “Korea”) has been widely regarded as one of the most vigorous and analytically interesting third-wave democracies. During the first decade of democratic rule, Korea has successfully carried out a large number of electoral and other reforms to transform the institutions and procedures of military–authoritarian rule into those of a representative democracy. Unlike many of its counterparts in Latin America and elsewhere, Korea has fully restored civilian rule by extricating the military from power. As in established democracies of North America and Western Europe, free and competitive elections have been held regularly at all the different levels of the government. In the most recent presidential election, held on December 18, 1997, Korea also established itself as a mature electoral democracy by elevating an opposition party to political power. In Korea today, there is general agreement that electoral politics has become the only possible political game in town. The successful establishment of electoral democracy cannot, however, be equated with the consolidation of democratic rule. To become consolidated, a new democracy, like the one in Korea, must achieve deep, broad, and unconditional support among the mass public as well as political elites. Moreover, its performance must be accountable and responsive to public demands and preferences. The main objective of this chapter is to examine why and how the Korean people reacted to democracy during the course of the recent economic crisis. How do ordinary Koreans understand democracy?