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ST ANTONY’S SERIES

Political Party
Membership in
New Democracies
Electoral Rules in
Central and East Europe
Alison F. Smith
St Antony’s Series

Series Editors
Dan Healey
St Antony’s College
University of Oxford
Oxford, UK

Leigh Payne
St Antony’s College
University of Oxford
Oxford, UK
The St Antony’s Series publishes studies of international affairs of contem-
porary interest to the scholarly community and a general yet informed
readership. Contributors share a connection with St Antony’s College, a
world-renowned centre at the University of Oxford for research and teach-
ing on global and regional issues. The series covers all parts of the world
through both single-author monographs and edited volumes, and its titles
come from a range of disciplines, including political science, history, and
sociology. Over more than forty years, this partnership between St
Antony’s College and Palgrave Macmillan has produced about 400
publications.

More information about this series at


http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15036
Alison F. Smith

Political Party
Membership in New
Democracies
Electoral Rules in Central and East Europe
Alison F. Smith
Political Developments
Landsmeer, The Netherlands

ISSN 2633-5964     ISSN 2633-5972 (electronic)


St Antony’s Series
ISBN 978-3-030-41795-6    ISBN 978-3-030-41796-3 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41796-3

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2020
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
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The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to
the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The
publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and
institutional affiliations.
Cover illustration: Hufton+Crow-VIEW / Alamy Stock Photo

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Contents

1 Parties and Members in the Twenty-First Century  1

2 Electoral Institutions and Party Membership 23

3 The Role of Party Members in Estonia 57

4 The Role of Party Members in Lithuania 87

5 The Role of Party Members in the Slovak Republic117

6 Electoral Systems and the Roles of Members147

Index173

v
List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Legislative power and party membership 35


Fig. 2.2 Party membership and district magnitude 39
Fig. 6.1 Ambassadors in the community. (Source: Author survey) 149
Fig. 6.2 The most important function of members (six party average).
(Source: Author survey) 151
Fig. 6.3 Prior affiliation of municipal candidates. (Source: Author survey) 156
Fig. 6.4 Spreading the party’s message. (Source: Author survey) 158
Fig. 6.5 Door-to-door campaigning. (Source: Author survey) 159

vii
List of Tables

Table 2.1 Political party membership in 11 central and east European


countries (1999–2019) 24
Table 2.2 State funding of political parties in central and east Europe 30
Table 2.3 Membership trends and the availability of direct state funding 31
Table 2.4 Payout principles for state subsidies (1999–2008) 33
Table 2.5 Predicted effect of electoral systems on roles of members 51
Table 3.1 Spreading the party’s message 61
Table 3.2 The most important role of members 62
Table 3.3 Attracting new members 71
Table 3.4 Length of prior affiliation required to stand for public office 73
Table 3.5 Qualities of candidates 74
Table 3.6 Participation of members in grassroots activities (national
elections)76
Table 3.7 Participation of members in grassroots activities (local elections) 77
Table 4.1 Perceptions of the most important role of members 91
Table 4.2 Spreading the party’s message 92
Table 4.3 What attracts members? 101
Table 4.4 Length of prior affiliation 102
Table 4.5 Participation of members in grassroots activities (national
elections)106
Table 5.1 Spreading the party’s message 123
Table 5.2 Perceptions of the most important function of members 127

ix
x List of Tables

Table 5.3 Attracting new members 129


Table 5.4 Length of prior affiliation 134
Table 5.5 Participation of members in grassroots activities (national
elections)137
Table 6.1 Electoral systems, municipal districts and membership 166
CHAPTER 1

Parties and Members in the Twenty-First


Century

Political party membership is often viewed as an anachronism, a relic from


bygone days before the mass media and state subsidies rendered the com-
munication and fundraising roles of members obsolete. Scholars have ana-
lysed the declining role of members in political parties since the 1960s,
when ‘mass parties’ evolved into, or were superseded by, ‘catch all parties’
(Kirchheimer, 1969). Linkages between parties and society have since
weakened, while the relationship between parties and the state deepened
(Mair & Katz, 1997). By the beginning of the twenty-first century, van
Biezen, Mair and Poguntke argued that party membership in Western
democracies had reached ‘such a low ebb that it may no longer constitute
a relevant indicator of organisational capacity’ (2012, p. 24).
Against such a backdrop, it was predicted that membership parties
would not develop in the post-communist democracies of central and east
Europe (Kopecký, 2008; van Biezen, 2003). These countries were democ-
ratising in an age where party members had little value. They also had
fundamentally different social structures from their western European
counterparts after decades of communist rule. However, as the post-­
communist democracies consolidated, considerable cross-country varia-
tion in membership levels appeared. By 2008, the percentage of the
population across 11 central and east European democracies that claimed
to be a political party member ranged from 0.8% in Latvia to 6% in
Romania (European Values Survey, EVS).

© The Author(s) 2020 1


A. F. Smith, Political Party Membership in New Democracies,
St Antony’s Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41796-3_1
2 A. F. SMITH

This book demonstrates that electoral systems contribute to cross-­


country variation in membership levels. Presenting surveys and interviews
from three central and east European democracies, it examines elite strate-
gies in detail, showing the causal mechanisms driving electoral system
effects. In Western European democracies, high magnitude proportional
electoral systems provide strong incentives for party-driven, centralised
campaigning (Bowler & Farrell, 1992); similar patterns were observed in
central and east Europe, with communication via mass and digital media
at the fore. Low magnitude proportional electoral systems encouraged
specific patterns of ‘personal’ vote-seeking (Carey & Shugart, 1995);
however, they also stimulated grassroots campaigning, creating a role for
members. The single member district section of mixed electoral systems
also stimulated grassroots campaigning, this time with activism concen-
trated in ‘marginal’ districts (Cox, 1990). This meant that members played
an active role in party campaigning where electoral systems were ‘decen-
tralised’, stimulating higher levels of party membership.
Presenting detailed fieldwork from three central and east European
democracies—Estonia, Lithuania and Slovakia—this book provides rare
insights into aspects of party organisation and campaigning that are often
hidden from view, including voter contacting and fundraising. In doing
so, it examines the causal link between party membership and electoral
systems, analysing how electoral systems influence party elites’ demand for
members. As a result, this book makes an original contribution to the
scholarly literature on electoral system effects, political campaigning, party
membership, party institutionalisation and, ultimately, democratic
consolidation.

Members and Campaigning


in the Twenty-First Century

The role of members has evolved significantly since the 1950s, when
Duverger (1954) posited that the value of members varied according to
political party ideology. He noted that ‘mass parties’ were usually socialist
parties: their members helped their party’s cause by raising money and
providing a political education to the working class. Meanwhile ‘cadre
parties’, typically conservative or classical liberal parties, valued quality
rather than quantity of members. Prestige, connections and the ability to
secure votes were prized. However, no sooner had Duverger noted these
differences than the dynamics of party competition started to change.
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 3

From the 1960s onwards, structural changes in society and the develop-
ment of mass communication technologies revolutionised how parties and
voters communicated with each other.
Noting these changes, Otto Kirchheimer (1969) predicted the domi-
nance of ‘catch-all parties’, which would prioritise electoral success over
programmatic coherence. In this context, membership parties would suf-
fer an ‘evolutionary disadvantage’, being less ideologically nimble than
their unencumbered competitors. They would, therefore, downgrade ‘the
role of individual membership, a role considered a historical relic which
may obscure the newly built-up catch-all image’ (Kirchheimer, 1969,
p. 360). Building on Kirchheimer’s theory 20 years later, Angelo
Panebianco (1988) argued that the blurring of class cleavages, combined
with the influence of mass media on Western societies, had led to the
emergence of ‘electoral-professional’ parties. Such parties had professional
strategists, rather than members, at their core. Rapid developments in
technology and communications allowed strategists to reach beyond tra-
ditional class cleavages which were, in any case, becoming blurred.
Technological developments and the increased role of ‘electoral profes-
sionals’ also changed the dynamics of organisational power (Panebianco,
1988, p. 266), and the role of members was further downgraded.
By the 1990s, the environmental factors identified by Panebianco had,
it was argued, pushed parties into a closer relationship with the state.
Richard Katz and Peter Mair noted that the rising costs of campaigns,
combined with the increasing difficulty of recruiting members, encour-
aged parties to turn to the state in search of resources (Mair & Katz, 1997,
p. 96). They posited that parties increasingly operated as ‘cartels’, using
laws on media access and public financing, along with electoral system
thresholds, to constrain the entry of new parties. The ‘cartel party’ theory
describes a form of politics that is increasingly self-referential, with party
representatives less concerned with reaching out to society than with their
own self-perpetuation. With financial resources coming from the state and
communication with the public mostly channelled through the mass
media, ‘cartel parties’ would value members for their ‘legitimising func-
tion’ only (Mair & Katz, 1997, pp. 110–111). van Biezen (2004) later
argued that political parties were becoming ‘public utilities’, providing a
service of public decision-making with minimal linkage to wider society.
In these accounts of the changing nature of political parties, voters are
presented as passive recipients of parties’ tactical manoeuvring. However,
in recent years, voters have made their discontent clear. As new (often
4 A. F. SMITH

anti-system) competitors emerged in the early 2000s, illusions of a cosy


cartel were shattered. Mair, Müller, and Plasser (2004) noted that the
most pressing problem now faced by established political parties was how
to deal with popular disengagement and dissatisfaction, which was feeding
support for their new populist rivals. The economic crisis of 2008–2012
further fuelled cynicism and discontent. However, re-building connec-
tions with society in the volatile world of twenty-first century politics
would be far from simple for ‘traditional’ political parties. A variety of
tactics have been adopted: in 2017, Scarrow, Webb and Poguntke found
that ‘only a minority [of parties] can meaningfully be assigned to the types
of cadre, mass, catch-all or cartel party’ (ibid., p. 319).

Political Parties in Central and East Europe


Against the backdrop of increasingly distant relationships between voters
and their elected representatives in the established democracies of Western
Europe, the countries of central and east Europe began democratising in
1989–1991. From a starting point of ‘floating parties and floating voters’
(Rose, 1995), during which party elites were unable to focus on any goal
beyond short-term survival (Lewis & Gortat, 1995, p. 601), they would
have to find a way of stabilising both their party systems and their indi-
vidual parties. However, given the context of declining party membership
in established democracies, the chances of membership parties forming in
the new democracies of central and east Europe were thought to be
remote. If Western European parties maintained membership bases
through ‘organisational inertia or nostalgia’ (van Biezen, 2003, pp. 43–46),
no such path dependency or sentimentality would apply in post-­communist
democracies.
Biezen argued that low levels of party membership were likely to persist
in central and east Europe for three reasons. First, the sequencing of
organisational development meant that parties acquired public office
immediately after their creation and, as such, were ‘internally created’. In
Biezen’s view, this emphasis on institution-building in the early stages of
transition would encourage a long-term orientation towards the state (van
Biezen, 2003, pp. 31–33). Second, the lack of social differentiation after
decades of communism would push parties further towards the ‘electoral’
model of political communication, with the communist past a ‘thwarting
experience for the structural consolidation of both political and civil soci-
ety’ (ibid., p. 50). Third, Biezen argued that the availability of state
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 5

funding created an organisational disincentive for political parties to invest


in membership recruitment. Access to state funding from an early stage of
their development would, it was argued, allow central and east European
parties to bypass the need to raise funding from membership, while the
mass media offered parties the opportunity to communicate directly with
voters (van Biezen, 2003, pp. 43–46; Kopecký, 2008, p. 3).
Low levels of party membership were not, at least initially, viewed as a
problem for central and east European political parties. Although ‘elec-
toral mobilisation’ would be more ‘feeble’ than the development of a
membership base, it was expected to be ‘relatively quick and easy to
achieve’ (van Biezen, 2003, pp. 43–46). Moreover, it was argued by Petr
Kopecký (2008) that legacies of communism would make the ‘supply side’
of party membership recruitment, already difficult in established democra-
cies, particularly challenging in central and east Europe. The very notion
of party membership was, he argued, tarnished by association with the
communist past. Indeed, with party membership seen as a ‘vestigial func-
tion’ in established democracies, Herbert Kitschelt claimed that, by avoid-
ing the need to expend resources on mass organisations, central and east
European political parties would enjoy ‘the advantages of backwardness’
(Kitschelt, Mansfeldova, Markowski, & Tóka, 1999, p. 396).
The key to avoiding investment in membership development was access
to state funding. Petr Kopecký (2008, p. 3) noted that ‘once in possession
of state resources, parties are significantly less compelled to engage in
party-building strategies based on popular mobilisation and extensive
organisational development’. This implied that state funding would be
sufficient to cover the organisational and campaigning expenses of politi-
cal parties and that members had little to contribute beyond money.
However, a growing body of literature has cast doubt on whether parties
can thrive—and even survive in the long term—without investing in their
organisational capacity.
In Bulgaria, Maria Spirova found that party elites believed that mem-
bers were essential for long-term electoral success in turbulent party sys-
tems (Spirova, 2005, pp. 601–622). In Lithuania, Raimondas Ibenskas
(2014) found that party membership was an important predictor of ‘elec-
toral persistence’. A four-country comparison of the Czech Republic,
Estonia, Hungary and Poland found that strong organisations helped par-
ties to improve their vote share over time (Tavits, 2012, pp. 83–97). This
contrasted with ‘live fast, die young parties’, which appeared and disap-
peared within two or three electoral cycles (Deegan-Krause & Haughton,
6 A. F. SMITH

2012). Deegan-Krause and Haughton called membership parties the


‘hardy perennials’ of central and east European political parties, drawing
on their roots in society to recover from electoral setbacks. Gherghina
(2015, p. 161) found that, by building a membership base, political par-
ties can ‘model their own electoral stability over time’. In summary, there
is an increasing consensus that party members improve stability, both of
individual political parties and of party systems.

The Costs and Benefits of Members


Membership recruitment is, however, no easy task. In modern times,
when societal cleavages are blurred, old loyalties have broken down,
potential members have no shortage of alternative leisure options and dis-
trust in political parties prevails, it takes significant effort to seek out
potential members, recruit them and keep them motivated. Building a
membership base is a long-term continuous commitment: in addition to
expending scarce resources recruiting and maintaining a membership
base, re-distribution of power from elites to members is usually required
to keep members motivated and involved (Tavits, 2013, p. 11). In order
to attract and retain members, organisations (including political parties)
offer a combination of material incentives, that is, access to jobs or patron-
age; solidary incentives, that is, group membership and the company of
like-minded people and purposive incentives, that is, working together to
achieve change (Clark & Wilson, 1961, pp. 134–136). These incentives
are, by definition, scarce (ibid., p. 131).
In the context of a political party, purposive incentives usually include
the opportunity to help shape a party’s ideological direction through
involvement in the policy-making process. However, this comes at a cost.
At minimum, it involves a re-distribution of intra-party power (Tavits,
2013, p. 7), fettering the discretion of party elites and reducing ideologi-
cal flexibility. Since the 1960s, ideological nimbleness has been considered
necessary to survive in the modern political environment (Kirchheimer,
1969; Panebianco, 1988). This pressure has only grown with the advent
of digital media. Worst of all, if members do not reflect the interests of
wider society, their involvement in the policy-making process risks impos-
ing vote-losing policy commitments on political parties (May, 1973).
Thus, in addition to the ‘opportunity cost’ of the time and effort spent
recruiting and retaining members, party elites might doubt whether mem-
bers help or hinder the policy-making process.
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 7

However, members can also bring important advantages to political


parties. Even in the glory days of ‘spin doctors’, qualitative studies from
Western democracies showed that political parties found practical uses for
their members. Susan Scarrow’s detailed investigation of British and
German parties found that members acted as ‘ambassadors in the com-
munity’, a socialising mechanism for future elites, grassroots campaigners,
loyal and reliable voters, and a useful source of additional income.
Members’ input into the policy-making process was also seen as helpful
(Scarrow, 1995, p. 133), and even the biggest sceptics of the value of
members agreed that they provided ‘legitimacy benefits’ for parties (Katz
& Mair, 1995). Whiteley and Seyd (2002) argued that parties without a
membership base would be at a disadvantage vis-á-vis membership parties,
since they could not supplement their national media campaign with a
physical presence in communities, and that ‘the absence of a significant
permanent organisation, a cadre of activists and a coherent set of values to
sustain [a party] through hard times eventually counts against them’
(ibid., p. 209). Karina Pedersen (2004) noted that Danish political parties
had upgraded the benefits they offered to members in the hope of increas-
ing their grassroots capacity.
After initial scepticism about whether membership parties would form
in central and east Europe, the roles of members in the region are increas-
ingly being researched. In addition to the benefits of stability described
above, Gherghina (2015) argued that weak cleavage structures and low
levels of trust in politics made membership recruitment more, not less,
important in central and east Europe. ‘Ancillary structures’, including
local party branches and youth organisations, were employed to overcome
difficulties building trust through electoral-professional communication
(Gherghina, 2015, p. 4). Image was also important in the context of low
trust. As far back as 2003, Allan Sikk noted that Estonian parties engaged
in a public battle to recruit the most members, suggesting that members
projected an image of success and were valued for ‘legitimacy benefits’
(Sikk, 2003, p. 14). Gherghina (2015) concurred that high levels of party
membership were seen as an indicator of popular legitimacy. Tavits (2013)
noted that members were particularly valued by parties seeking to over-
come ‘environmental hostility’ and parties appealing to rural or poor elec-
torates. The latter were ‘less likely to be persuaded by a distant—even if
nationally known—candidate than by their friends or neighbours or locally
known candidates’ (ibid., p. 12).
8 A. F. SMITH

The notion that central and east European political parties could rely
on state funding has also been challenged. Dobrin Kanev pointed out that
there was ‘no danger of “étatization” of political parties’ in Bulgaria since
the resources of the state ‘would be unequal to such a task’ (Kanev, 2007,
p. 50). In neighbouring Romania, state funding has been referred to as
‘pocket money’ (Gherghina, Chiru, & Bértoa, 2011, p. 3). Although state
funding in Croatia, Poland and Slovakia is more generous, these countries
are no strangers to corruption scandals. In 2013, four Polish political par-
ties divided PLN 54.4 million (€13 million) between them, yet Bértoa and
Walecki (2017) noted that it remains difficult to deter breaches in laws
regulating business funding, and even harder to secure a conviction. As
Michael Pinto-Duschinsky observed, ‘a party or candidate who obtains
public monies, knowing full well that such monies are equally available to
competitors, will not […] stop looking for money with which to outspend
and outmanoeuvre political opponents’ (2002, p. 78).
Increasingly, party membership in central and east Europe is also ‘con-
structed’ by the state in the form of ‘party laws’ (Gauja, 2015). Some
governments require registered political parties to have a minimum num-
ber of members (Bértoa & van Biezen, 2018; Gauja, 2015; Mazzoleni &
Voerman, 2017). In Lithuania, for example, the minimum number of
members required for registered political parties was raised from 1000 to
2000 in 2015. In Poland, Croatia, Latvia and the Czech Republic, inter-
nal party democracy is a legal pre-requisite for the foundation of a political
party (Bértoa & van Biezen, 2018). Whether established parties are engag-
ing in ‘cartel-like’ behaviour by squeezing out rivals and new competitors
or genuinely seeking to improve linkages between parties and society, the
recruitment of a modest membership base is now, in some countries,
legally mandated. ‘Memberless parties’ are either being outlawed or being
threatened with increased regulation.
In summary, recent scholarship has posited three main benefits of mem-
bers for central and east European political parties. First, party members
improve stability, helping parties to survive in a volatile environment
(Deegan-Krause & Haughton, 2012; Gherghina, 2015). Second, there is
the notion that membership parties are ‘constructed by the state’ (Bértoa
& van Biezen, 2018). Third, members help parties to improve their vote
share over time (Tavits, 2012), and to reach specific types of voters (Tavits,
2013). However, it is unlikely that the any of these theories fully explain
the extent of the variation in membership levels observed across the
region. In order to consider why membership levels in the region vary
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 9

between 0.8% and 6% of the population, we now turn to an institutional


factor that has influenced how parties organise and campaign in Western
Europe, but has received relatively little attention in the central and east
European context: electoral systems.

Electoral Systems and the Role of Members


Electoral systems convert votes into seats. They establish the geographi-
cal size and location of electoral districts, and the number of representa-
tives that will be elected from each district (i.e. district magnitude). Since
political parties usually aim to win as many seats in parliament as possi-
ble, they have a strong incentive to allocate their scarce resources where
extra effort will have the greatest impact. Under proportional represen-
tation (PR), a vote is a vote regardless of its geographical origin.
Conversely, under majoritarian systems, the spatial distribution of voters
is critical. As a result, proportional electoral systems provide strong
incentives for party-­driven, centralised campaigning (Bowler & Farrell,
1992), while single member districts encourage localised campaigning
with resources concentrated in ‘marginal’ districts (Cox, 1990). High
magnitude electoral systems encourage ‘centralised’ organisational struc-
tures and campaigning, while low magnitude electoral systems encour-
age ‘decentralised’ organisational structures and campaigns (Carey &
Shugart, 1995).
Under the most centralised electoral systems, the whole country is a
single electoral district. Individual candidates focus primarily on the
national campaign. They rely on their parties for their position on the
national list, and their chances of getting elected are usually depend on the
success of the party as a whole. Even where lists are ‘open’, candidates
rarely win enough votes to move up the ranking entirely through their
own individual efforts. Media profile, which is largely co-ordinated by the
party at the national level, is an important mode of communication. Where
candidates create ‘linkages’ with society under high magnitude PR, this
tends to be via interest groups at the national level (Bawn & Thies, 2003).
Pure proportional representation systems are relatively rare: the
Netherlands and Slovakia are the only two examples in Europe.
Under decentralised electoral systems, including majoritarian systems,
mixed systems and low magnitude PR, candidates have an incentive to
cultivate personal reputations within the specific constituency or region
where they are competing (Carey & Shugart, 1995). Shugart (2001)
10 A. F. SMITH

noted that low magnitude proportional representation creates specific


incentives for candidates to cultivate networks in their region or district in
order to avoid open competition with their own co-partisans. This might
not always be beneficial to the party organisation as a whole since there is
a risk that candidates focus on their personal campaigns rather than work-
ing collegially with co-partisans who are also competitors (Scarrow, 2014).
Nevertheless, decentralised electoral systems usually mean smaller elec-
toral districts, and smaller electoral districts encourage political participa-
tion (Weldon, 2006) and individual voter contacting (Karp & Banducci,
2007). An organised local campaign can contact a high enough propor-
tion of voters in a district of 50,000 people to feel that they have made a
difference. This is not the case under proportional representation, where
votes are tallied as a percentage of the voting population as a whole, and
there is no sense that a single vote might make the difference between suc-
cess and failure. As a result, communication via the mass media is deemed
a more efficient way to reach voters (Bowler & Farrell, 1992; Swanson &
Mancini, 1996). Large electoral districts encourage the use of ‘electoral
professional’ campaigning, with personal contact mediated by organised
groupings, while small electoral districts make it advantageous to contact
voters individually (Bawn & Thies, 2003). Overall, decentralised electoral
systems are ‘candidate-based systems’, while centralised electoral systems
are ‘party-based systems’ (Karp & Banducci, 2007).
In single member districts, the average boost to a party’s vote from
intense grassroots activity is around 3% (Denver & Hands, 1997; Fisher,
Cutts, & Fieldhouse, 2011; Johnston & Pattie, 2004), although the
impact of local campaigning shows greater variation when a party is
unpopular at the national level (Fisher et al., 2013). As a result, individual
voter contacting is likely to be concentrated in specific ‘marginal’ constitu-
encies where the pay-off is likely to be greatest (Cox, 1990). Analysing the
British election campaign of 2010, Fisher et al. (2013) found that intense
activity only occurred in 160 of the 632 districts. The remaining 75% of
British seats saw either less vigorous activity or little activity at all.
In the new democracies of central and east Europe, no country adopted
a fully majoritarian electoral system. However, ‘mixed’ electoral systems,
which combine elements of majoritarian and proportional systems, are
found in several countries. Researchers have investigated the impact of the
mixed system on political campaigning in Germany and found that it
incentivises a combination of ‘electoral professional’ and ‘grassroots’ cam-
paigning strategies. At the national level, the mass media, political
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 11

advertising and large-scale rallies are used. In individual districts, cam-


paigning also takes place at the local level through stalls on market squares,
social events and knocking on voters’ front doors. Candidates seeking
election in single member districts adopted individualised campaign strat-
egies, which candidates on the party lists focussed on the national cam-
paign (Zittel & Gschwend, 2008).
The effect of electoral systems on political party campaigning strategies
has received scant attention in central and east Europe, at least in the com-
parative context. Case studies, however, suggest that the effects of elec-
toral systems on party campaigning and organisation may be similar to
those observed in Western Europe. In Slovakia, Marek Rybář (2006)
observed that party membership numbers, and also levels of activity,
declined noticeably from the late 1990s onwards, following the adoption
of a high district magnitude proportional electoral system. In Romania,
the adoption of a decentralised electoral system in 2008 had a swift impact
on the types of candidates recruited, with local roots of candidates empha-
sised under the new system (Chiru & Ciobanu, 2009). These case studies
that suggest that the impact of electoral systems on central and east
European political parties might be similar to those described in the extant
literature.

Electoral Systems and the Roles of Party Members:


Developing Hypotheses
If, as previously established, electoral systems influence how and where
political parties communicate with voters, with centralised electoral sys-
tems encouraging electoral-professional communication while decentral-
ised electoral systems stimulate individual voter contacting, we would
expect the roles of members to vary accordingly. Other than sharing par-
ty’s messages on-line, potentially helping to improve the party’s image,
and, for the most active minority, standing for public office themselves,
party members have relatively few opportunities to contribute to party
campaigns where the focus is on electoral-professional communication.
On the other hand, individual voter contacting is extremely labour-­
intensive; other grassroots campaigning activities found in decentralised
electoral systems, such as organising and manning street stalls and deliver-
ing leaflets door-to-door, also provide an active role where members can
contribute to the success of a party. Decentralised electoral systems also
12 A. F. SMITH

require candidates to be recruited across the whole country; fundraising


for district-level campaigns might also take place.
Susan Scarrow (1995) showed that members played the following roles
in party life in Britain and Germany: (1) ambassadors in the community;
(2) an additional and untainted income stream; (3) a valuable source of
policy ideas and linkage with society; (4) a recruiting pool for candidates;
(5) a source of free labour, particularly at the grassroots level; (6) a means
of improving the image and ‘legitimacy’ of political parties in the eyes of
the general public and (7) a source of loyal and reliable voters. To account
for developments in technology, she later added the role of ‘digital ambas-
sadors’ (Scarrow, 2014). Drawing on the extant research on electoral sys-
tems and political communication, we can posit the following relationships
between electoral systems and the roles of party members.

Mixed Member Electoral Systems


In mixed electoral systems, some parliamentarians are elected from party
lists using proportional representation, while others are elected from sin-
gle member districts. At the single member district level, individual voter
contacting is likely to take place. Intensive grassroots campaigning will,
however, be ‘targeted’ to specific districts where the party has the greatest
chance of success (Cox, 1990; Shugart, 2001; Zittel & Gschwend, 2008).
Grassroots campaigning activities are likely to include the following: indi-
vidual voter contacting, both door-to-door and by telephone; delivering
leaflets door-to-door; and organising and staffing street stalls. ‘Ambassadors
in the community’ will also be valued at single member district level, and
local fundraising for individual candidates might take place. The decen-
tralised element of the electoral system will create a nationwide demand
for high-quality candidates that are socialised in the party’s values (Scarrow,
1995). Candidates for municipal government are also likely to be required.
Given that party members contribute meaningfully to campaigns, party
elites might be willing to include members in the policy-making process as
a ‘purposive incentive’ (Clark & Wilson, 1961).

Low Magnitude Proportional Representation (Two to Nine


Candidates per District)
Competition against co-partisans makes network-building particularly impor-
tant (Shugart, 2001), putting a particular premium on ‘ambassadors in the
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 13

community’ function. There is, however, a risk that candidates will focus
almost entirely on their own personal campaigns, at the expense of wider
party-building (Scarrow, 2014). Decentralised electoral systems require high-
quality candidates, socialised in their party’s values to be recruited across the
country (Scarrow, 1995). Candidates for municipal elections might also be
required. With electoral districts relatively small, both geographically and in
terms of the total number of voters, individual voter contacting is likely to
take place (Weldon, 2006). Grassroots campaigning activities are likely to
include the following: individual voter contacting, both door-to-door and by
telephone; delivering leaflets door-to-door; and organising and staffing street
stalls. Some localised fundraising for individual candidates and/or local par-
ties at the district level might also occur. The additional demand for activists
might lead parties to offer involvement in the policy-making process as a ‘pur-
posive incentive’ (Clark & Wilson, 1961).

Moderate to High Magnitude Proportional System (Ten or More


Candidates per District)
As district magnitude increases, individual voter contacting becomes
increasingly inefficient as a means of political campaigning. Parties rely
more heavily on electoral-professionals for communication (Bowler &
Farrell, 1992; Swanson & Mancini, 1996). The role of ‘digital ambassa-
dors’ will be particularly useful where district magnitudes are high, poten-
tially encouraging the creation of ‘multi-speed membership parties’
(Scarrow, 2014). Personal contact between party elites and voters is likely
to be mediated by organised social and interest groups (Bawn & Thies,
2003). While parties might appreciate legitimacy benefits in principle,
such a passive role is unlikely to provide sufficient incentive for parties to
invest heavily in membership recruitment. Since it is possible to function
with relatively few members, and parties that rely on media exposure must
remain nimble (Panebianco, 1988), party elites will be reluctant to fetter
their own policy-making discretion in order to recruit and motivate mem-
bers. Although parties competing at the national level can function with
few members, their ability to compete in municipal elections will be lim-
ited (Mazzoleni & Voerman, 2017).
A detailed examination of the literature on party campaigning, how this
is influenced by electoral systems and how this is likely to impact the roles
of members will be presented in Chap. 2. A series of micro-hypotheses will
also be presented for testing in the country-level case studies.
14 A. F. SMITH

Introducing the Research Design


The impact of institutions on political party membership across 11 central
and east European countries (Bulgaria, Croatia, the Czech Republic,
Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, the Slovak
Republic and Slovenia) will first be analysed. When this research began in
2009, these countries represented the full ‘universe’ of central and east
European democracies from 2000 to 2009. Between 2009 and 2019, a
degree of ‘democratic backsliding’ occurred in the region (Cianetti,
Dawson, & Hanley, 2018). As of 2019, Freedom House classified Hungary
as ‘partially free’; V-Dem (2018) also confirmed that ‘autocratization’ has
occurred in Hungary. One of the benefits of the qualitative nature of this
research is that the impact of country-level factors can be explored.
We begin by presenting membership data for political parties across the
region from 1999 to 2019. The scale of the variation in membership levels
across the region is immediately clear. Slovakia’s Ordinary People and
Independent Personalities (Obyčajní Ľ udia a nezávislé osobnosti, OL’aNO)
has just four members, while Romania’s Social Democratic Party (Partidul
Social Democrat, PSD) has over 500,000. There is no universal post-­
communist effect. Next, European Values Survey (EVS4) and Eurequal
data on membership levels from the 11 central and east European coun-
tries were utilised to examine the relationship between party membership
levels and state subsidies, parliamentary powers, regime type and electoral
systems. Hypotheses predicting the impact of these institutions were
developed from the extant literature.
Testing the hypotheses using EVS data, no relationship between state
subsidies and party membership, or regime type and party membership,
was observed. The relationship between parliamentary powers (as mea-
sured by Fish and Kroenig’s Parliamentary Powers Index) and member-
ship was unclear. There was, however, a much clearer correlation between
district magnitude and party membership. With the exception of Hungary,
all of the countries with ‘mixed member’ electoral systems or ‘low district
magnitude proportional’ electoral systems had membership levels above
4% by 2008. This contrasted with the low levels of party membership (less
than 2%) observed in countries with high district magnitude electoral
systems.
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 15

Exploring the Roles of Party Members


In order to explore the causal mechanisms driving the relationship between
electoral systems and party membership levels, it was necessary to break
down the functions of members in a manner suitable for cross-country com-
parison. A survey was developed using the functions of members identified
by Susan Scarrow as the basis for analysis. These surveys were distributed by
email to branch chairs and party executive members. Each survey contained
ten questions probing the following areas of membership activity:

Campaigning Which campaigning activities did members participate in,


and with what frequency? Which forms of campaigning did party elites
find most effective? How did party elites rate the effectiveness of grass-
roots activities vis-á-vis mass media and digital campaigning? To what
extent did campaigning techniques vary across different types of elections?

Fundraising To what extent did members and candidates contribute to


party funding? How important was the fundraising function of members
vis-á-vis other tasks that they might undertake?

A Recruiting Pool for Candidates How long should a potential candi-


date be a party member before he/she can stand for public office? To what
extent does this vary between national and municipal elections?

Ambassadors in the Community How useful is it if members spread


their party’s message to friends, family and neighbours? How do party
elites rate this form of communication vis-á-vis other forms of campaign-
ing? How does the value of the traditional ‘ambassadors in the commu-
nity’ role compare with the modern function of ‘digital ambassadors’?

Digital Ambassadors How do parties rate the value of members sharing


content about the party using digital and social media?

Policy-Making How useful is the input of members into the policy-­


making process? To what extent would involvement in the policy-making
process help to attract new members?

Legitimacy How important are party members to the party’s image?


16 A. F. SMITH

The surveys were translated from English into Estonian, Lithuanian


and Slovakian by political scientists who were native speakers of those lan-
guages. Their political expertise was crucial to ensuring a reliable transla-
tion. Further information about distribution and response rates is provided
in the references at the end of the chapters in which survey results are
presented. To assist with the interpretation of the data, and to gain a richer
understanding of the attitudes of party elites towards members, interviews
were carried out. Subgroups of potential interviewees (MPs, councillors,
party staff and party activists) were defined, and political participants
referred through networking and snowball sampling. In a closed environ-
ment like a political party, where trust of outsiders is low, participants are
not accessible through any other sampling strategy. Although this repre-
sents a further methodological constraint, since the sample was again
skewed towards those inclined to cooperate, most of the survey respon-
dents were willing to engage in discussions about controversial issues,
including fundraising from illegal sources. Their frankness contributes
towards scholarly understanding of how parties operate on the ground.
Because electoral systems were the key independent variable under
investigation, the countries selected for detailed fieldwork were as follows:
Estonia (low magnitude proportional representation), Lithuania (mixed
member majoritarian) and Slovakia (high magnitude proportional repre-
sentation). In each country, two parties were analysed. In principle, the
main centre-right and the main centre-left parties were chosen in order to
analyse the extent to which ‘left’ and ‘right’ ideologies influence attitudes
towards members (Duverger, 1954). Only in Lithuania was party selection
according to this methodology clear-cut; nevertheless, a revealing insights
into six parties across three countries was obtained. This methodology,
along with the focus on parties that have survived two or more electoral
cycles, has resulted in a focus on programmatic parties. The results will not
necessarily be generalisable to other types of parties which are commonly
found in the region, for example, populist radical right or centrist anti-­
establishment parties (Hanley & Sikk, 2016). Details of the parties selected
are provided in the relevant country chapters.
It is important to acknowledge that ‘membership’ itself is a slippery
concept to pin down. Maurice Duverger noted that ‘each party holds to a
concept of membership which is peculiar to it’ (1954, p. 61). Barriers to
entry for potential members, and the benefits that accrue to members,
vary enormously between different parties and are influenced by the val-
ues, goals and aspirations of each individual political party. Most parties
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 17

expect their members not to hold membership of another political party


simultaneously. Some set ‘barriers to entry’ designed to maintain ideologi-
cal purity, for example, asking members to confirm that they support key
policies or asking potential new members to obtain ‘references’ from exist-
ing members. Most parties ask their members to pay a membership fee,
though variation is considerable. The benefits accruing to members also
vary enormously. In recent years, Susan Scarrow has noted the develop-
ment of ‘multi-speed membership parties’, which aim to mobilise a new
generation of digital activists by offering a variety of affiliation options
(Scarrow, 2014). The extent to which multi-speed membership parties
have formed in the three countries examined will be considered.
The fact that there is no single definition of membership presents chal-
lenges for measuring membership in a way that is consistent across parties
and across different political cultures. This book uses both ‘subjective’
measures of membership (self-reported in mass surveys) and ‘objective’
measures of membership, that is, figures provided by political parties
(Gauja, 2015). Neither is a flawless measure, and the lines between ‘mem-
bers’ and ‘supporters’ are often blurred. Country-level data collected by
mass surveys like the European Values Survey are subject to a margin of
error, which is particularly problematic when measuring a phenomenon
that is relatively rare in society, such as party membership. Since reporting
of party membership is subjective, an individual might claim to be a mem-
ber of a political party without actually being a fully paid-up, current
member. Data collected from political parties also relies, to a degree, on
self-reporting, this time by parties themselves. Since members are per-
ceived as a source of legitimacy for political parties, there is a risk that
parties will exaggerate their membership numbers (Mair & van
Biezen, 2001).
This research is fundamentally qualitative in nature. It aims to chart
new scholarly territory by exploring, in a rare level of detail, the precise
functions that members perform in central and east European democra-
cies, and how these functions are viewed by party elites. In addition to
comparing the impact of electoral systems on membership functions, this
book provides a unique and revealing analysis of the subjective experience
of party elites in new democracies. Political scientists often make assump-
tions about party elites’ motives. We expect them to respond ‘rationally’
to incentives, and sometimes fail to appreciate the extreme pressure of
making decisions in such an intense and unpredictable environment.
18 A. F. SMITH

The interviewees for this research came from a variety of ages and back-
grounds. Several of the older interviewees were veterans of the transition,
and some had, in the past, sacrificed their freedom to fight for democracy.
Others were much younger and less experienced, with limited or no mem-
ory of the transition from communism. Most of the interviewees for this
research felt a sense of responsibility for their country’s future. As political
partisans, they naturally believed that their country’s best interests would
be best served by maximising their own party’s share of the vote. This
book provides a unique insight into party elites’ tactics and strategies, and
the institutions that shape the decisions that they make.

Chapter Plan
Chapter 2 begins by presenting membership figures from political parties
across 11 central and east European countries between 1999 and 2019.
The variation that exists across the region is clearly displayed, and it was
also notable that the vast majority of political parties that survived for two
or more electoral cycles have membership bases. A series of hypotheses are
tested in order to discover whether there is a relationship between (1)
state subsidies and membership and (2) regime type and membership.
These hypotheses were rejected. Regime type and state subsidies did not
appear to influence party membership levels; however, a clear relationship
between high district magnitude electoral systems and low party member-
ship levels was observed, and vice versa. Exploring the potential explana-
tions for this finding, a set of micro-hypotheses to test the effect of electoral
systems on the roles played by party members are introduced.
Chapters 3, 4 and 5 present case studies from Estonia, Lithuania and
Slovakia. These countries have a ‘low magnitude PR’ electoral system, a
‘mixed member majoritarian’ electoral system and a ‘high magnitude PR’
electoral system, respectively. Surveys and interviews conducted amongst
political elites and activists are presented. The role of members in each of
these three countries is examined and the micro-hypotheses developed in
Chap. 2 are tested. In addition to exploring the effect of electoral systems
on political party development, insights provided by party elites into
everyday aspects of party life are shared. It is found that electoral-­
professional campaigning dominated in Slovakia, where the district mag-
nitude is high. However, in Estonia and Lithuania, where the district
magnitude is low, members make an active contribution to party cam-
paigns and are valued by party elites accordingly.
1 PARTIES AND MEMBERS IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 19

Chapter 6 compares the data from the three countries and analyses the
electoral system effects that are found. It concludes that decentralised
electoral systems create active roles for party members as grassroots cam-
paigners, candidates and ambassadors in the community. Where electoral
systems are centralised, electoral-professional campaigning is more promi-
nent, and the value of members insufficient to prompt significant invest-
ment in membership recruitment. Theories about the impact of financial
regulations, including state subsidies, are discussed, with attention drawn
to the prevalence of undeclared business funding in the region. Susan
Scarrow’s theory of multi-speed membership parties (2014) is considered.
The influence of non-institutional factors including ‘environmental hostil-
ity’ (Tavits, 2013), ideology (Duverger, 1954) and post-communist lega-
cies (Kitschelt, 2001) are assessed.

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Almighty in what they were about to do; then they went forth
heartened and emboldened by the conviction that the coming battle
was the Lords, and to fall therein would be a sure passport to
heaven. It would be untrue to say that all the Africanders were of this
belief and practice, but undoubtedly the majority of them so believed
and so acted.

Many of the whites quarreled with their ministers because they


persisted in teaching Christianity to the people held to be accursed—
by their masters. The Dutch term Zendeling, originally signifying
“missionary,” was turned into an epithet of reproach, bearing the new
interpretation of a petty artisan and pedlar, who, under pretense of
instructing the natives, wandered [127]about prosecuting a secular
business for gain—a man to be despised and shunned.

Instances are not wanting in the records of this period to show that
the spirit and practice of some Africanders were as set forth above.
Mr. Holden, in the appendix to his “History of Natal,” quotes from a
friend of the enslaved blacks as follows:

“As to slavery, in spite of the treaty with the Assistant Commissioner, two
Kaffir boys have this very week been sold here—the one for a hundred rix-
dollars to a Boer, and the other for a hundred and fifty rix-dollars to a
dealer at Rustenburg. Last month, also, two were sold to Messrs. S. and
G. Maritz, traders of Natal, and were immediately ‘booked’ (ingeboekt)
with the Landdrost of Potchefstroom for twenty-five years each! Is this
according to treaty? If not, why does not Governor Cathcart interfere by
force, if reasoning be unavailing? For, without some force, I see little
prospect of the natives being saved from utter and universal slavery.”

Mr. Holden also quotes from the “Grahamstown Journal” of


September 24, 1853, the following significant incident:

“We are credibly informed that, in a private interview with Sir G. R. Clark,
one of the most [128]respectable and loyal Boers, resident on a
confiscated farm in the most disaffected district, ‘inter alias res,’ plainly
told Sir George that he had some twenty or thirty Bushman children on his
place; and that if government withdrew he must sell them, as, if he did not
do so, other persons would come and take them, and sell them. The reply,
as stated to us, was to the effect, ‘You have been too long a good subject
to lead me to think you would do such a thing now.’ To this the answer
was, ‘I have been a good subject; but if government will make me a rascal,
I cannot help it’ ”

These testimonies coming from separate and widely distant sources,


and giving the particulars of direct and positive slavery practiced
under another name, leave no reasonable doubt that the spirit of the
compact between the British government and the Africanders was
being violated.

It has been thought that the account of the same matter given by Mr.
Theal, in his “South Africa,” puts an entirely different aspect on the
practice of “apprenticeship.”

“At this time,” he writes (1857), “complaints were beginning to be heard


that the practice of transferring apprentices, or selling indentures, was
becoming frequent. It was rumored also [129]that several lawless
individuals were engaged in obtaining black children from neighboring
tribes, and disposing of them under the name of apprentices. How many
such cases occurred cannot be stated with any pretension to accuracy,
but the number was not great. The condition of the country made it almost
impossible to detain any one capable of performing service longer than he
chose to remain with a white master, so that even if the farmers in general
had been inclined to become slaveholders, they could not carry such
inclinations into practice. The acts of a few of the most unruly individuals
in the country might, however, endanger the peace and even the
independence of the republic. The president, therefore, on the 29th of
September, 1857, issued a proclamation pointing out that the sale or
barter of black children was forbidden by the recently adopted constitution,
and prohibiting transfers of apprenticeships, except when made before
landdrosts.”
Treating of a later period (1864–65), he returns to this matter, saying:

“A subject that was much discussed in Europe, as well as in South Africa,


during this period was the existence of slavery in the republic. Charges
against the burghers of reducing [130]weak and helpless blacks to a
condition of servitude were numerous and boldly stated on one side, and
were indignantly denied on the other. That the laws were clearly against
slavery goes for nothing, because in a time of anarchy law is a dead letter.
There is overwhelming evidence that blacks were transferred openly from
one individual to another, and there are the strongest assertions from men
of undoubted integrity that there was no slavery. To people in Europe it
seemed impossible that both should be true, and the opinion was
generally held that the farmers of the interior of South Africa were certainly
slave-holders.

“Since 1877 much concerning this matter that was previously doubtful has
been set at rest. On the 12th of April of that year the South African
republic was proclaimed British territory, and when, soon afterward,
investigation was made, not a single slave was set free, because there
was not one in the country. In the very heart of the territory kraals of
blacks were found in as prosperous a condition as in any part of South
Africa. It was ascertained that these blacks had always lived in peace with
the white inhabitants, and that they had no complaints to make. Quite as
strong was the evidence afforded by the number [131]of the Bantu. In 1877
there were, at the lowest estimate, six times as many black people living in
a state of semi-independence within the borders of the South African
Republic as there had been on the same ground forty years before. Surely
these people would not have moved in if the character of the burghers
was such as most Englishmen believed it to be. A statement of actual
facts is thus much more likely now to gain credence abroad than would
have been the case in 1864.

“The individuals who were termed slaves by the missionary party were
termed apprentices by the farmers. The great majority—probably nineteen
out of every twenty—were children who had been made prisoners in the
wars which the tribes were continually waging with each other. In olden
days it had been the custom for the conquering tribe to put all the
conquered to death, except the girls and a few boys who could be made
useful as carriers. More recently they had become less inhuman, from
having found out that for smaller children they could obtain beads and
other merchandise.

“With a number of tribes bordering on the republic ready to sell their


captives, with the Betshuana everywhere prepared to dispose of the
[132]children of their hereditary slaves, a few adventurous Europeans were
found willing to embark in the odious traffic. Wagon loads of children were
brought into the republic, where they were apprenticed for a term of years
to the first holder, and the deeds of apprenticeship could afterward be
transferred before a landdrost. This was the slavery of the South African
Republic. Its equivalent was to be found a few years earlier in the Cape
colony, when negroes taken in slave-ships were apprenticed to
individuals. There would have been danger in the system if the demand
for apprentices had been greater. In that case the tribes might have
attacked each other purposely to obtain captives for sale. But the demand
was very limited, for the service of a raw black apprentice was of no great
value. A herd boy might be worth something more than his food, clothing,
and a few head of cattle which were given him when his apprenticeship
expired; but no other class of raw native was.

“It is an open question whether it was better that these children should
remain with the destroyers of their parents, and according to chance grow
up either as slaves or as adopted members of the conquering tribe; or that
they should serve ten or fifteen years as apprentices to white people,
[133]acquire some of the habits of European life, and then settle down as
freemen with a little property. It was answered in 1864, and will be
answered to-day according to the bias of the individual.”

After all, Mr. Theal’s account of it does not materially change the
aspect of the system of enforced servitude that prevailed in the
Africander communities after they became independent. These
bond-children were either captured or bought from dealers in
children; they were held under bill of sale and indenture; and they
were sold from master to master by legal transfer of indenture before
a magistrate.

Mr. Theal’s low estimate of the value of the services that could be
rendered by raw black children, and of the limited demand for them,
is not in harmony with his own statement that such children were
brought into the republic in wagon loads, nor with the testimony,
quoted by Mr. Holden, covering two specific cases wherein one Kaffir
boy was sold for one hundred, and another for one hundred and fifty
rix-dollars. And his averment that in 1877 the British authorities could
not find a single slave to liberate in all the territory of the South
African Republic is simply amusing when viewed in the light of what
he states on the next page—that this system of enforced
[134]servitude under indentures that were legally merchantable “was
the slavery of the South African Republic.” Undoubtedly; and, so far
as is known, no other form of slavery was ever seriously charged
against the Africanders after their independence was established. It
is matter of surprise, however, that the British conscience of this
period was not able to scent the malodor of slavery under the new
form and title of “apprenticeship” which covered a marketable
property-right in the human chattel. [135]
[Contents]
CHAPTER IX.
THIRD CONTACT OF AFRICANDER AND BRITON—IN THE
ORANGE FREE STATE.

The “Great Trek” of 1836 and 1838 removed from the old colony at the Cape an
element in the population which, however worthy in some regards, was unrestful
and disaffected, leaving abundant room for a new immigration from Europe. It was
some years, however, before there was any considerable influx from continental
Europe. Judged by the grim rumors that were afloat everywhere, South Africa was a
dangerous country to live in because of the warlike and merciless Kaffirs; and the
trend of British emigration was yet towards America.

About 1845 the tide of fortune-seeking people was turned towards Cape Colony.
The British government of this time stimulated immigration to that field so liberally
that in five years between four and five thousand loyal subjects from the mother
country removed to the Cape. Later, [136]a considerable number of disbanded
German soldiers who had served under the British colors in the Crimean war were
sent there as citizens, and in 1858 over two thousand German civilians of the
peasant order were settled along the south coast on lands once occupied by the
Kaffirs.
GENERAL JOUBERT.

Industries natural to the climate and soil were slowly but steadily developed. Sheep
and cattle raising, and agriculture to a limited extent, became sources of wealth,
and correspondingly expanded the export trade. Public finances were gradually
restored to a healthy state, churches and schools sprang up, and there was no
serious drawback to the progress of the colony but the frequent Kaffir invasions
across the eastern border. These cost much loss of life and property to the raided
settlements, but the expense of the resulting wars was borne by the home
government. Under British rule the population had increased from 26,000
Europeans in 1806 to 182,000 in 1865.
With the growth of population there came changes in the form of government. The
earlier governors exercised almost autocratic power, fearing nothing but a possible
appeal against their acts to the Colonial Office in London. It should be stated,
however, that the colonists [137]found as frequent cause to complain of the home
government as of their governors. The occasional irritation which broke out into
open protest was caused, for the most part, by difficulties with the natives. The
Europeans, dwelling among an inferior race, naturally looked upon the natives as
existing for their benefit, and bitterly resented the disposition of both the imperial
authorities and the governors to give equal civil rights and protection to the blacks.
The missionaries were the special objects of this resentment, because they held
themselves bound by their sacred office to denounce the wrongs inflicted on the
Kaffirs, and to even defend their conduct in rebelling against oppression.

These unfortunate dissensions had the effect of uniting the English and the Dutch
colonists in questions of policy and government regarding the natives. After various
attempts to satisfy the people with a governor appointed by the crown and a
Legislative Council constituted by the governor’s nomination and imperial
appointment, the home authorities, in 1854, yielded to the public demand for
representative institutions.

A legislature, consisting of a Legislative Council and a House of Assembly, was


established, both to be elected on a franchise wide [138]enough to include people of
any race or color holding the reasonable property qualification. The sole check upon
the colonial legislature retained by the imperial government was the right of the
British crown to disallow any of its acts considered objectionable, on constitutional
or other grounds, by her Majesty’s ministers. The executive power remained, for a
time, with the governor and his council, who were appointed by the crown and in no
way responsible to the colonial houses. Later, the executive power was taken from
the governors and vested in a cabinet of ministers responsible to the colonial
legislature and holding office during its pleasure.

The range of industries followed by the people of Cape Colony was not enlarged
until the discovery of diamonds in 1869. This brought in a sudden rush of population
from Europe and America and so inflated trade that the colonial revenue was more
than doubled in the next five years. Then began that unparalleled development of
mineral resources in South Africa which created immense wealth and furnished the
elements of a political situation whose outcome the wisest cannot foresee.

With this general view of the condition of Cape Colony in the three decades
succeeding the [139]Great Trek of the Africanders, we turn again to the special study
proposed and consider the chain of events that led up to the third unfriendly contact
between Boer and Briton—this time beginning in the Orange Free State.

By the conventions of 1852 and 1854 Great Britain formally relinquished all claim to
that part of the interior of South Africa lying to the north of Cape Colony, and
recognized the republics of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. There can be
no doubt of the sincerity of the British government in taking this action. The
prevailing desires actuating both the parliament and the executive were to be rid of
the responsibility and expense of governing these regions, and to leave the two new
Africander republics to work out their own destiny in their own way.

For a few years the relations of the Cape government and its northern neighbors
were friendly. The first occurrence that disturbed the welcome peace and harmony
was a serious war which broke out in 1858 between the Basutos under Moshesh
and the Orange Free State. The Basutos laid claim to certain farms, held under
English titles, in Harrismith, Wynberg and Smithfield districts. These were taken
possession [140]of by the petty Basuto captains, and when attempts were made to
eject the intruders, Moshesh, the paramount chief, and his eldest son Letsie,
assumed the right to interfere. This episode, together with other unfriendly acts on
the part of the Basutos, brought on a condition which, it became evident, nothing
but war could remedy. Accordingly, the Volksraad of the Orange Free State
authorized the President, Mr. Boshof, to take any steps necessary to prevent
intrusion upon the territory of the State. After much and very insincere diplomatic
correspondence, the time of which was used by the Free State government in
collecting the forces of its western and northern divisions, and by the Basutos in
assembling their warriors, petty raids began the conflict and led on to hostilities on a
larger scale near the end of March, 1858.

By the 26th of April Mr. Boshof became convinced that the Free State could not
hold its own against the Basutos, and that the salvation of the country from being
overrun by its enemies depended upon obtaining aid from some quarter. Acting on
this conviction, on the 24th of April Mr. Boshof wrote Sir George Grey, governor of
Cape Colony, informing him of the critical condition of the Free State, and imploring
his mediation. [141]Sir George, after obtaining the sanction of the House Assembly
to such a course, immediately tendered his services as mediator to Mr. Boshof and
Moshesh, and was unconditionally and cordially accepted by both. Thereupon a
cessation of hostilities was agreed to pending the arrangement of final terms of
peace by Sir George.

In the meantime, the Free State was being ravaged on its western border by petty
chiefs, who saw in the struggle between the whites and the powerful Basutos a
favorable opportunity to enrich themselves with spoil. In the distress occasioned by
these forays the Free State was aided by a force of burghers from the Transvaal
Republic, under Commandant Paul Kruger.

Out of this friendly act there grew up a desire and even a proposition to unite the
two republics in one. President Pretorius, Commandant Paul Kruger, and about
twenty other representatives from the Transvaal visited Bloemfontein to confer with
the Free State Volksraad on the matter of union—a measure considered by many
the only means of saving the country from its savage foes.

While the conference on union was in progress there arrived, on the 11th of June, a
letter [142]from Sir George Grey announcing that in case an agreement to unite the
two republics were concluded, the conventions of 1852 and 1854—guaranteeing
their separate independence—would no longer be considered binding by Great
Britain. Undoubtedly this action evinced a desire, not to say a determination, that
the Free State should find safety not by union with the sister republic to the north,
but by coming again under British sovereignty and forming one of a group of
colonies to be united in a great British Dominion in South Africa. The negotiations
for union were dropped on the receipt of Sir George’s letter, and both parties
resolved to appoint commissioners to confer with him after peace with the Basutos
should be arranged.

It was not until the 20th of August that Sir George Grey arrived at Bloemfontein to
act as mediator between Moshesh and the Free State. While preliminaries were
being discussed the governor received urgent dispatches from London ordering him
to send all available troops to India, where the Sepoy rebellion was raging. It
became, therefore, a matter of supreme importance to establish peace between the
Free State and the Basutos at once—for not a soldier could safely be spared until
that was accomplished. [143]On the 29th of September the treaty was completed
and signed. It settled a new frontier for the Free State next to Basutoland, and
bound Moshesh to either punish marauders of his people himself, or consent that
the Free State authorities should do so.

This peace lasted only seven years. In 1865 new troubles arose leading to a
renewal of war between the Free State and Moshesh. Again the governor of Cape
Colony acted as mediator, but his decisions were rejected by the Basutos, and new
hostilities began. This time, by a heroic effort made in 1868, the whites defeated
and scattered the Basutos with great slaughter, and were at the point of utterly
breaking their power, when the always politic Moshesh appealed to the British High
Commissioner at the Cape to take his people under British protection.
The commissioner doubtless considered the interests of Cape Colony which, in the
event of a dispersion of the Basutos, might be overrun by the fugitives, and suffer
injury thereby. And it is evident that he was unwilling that the Free State should
strengthen itself, beyond the necessity of ever seeking readmission to the British
dominions, by the annexation of Basutoland. So, looking to the safety of the old
colony, and to the [144]hope of some day adding thereto the Orange Free State, the
commissioner took the defeated Basutos under the wing of the imperial government
and declared them British subjects.

The Free State was allowed to retain a considerable area of good land which it had
conquered on the north side of the Caledon River, but the adjustment reached was
anything but satisfactory. The British had now established their authority to the
south of the republic all the way from Cape Colony to Natal, and, thus, had
extinguished a second time the persistent Africander hope of extending their
territory to the sea. Thus, in 1869, recommenced the British advance toward the
interior.

Another momentous step towards enlarging the sphere of British influence was
taken almost immediately. Diamonds were discovered in 1869, in a district lying
between the Modder and the Vaal rivers, where the present town of Kimberley
stands. Within a few months thousands of diggers and speculators from all parts of
South Africa, Europe, America, and from some parts of Asia, thronged into the
region and transformed it into a place of surpassing value and interest. The
question of ownership was raised at once. The Orange Free State claimed it. The
Transvaal [145]Republic claimed it. It was claimed by Nicholas Waterboer, a Griqua
captain, son of old Andries Waterboer; his claim being based on an abortive treaty
made with the elder Waterboer in 1834, when, at Doctor Philip’s suggestion, the
attempt was made to interpose between the old colony and the northern
populations a line of three native states under British protection. And it was claimed
by a native Batlapin chief.

Three of these claimant—the Transvaal Republic, Nicholas Waterboer for the


Griquas, and the Batlapin chief for his clan—agreed to settle the conflict by
arbitration, naming the governor of Natal as arbitrator. The governor promptly
awarded the disputed ownership to Nicholas Waterboer the Griqua, who as
promptly placed himself under the British government, which, with equal
promptitude, constituted the district a crown colony under the name of Griqualand.
The Orange Free State, not having been a party to the arbitration, protested, and
was afterwards sustained by the decision of a British court, which found that
Waterboer’s claim to the territory was null and void. But the colony had been
constituted and the British flag unfurled over it before the finding of the court could
stay proceedings. [146]

Without admitting or denying the Free State’s contention, the British government
obtained a quitclaim title for a money consideration. It was represented that a
district so difficult to keep in order, because of the transient and turbulent character
of the population, should be under the control of a more vigorous government than
that of the Free State. Finally, the British offered and the Free State authorities
accepted, £90,000 in settlement of any claim the republic might have to the territory
of Griqualand.

The incident closed with the payment and acceptance, in 1876, of the price agreed
upon. But the Africanders of the Free State had the feeling at the time—and it never
ceased to rankle in their breasts—that they had been made the victims of sharp
practice; that the diamond-bearing territory had been rushed into the possession of
the British and made a crown colony without giving them a fair opportunity to prove
their claim to it; and that, while the price offered and paid was a tacit recognition of
the validity of their claim, it was so infinitesimal in proportion to the rights conveyed
as to imply that in British practice not only is possession nine points in ten of the law
but that it also justifies the holder in keeping back nine parts out of ten of the value.
[147]

Nor was this the only British grievance complained of at this time by the Free State.
The project of uniting the two republics for greater strength and mutual safety had
been vetoed for no apparent reason than to keep them weak so that they might the
sooner become willing to re-enter the British dominions in South Africa. And the
British High Commissioner at the Cape had taken the vanquished Basutos and their
territory under imperial protection at the moment when the victorious Free State
was about to reduce them to permanent submission, and to extend its territory to
the sea—again interposing the arm of Great Britain to prevent the strengthening of
the republic by its proposed acquisition of Basutoland and the gaining of a seaport
at the mouth of the St. John River.

Nevertheless, the Orange Free State accepted the situation philosophically and,
outwardly, continued on friendly terms with the British government until the outbreak
of war between that power and the Africanders of the Transvaal in 1899. [148]
[Contents]
CHAPTER X.
THIRD CONTACT OF AFRICANDER AND BRITON—IN THE
TRANSVAAL.

The aggressive policy of the British, which had served to widen and deepen the
breach between them and the Africanders of the Free State, was felt in the
Transvaal Republic, also, and led to an open rupture in 1880. It will be
necessary to trace somewhat carefully the conditions and events which brought
on that conflict.

The Africanders who had settled beyond the Vaal River were of a ruder sort than
their brethren of the Orange River district. Moreover, the reckless, unprincipled,
and even criminal classes were attracted to the Transvaal from various parts of
South Africa, seeking freedom from the restraints experienced under the stricter
government prevailing in the British colonies. These occasioned much scandal,
and provoked many conflicts with the Kaffirs by their lawlessness and violence
along the border and in the wilder districts of the territory. [149]

The farmers of the Vaal in a general way considered themselves one people, but
had become grouped in several districts separated by considerable distances.
Thus, in 1852, there were four separate communities—Potchefstroom, Utrecht,
Lyndenburg, and Zoutspansberg, each having its volksraad and president.
There was no co-ordinate action of the whole for internal administration and
public improvement, but for defense against the natives there was a sort of
federative union—more a matter of mutual understanding and consent than of
loyalty to a formal written document. That there was occasional independent
action by a single community in reference to outside matters is evident from the
invasion of the Orange Free State by the people of the Potchefstroom district in
1857, under the leadership of Mr. Pretorius. The object was to conquer the Free
State, and was abandoned only when it was found that the young sister republic
was disposed and prepared to defend itself. This invasion resulted in a treaty by
which the independence, boundaries and mutual obligations of the two republics
were fully defined and recognized.

In 1858 a single volksraad was chosen for all the four districts north of the Vaal,
and the [150]“Grondwet” on Fundamental Law—an instrument in the nature of a
federal constitution—was prepared by delegates specially elected for that
purpose. This was adopted at once by Potchefstroom and Zoutspansberg. In
1860 Lyndenburg and Utrecht followed their example. Although it has been
contended that the “Grondwet” is not to be regarded as a fixed constitution, like
that of the United States of America, the people of the Transvaal have looked
upon it as a sufficient federative bond for the union of the four semi-independent
districts in one nationality. The practical union of all was delayed, however, by a
civil war which broke out in 1862, and had a most disastrous influence on the
future of the country.

This internal strife grew out of the election of the president of the Transvaal
Republic, the younger Pretorius, to the presidency of the Orange Free State. It
was hoped by his partisans in both republics that the dual presidency would help
to bring about the desired union of the Free State and the Transvaal under one
government. While Mr. Pretorius was absent in the Free State, on a six months’
leave granted by the volksraad of the Transvaal, a faction hostile to him began
to protest against this double dignity [151]being enjoyed by any one man, and to
argue that the advantages of union would be largely with the Free State.
Hostility to Mr. Pretorius grew apace until it was strong enough to get a
resolution passed in the volksraad forbidding him to perform any executive act
north of the Vaal during the six months of his stay in the Free State, and
requiring him to give an account of his proceedings at the expiration of his leave.

On the 10th of September, 1860, Mr. Pretorius appeared before the volksraad of
the Transvaal, accompanied by a commission from the Free State appointed to
ask for a further leave of absence for the president, and to further the interests
of union. When Pretorius offered to give an account of his proceedings as
president of the Free State, the opposition raised the point that it was manifestly
illegal for any one to be president of the Transvaal Republic and of the Orange
Free State at the same time, for it was provided in their constitution that during
his term of office the president should follow no other occupation, and Mr.
Pretorius was pressed to resign one office or the other.

Pretorius at once resigned the presidency of the Transvaal; but his partisans
held a mass meeting at Potchefstroom, on the 8th and 9th of [152]October, at
which revolutionary proceedings were taken. It was resolved, almost
unanimously, that the volksraad no longer enjoyed the confidence of the people
they represented and must be held as having ceased to exist; that Mr. Pretorius
should remain president of the Transvaal Republic and have a year’s leave of
absence to bring about union with the Free State, Mr. Stephanas Schoeman—
instead of Mr. Grobbelear—to be acting president during his absence; and that
before the return of Mr. Pretorius to resume his duties a new volksraad should
be elected.

PIETERMARITZBURG.

The new election was so manipulated that only a thousand burghers voted, and
of these more than seven hundred declared in favor of the resolutions of the
Potchefstroom meeting. The committee that effected this clever political strategy
was composed of Messrs. D. Steyn, Preller, Lombard, Spruyt, and Bodenstein.
The new acting president, Mr. Schoeman, assumed official duty immediately.

With amazing inconsistency—for he was thought to be a loyal friend of Mr.


Pretorius—Schoeman called a meeting of the old volksraad that had been
dissolved by the revolution. He held his office from the same authority that had
declared this body to have forfeited confidence, [153]and to be non-existent, and
yet he acknowledged its legal existence. The old volksraad met on the 14th of
January, 1861, and after a session of two hours the majority of the members
resigned, being convinced of the general antagonism of the people. Not content
to let matters rest in a peaceful acquiescence in the revolution, Mr. Schoeman
called the old volksraad together a second time, under armed protection, and
procured an order for legal proceedings to be instituted against the committee
that had carried out the Potchefstroom resolutions. A court consisting of two
landdrosts—one of whom was Cornelius Potgieter, their bitterest political enemy
—tried the committee for sedition, on the 14th of February, found them guilty and
sentenced each to pay a fine of £100, except Mr. Bodenstein, whose fine was
only £15.

These proceedings led to great disturbances throughout the republic, and,


finally, to war. Schoeman assembled an armed force to support his authority.
Thereupon, Commandant Paul Kruger, of Rustenburg, called out the burghers of
his district and marched to Pretoria for the purpose of driving out Schoeman and
establishing a better government.

Among the expedients resorted to to prevent [154]bloodshed, a new volksraad


was elected, a new acting president was appointed, and for several months
there were two rival governments in the Transvaal. Acting President Schoeman,
supported by a strong party, persisted in endeavors to rule the country. So
grievous a state of anarchy prevailed that Kruger resolved to put an end to it by
the strong hand. Schoeman and his partisans retreated from Pretoria to
Potchefstroom, where he was besieged by the burgher force under Kruger. The
loss of life in the bombardment, and one sortie by the garrison, was not great;
but Schoeman became disheartened and fled, on the night of the 9th of October,
into the Free State, accompanied by his principal adherents.

A few days later, Kruger having moved his force to Klip River, Schoeman re-
entered Potchefstroom, rallied some eight hundred men around him, and Kruger
returned to give him battle. At this critical point President Pretorius interposed as
mediator, and an agreement was reached by which immediate hostilities were
prevented. Schoeman, however, continued to agitate.

Under the terms of agreement new elections were held by which W. C. Janse
Van Rensburg [155]was chosen president over Mr. Pretorius, and Paul Kruger
was made Commandant-General.

But the tribulations of the Transvaal were by no means over. On the pretense
that the ballot papers had been tampered with the standard of revolt was again
raised—this time by Jan Viljoen. The first encounter was against Kruger, who
had underestimated the strength of the new rebellion. Later, on the 5th of
January, 1864, a battle was fought in which Viljoen was defeated and compelled
to retreat to a fortified camp on the Limpopo.

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