The Politics of Moral Sin: Abortion and Divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina (Latin American Studies (Routledge (Firm)).)

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LATIN AMERICAN STUDIES SOCIAL SCIENCES AND LAW

Edited by

David Mares University of California, San Diego

A ROUTLEDGE SERIES


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LATIN AMERICAN STUDIES SOCIAL SCIENCES AND LAW

DAVID MARES, General Editor OBSERVING OUR HERMANOS DE ARMAS U.S. Military Attachés in Guatemala, Cuba, and Bolivia, 1950–1964 Robert O. Kirkland LAND PRIVATIZATION IN MEXICO Urbanization, Formation of Regions, and Globalization in Ejidos María Teresa Vázquez Castillo THE POLITICS OF THE INTERNET IN THIRD WORLD DEVELOPMENT Challenges in Contrasting Regimes with Case Studies of Costa Rica and Cuba Bert Hoffmann CONTESTING THE IRON FIST Advocacy Networks and Police Violence in Democratic Argentina and Chile Claudio A. Fuentes LATIN AMERICA’S NEO-REFORMATION Religion’s Influence on Contemporary Politics Eric Patterson INSURGENCY, AUTHORITARIANISM, AND DRUG TRAFFICKING IN MEXICO’S “DEMOCRATIZATION” José Luis Velasco THE POLITICS OF SOCIAL POLICY CHANGE CHILE AND URUGUAY Retrenchment Versus Maintenance, 1973–1998 Rossana Castiglioni IN

AN INDUSTRIAL GEOGRAPHY OF COCAINE Christian M. Allen

STATE AND BUSINESS GROUPS IN MEXICO The Role of Informal Institutions in the Process of Industrialization, 1936–1984 Arnulfo Valdivia-Machuca LEFT IN TRANSFORMATION Uruguayan Exiles and the Latin American Human Rights Networks, 1967–1984 Vania Markarian INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS IN LATIN AMERICA Peace and Security in the Southern Cone Andrea Oelsner THE POLITICS OF MORAL SIN Abortion and Divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina Merike Blofield


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THE POLITICS OF MORAL SIN Abortion and Divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina

Merike Blofield

Routledge New York & London

RT77754_Discl.fm Page 1 Wednesday, December 21, 2005 2:08 PM

Published in 2006 by Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 270 Madison Avenue New York, NY 10016

Published in Great Britain by Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 2 Park Square Milton Park, Abingdon Oxon OX14 4RN

© 2006 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC Routledge is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 International Standard Book Number-10: 0-415-97775-4 (Hardcover) International Standard Book Number-13: 978-0-415-97775-3 (Hardcover) Library of Congress Card Number 2005027768 No part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Blofield, Merike. The politics of moral sin : abortion and divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina / Merike Blofield. p. cm. -- (Latin American studies) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 0-415-97775-4 1. Abortion--Chile--Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 2. Abortion--Political aspects--Chile. 3. Divorce--Chile—Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 4. Divorce--Political aspects--Chile. 5. Abortion--Argentina--Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 6. Abortion--Political aspects--Argentina. 7. Divorce--Argentina--Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 8. Divorce--Political aspects--Argentina. 9. Abortion--Spain--Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 10. Abortion--Political aspects--Spain. 11. Divorce--Spain--Religious aspects--Catholic Church. 12. Divorce--Political aspects--Spain. I. Title. II. Latin American studies (Routledge (Firm)) HQ767.5.L37B54 2006 323.3'40917612--dc22

2005027768

Visit the Taylor & Francis Web site at http://www.taylorandfrancis.com Taylor & Francis Group is the Academic Division of Informa plc.

and the Routledge Web site at http://www.routledge-ny.com


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To my parents


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Contents

Preface and Acknowledgments

ix

List of Tables

xii

List of Figures

xv

List of Abbreviations Introduction

xvii 1

Chapter One Moral Politics in a Global Era

17

Chapter Two Economic Resources and Political Access on a Domestic Level

33

Chapter Three Social Equality and Social Reform in Spain

63

Chapter Four Moral Fundamentalism in Chile

95

Chapter Five The Interaction of Inequality and Delegative Democracy in Argentina

121

Chapter Six Abortion Reform across Catholic Western Europe and Latin America

157

Conclusion

187 vii


viii

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Contents

Appendix

195

Notes

197

Bibliography

213

Index

237


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The topic of this book began long ago, although I did not know it at the time. Growing up in a social democratic, ‘pragmatic’ country like Finland, I was physically sheltered from the socio-economic problems most people around the world have to live with. When we discussed the morality of abortion (which was and is legal in Finland) in my ninth grade philosophy class, I confidently announced that it was immoral for a woman to have an abortion unless she was raped or in serious physical danger. The choice, I believed, could always be made beforehand. Later, in my college years in Canada, I became strongly pro-choice when confronted with the complex reality of discrimination against women. The issue of abortion resurfaced as a question of study when I went down to Chile, in between degrees, to work for a women’s program. I slowly learned about the astronomical clandestine abortion rate in Chile, and heard personal stories from poor women who had been hospitalized for complications from illegal abortions, and in some cases prosecuted for them. I was told firsthand accounts of female patients being denied both anesthetics and antibiotics by doctors to coerce confessions. I returned to the United States to pursue a Ph.D. and became determined to write a book on the politics of abortion. Without taking issue with the morality of abortion as such—which is an extremely difficult issue—I have sought to explore the politics and the empirical reality that surround the issue. In doing so, I have extended the study to include divorce, and to Spain and Argentina as well. This book is the result. The analysis in this book draws on extensive field research in three countries: eight months in Argentina, six months in Chile, and three months in Spain. In the process, I interviewed key political and social actors in the three countries.1 The target groups were legislators from each relevant ideological persuasion, officials in key ministries, Church officials, ix


x

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feminist organizers, key actors within Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, and specialists on these issues. I also draw on newspaper articles (from a variety of ideological tendencies) for the time periods under study, legislative initiatives and debates on divorce and abortion in the three countries, and on other available primary and secondary documents on abortion and divorce as well as on reproductive health, feminist groups, church-state relations, political parties and institutions, and the distribution of economic resources. I would like to thank the following people and institutions. First, and crucially, generous support for research was provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Institute of World Politics, the Ford Foundation FLACSO-Chile Exchange Program, and the UNC-Chapel Hill Graduate School. A Mellon Fellowship and a Tinker Travel Grant, administered by the Institute for Latin American Studies, also helped with research and travel. Finally, a research grant from Grand Valley State University in Summer 2004 allowed me to revise chapters of my manuscript. This extensive funding made it possible for me to pursue a qualitative three-country study, a project of which many were initially understandably skeptical. I would also like to thank the institutions and people who have helped me in my research in the field. In Spain, I am very grateful to the Instituto Juan March for allowing me use of their resources, and to Martha Peach who helped me navigate the Center of Documentation. I am especially grateful to Celia Valiente and Belén Barreiro, who shared their knowledge and resources on gender issues and abortion with me. Their help was essential in completing the Spanish section of my study. In Chile, I am very grateful to FLACSO for allowing me use of their resources. I would particularly like to thank the former Director of FLACSO, Francisco Rojas, for making me feel welcome, providing contacts, and giving me the opportunity to draft an early version of my research as a FLACSO publication. In Argentina, I would like to thank Martha Rosenberg, Silvina Ramos and Gaby Hirsh for generously sharing their knowledge and time with me. Finally, I would like to thank all the individuals I interviewed in all three countries for their time, many of whom were extremely busy and had many more pressing concerns to attend to. The professors who formed my dissertation committee—John Stephens, Jonathan Hartlyn, Lars Schoultz, and Scott Morgenstern—were not only kind and supportive as individuals, I am also grateful for the valuable critiques and advice I received and continue to receive from them. I would like to especially thank my advisor, Evelyne Huber, whose support


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has been essential through the process of researching and writing the book. She is a wonderful and generous person, and has always had time to answer my barrage of questions, read drafts and give feedback. She continues to support and advise me, and I cannot thank her enough. I am also grateful to Evelyne Huber and John Stephens for use of their unpublished data on Latin American parties. My friend and colleague Claudio Fuentes provided essential support during this process as well. He not only helped me intellectually and emotionally by listening to me, challenging me, and reading and critiquing drafts, he also helped me professionally in both Chile and Argentina during my field research. Moreover, his work ethic provided me with a model to aspire to. I would also like to thank Liesl Haas, Priscilla Lambert, Celia Valiente, and Kurt Weyland for their very helpful critiques on various drafts and chapters. In addition, Liesl Haas generously allowed me access to her dissertation research materials, and numerous conversations about women’s rights in Chile with Liesl have helped me sharpen my own thinking. David Mares as series editor provided me with very helpful feedback on my manuscript, and Benjamin Holtzman has been an excellent editor. Chris Frederick worked on the index. Many friends have provided me with emotional and intellectual support. Carisa, Jenny and Paolo, Erin and Simon, Liz and Bennett, Ian, Jonathan, Juan Pablo, Mireya, Carina (my sister), Heather, Colleen, and Darren, have been wonderful friends. In addition, time spent with my lifelong friend Eerika always grounds me before I go back off to another country, and conversations with her give me new angles and make me rethink my ideas. Finally, I would like to thank my parents, to whom I dedicate this book. Mari, Eero, and Ron have always supported me in my intellectual endeavors, all the way from preteen conversations about world politics with my dad to the recent—and insistent—financing of decent job interview outfits by my mom. Merike Blofield


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List of Tables

Table I.1

Divorce and Abortion Reform in Spain, Argentina and Chile

11

Table 1.1

Support for Abortion in Spain, Argentina and Chile

20

Table 1.2

Church Attendance in Spain, Argentina and Chile

21

Table 1.3

Economic Development and Urbanization in Spain, Argentina and Chile

22

Position of Women in Society and Politics in Spain, Argentina and Chile

23

Spanish Public Opinion on Abortion in 1979, 1981 and 1983

79

Number of Legally Performed Abortions in Spain, 1986–2000

91

Percent of Respondents Who Support Legal Divorce in Chile

97

Grounds on Which People Should Be Allowed to Divorce. Chile, 2002

97

Table 4.3

Support for Abortion in Chile

99

Table 5.1

Support for Abortion in Argentina

126

Table 6.1

Divorce Reform across Catholic Western Europe (CWE) and Selected Latin American Countries

159

Abortion Reform in Catholic West European Countries

162

Table 1.4 Table 3.1 Table 3.2 Table 4.1 Table 4.2

Table 6.2

xiii


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xiv Table 6.3

List of Tables Year of Democratic Transition in Selected Latin American Countries

163

Table 6.4

Selected Indicators on CWE Countries

164

Table 6.5

Selected Indicators on Latin American Countries

164

Table 6.6

Party or Coalition in Power and Political Party Seats in Lower Chamber at the Time of Abortion Reform in CWE Countries

174

Average Share of Center-left/Left Party Seats and Religious Party Seats in the Chamber, Latin American Countries, 1990s

175

Support for Abortion by Ideological Self-placement. Spain, Argentina and Chile

211

Table 6.7

Table A.1


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List of Figures

Figure 2.1

Gini Index in Spain, Argentina and Chile.

41

Figure 2.2

Share (%) of National Income of Top 20% of the Population in Spain and Chile.

41

Solidarity through Two Questions. Spain, Argentina and Chile.

54

Survey Responses on Collective Action. Spain, Argentina and Chile.

55

Spanish Public Opinion Support (%) on Abortion after Legislative Passage.

92

Figure 2.3 Figure 2.4 Figure 3.1 Figure 6.1

Percent Labor Force Female. CWE in 1980 and Latin America in the 1990s.

165

Figure 6.2

Percent Catholic in CWE and Latin America, 2003.

166

Figure 6.3

Percentage of Respondents Who Go to Church Once a Week or More. CWE and Latin America.

167

Percentage of Respondents Who Never Go to Church. CWE and Latin America.

168

Figure 6.4

Figure 6.5 Percentage Approval of Abortion across Countries, 1981.

170

Figure 6.6 Percentage Approval of Abortion across Countries, 1990.

172

Figure 6.7

Percentage Approval of Abortion. Italy and Spain Compared with Latin American Countries over Time.

173 xv


xvi Figure 6.8 Figure 6.9

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List of Figures Income Share Received by the Top Quintile of the Population. CWE and Latin America.

178

Income Share Received by the Top 10 Percent of the Population. CWE and Latin America.

179


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List of Abbreviations

AGI

Alan Guttmacher Institute

AP

Alianza Popular (Popular Alliance Party)

CDS

Centro Democrático y Social (Social and Democratic Center Party)

CEDAW

The Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women

CIS

Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas (Center for Sociological Investigations)

CWE

Catholic Western Europe

ECLAC

Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean

FREPASO Frente para el País Solidario (Solidarity Front for the Country Party) GDP

Gross Domestic Product

HDI

Human Development Index

IE

Inequality

ILD

Instituto Libertad y Desarrollo (Liberty and Development Institute)

IM

Instituto de la Mujer (Women’s Institute)

IUD

Intrauterine Device

MADEL

Movimiento Autoconvocada para Decidir en Libertad (Movement to Decide in Liberty) xvii


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xviii

List of Abbreviations

NGO

Non-governmental Organization

OECD

Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development

PCE

Partido Comunista Español (Spanish Communist Party)

PDC

Partido Demócrata Cristiana (Christian Democratic Party)

PJ

Partido Justicialista (Justice Party)

PPD

Partido por la Democracia (Party for Democracy)

PRSD

Partido Radical Social Demócrata (Radical Social Democratic Party)

PS

Partido Socialista (Socialist Party)

PSOE

Partido Socialista Obrero Español (Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party)

RN

Renovación Nacional (National Renovation Party)

SERNAM

Servicio Nacional de la Mujer (Women’s Ministry)

UCD

Unión de Centro Democrático (Union of the Democratic Center Party)

UCR

Unión Cívica Radical (Radical Civic Union Party)

UDI

Unión Demócrata Independiente (Independent Democratic Union Party)

UN

United Nations

WVS

World Values Survey


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Introduction

THE CENTRALITY OF MORAL POLITICS When we talk about moral politics, we are talking about issues at the core of our religious and ethical worldviews—how we view life and death, human relations, and the family. Ideas about the role of women are fundamental to these beliefs. At the same time, religious conceptions of women’s identities and roles have historically led to social, economic and political discrimination against women. Three trends—secularization, feminism and democratization—have shaped the context within which these issues have been politicized across countries in the contemporary era. The beginning of secularization dates back several centuries, while feminism has been one of the most powerful social forces of the second half of the twentieth century in its confrontation of religion, tradition, and men’s power. Democratization has provided the political context that has allowed for the voices of underrepresented groups like women to be heard, and for religious orthodoxy to be questioned. Religious norms and women’s rights often come into direct conflict with one another (and often to the point where discussion of such conflict is considered distasteful). Yet this discussion is critically important, most obviously because it affects half the population, but also because it touches on the entrenched interests of very powerful institutions, and pits these interests against social movements of disadvantaged groups trying to gain a voice. In countries with such powerful religious organizations as the Catholic Church, this juxtaposition has been particularly conflictual. The question I broadly address in my study is how Catholic countries, once democratic, respond to secularization, changes in women’s social roles and feminist political mobilization. Do religious organizations lose influence on the political level, and if so, how, and what are the factors 1


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The Politics of Moral Sin

that promote or hinder political change on these issues? How important is public opinion and social mobilization; to what interests do politicians respond? Whose interests win? In Catholic countries, the issue that has roused passions and most acutely polarized the Catholic Church and feminists is abortion. Abortion is often viewed as a ‘cultural’ or value issue. It is: it touches on central aspects of Catholic doctrine, which is why potential reform has elicited such deep opposition. The Catholic Church defines abortion as homicide. Pope Pius IX prohibited any form of abortion for Catholics in 1869, and Pope John Paul II declared in 1980 that confession to an abortion was grounds for excommunication. Second, it has constituted one of the central themes of the Western women’s movement, particularly from the 1960s on. It is precisely “their special responsibility for human reproduction” that makes women’s options “more restricted than those of men” (Borchorst 1994: 32). Hence, control over whether and when to bear children crystallizes for many the essence of feminist demands. Third, abortion is also important for public policy; it constitutes a non-economic, regulatory social policy issue. While debates around abortion in Catholic countries tend to be ideological in character, the policies have significant practical consequences for women, families, and governments around the world. Countries where the practice is illegal tend to have high rates of clandestine abortions that constitute a costly public health problem for states in terms of high levels of maternal mortality as well as hospitalizations of women. On the other hand, legalization of abortion per se involves few outlays on the part of the state and does not involve external conjunctures such as IMF conditionalities, for example. In fact, legalization is likely to save resources by re-directing them from expensive outlays in treating post-abortion complications from unsafe, clandestine abortions.1 Also, in cases where abortion is illegal to begin with, there are no entrenched public outlays involved that would make the impact of policy legacies (Pierson 2001) important. The key question that drives this analysis is: under what conditions do Catholic countries obtain policy outcomes on women’s rights that are equitable and efficient? I define an equitable outcome as one that does not produce major differences across social groups such as sexes or classes. I understand an efficient outcome in the case of abortion to be one that allows the vast majority of people to abide by the laws under which they live and where the state allocates resources in a cost-efficient way. For instance, a state that maintains abortion illegal while spending a great deal of money in treating post-abortion complications of hospitalized


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women instead of providing these women with the ability to prevent pregnancies or with cheaper and simpler safe abortions uses resources in an inefficient way. Given this conflict in worldviews and the regulatory nature of abortion, many have argued that public opinion should, and does, serve as a key mediating mechanism for politicians when they consider whether to reform laws (Barreiro 2000). This makes sense: we would expect that in increasingly secular societies, along with democratic politics, arguments made on the basis of individual and women’s rights and by appeals to empirical reality (the social problems lack of legalization creates) would win over appeals to tradition and religious doctrine. This has not taken place in many countries despite democratization. In fact, we see a divergence on abortion policies between Catholic Western Europe and Latin America. In this study, I examine three countries, Chile, Argentina and Spain, where political processes and policy outcomes have varied. Spain liberalized abortion laws soon after its transition to democracy and achieved a relatively equitable and efficient policy outcome. In Chile and Argentina, abortion is illegal and abortion politics have remained conservative, while clandestine abortion rates remain high. I argue that this variance in outcomes is strongly influenced by the differential distribution of economic resources and political access that feminists and the Catholic Church, respectively, command. These differences should be viewed in a global context. Catholicism is characterized by its transnational, hierarchical nature. The head of the Church, the Pope, has ultimate authority over the domestic Catholic churches across the world; hence, priests and bishops are answerable to the Pope in the last instance, not to domestic forces. Over time, then, the Vatican exerts complete control over the domestic Church hierarchies through appointments. The domestic Church will be mindful of both external directives and domestic realities in strategizing the best approach to maintain its interests. At the same time, if the Church chooses to wield political power in a country, then, it is potentially a conflict in the context of democratic politics (given that it answers to an external authority). Historically, church-state relations have indeed tended to be close in most Catholic countries (although Church opposition to military regimes in the second half of the twentieth century became more common). On the other hand, the second half of the 20th century witnessed the growth of the women’s movement. Women have had to fight for their rights from a position of social, economic and political disadvantage, and with significantly less leverage than the wealthy Catholic Church. By the third wave of democratization (1970s on), women’s movements had already begun to


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significantly change the socio-political and economic landscape of industrialized countries. Women had begun to rebel against traditional roles and discrimination, and demanded equality from their governments and societies. However, while external influences and international diffusion are important, creating in effect what we refer to as waves, feminist movements tend to be very much home-grown affairs reacting to domestic conditions. In Catholic Western Europe, access to abortion was liberalized from the 1970s on, with the exception of Ireland and Portugal (discussed in Chapter Six). On the other hand, aside from Cuba and Belize, Latin American countries have not, despite democratizations, liberalized abortion laws, and in some countries political debate has been moving in a more conservative direction. For instance, in Argentina, former president Carlos Menem went out of his way to court the Vatican with an anti-abortion agenda. In Chile, abortion is banned even when the mother’s life is at stake. Yet complications from illegal abortions—affecting primarily poor women—are the primary public health crisis in these two countries, necessitating costly treatments, and indicating that neither government has resolved the issue in a way that is either equitable or efficient. In both countries, women resort to abortion at such high rates that it constitutes a method of birth control, and complications from abortions are the leading cause of maternal mortality. Why this difference in abortion reform? Is it simply that Latin Americans are more conservative, despite their very secular behavior? It is easy to look at the results of policy changes, and extrapolate from them a cultural predisposition and a social balance of forces post facto. Current opinion polls show that West Europeans, even in Catholic countries, have more liberal attitudes toward abortion than do Latin Americans today. However, we should analyze the situation before reform in liberal countries to compare the social balance of forces at the time when it was relevant for the push toward policy change. Across Latin America today, as I show in Chapters One and Six, unsafe abortions remain the primary public health crisis, and public opinion supports liberalization of the status quo, much as it did in Europe prior to reform. Do these similarities make the two continents comparable? There are still many differences in economic development, in democratic history and institutions, and more recently in European political integration on that continent. It seems quite ingenious to compare, for instance, Switzerland and Guatemala on the basis that both countries are majority Catholic. To draw interesting and valid inferences regarding political outcomes, we need to examine countries that are as similar as possible historically, economically and politically across the two regions.


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With this aim in mind, I have narrowed the qualitative analysis to three countries: Chile, Spain and Argentina. These three countries share a host of characteristics: they are all recently democratized, and all fit into Siaroff’s (1994) categorization of “late female mobilization states.”2 In addition, they are all Hispanic, with recent experiences of pro-natalist, repressive military regimes. At the time of the first democratic elections and governments (1976–77 in Spain, 1983 in Argentina, 1989–90 in Chile), abortion was illegal in all three countries. Moreover, while Spain has traditionally been considered a ‘laggard’ in comparison to other West European countries, Chile and Argentina are developed compared to the rest of Latin America. Before the military regime of Augusto Pinochet, Chilean politics resembled most closely West European politics with a stable, institutionalized and ideologically oriented multiparty system. These basic parameters have continued during the fifteen years of democracy (1990–2005). Argentina, on the other hand, is an immigration country like Canada and the United States, and its per capita income was in fact higher than most of Europe as well as Canada in the 1920s. Despite 20th century political instability it has historically been the most economically and socially developed country in Latin America, with a more extensive welfare state than in any other Latin American country (with the possible exception of Uruguay and Socialist Cuba). More broadly, a variety of important factors are comparable. As I show in Chapter One, public opinion on abortion (prior to reform), the social urgency of the problems caused by lack of legalization, levels of church attendance, women’s education and levels of participation in the work force, level of economic development (although here there are some differences) and urbanization, are similar enough to be controlled for by this case selection. Yet these three countries have experienced very different post-democratization trajectories regarding abortion reform (or lack thereof). While Spain resolved abortion in an efficient and relatively equitable way, liberalizing abortion laws so that most women could access safe abortions, and reducing the abortion rate through reproductive health policies, in Chile and Argentina it continues to be the primary public health crisis today. Why these differences? Much attention has been directed to the different nature of political institutions in Latin America and Western Europe: the former have presidential and the latter have parliamentary systems. Scholars disagree over which institutional set-up promotes political stability (see for instance Linz 1990; Mainwaring and Shugart 1997). However, the broader playing field that institutions filter is not necessarily level: access to the media (an increasingly


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expensive resource), political financing, and the class nature of conservative and feminist mobilization have a significant influence on politicians’ interests and strategies, and the political processes and outcomes. While prohibition of abortion has historically resulted in significant social problems, legalization in Catholic countries has required extensive social mobilization and political pressure, specifically from feminists. In this study, I show that effective democratic participation and policy reform on abortion is premised on a relatively equal distribution of economic resources, without which it is extremely hard for feminists to gain social and political ground and very easy for established powers such as the Catholic Church and their allies to maintain ground. The distribution of income and resources mediates the strategies and the relative impact of the Catholic Church and conservatives on the one hand and feminists and reformists on the other hand. The higher the share of income in the hands of the elites, the harder it is to mount an effective reformist challenge to resolve urgent social problems, even on a policy area where we would not intuitively expect it to have much, if any, effect. This is exacerbated, I show, by the detrimental effect class divisions have on middle-class solidarity. In this sense, this book questions the importance of ‘culture’ as an explanation and instead attributes more salience to power and interests. To test the applicability of my framework, I bring divorce into the analysis as well. Divorce is comparable to abortion in several ways. First, divorce is also an issue that is central to Catholic doctrine. The Catholic Church defines marriage as indissoluble; it is a sacrament in Catholic doctrine, and from the point of view of the Church, humans simply cannot “dissolve what God has bound.” Consequently, the Church has vehemently opposed the legalization of divorce. Second, unregulated separations and lack of access to legal divorce tend to hurt the most vulnerable members of a broken family, mainly women and children, whose economic resources are lower than those of men. This is why access to legal and fair divorce has been a significant demand of feminist movements in Catholic countries. Third, divorce also constitutes a non-economic, regulatory social policy issue. Legalization of divorce per se involves few outlays on the part of the state, and does not involve entrenched policy legacies. On the other hand, the inability to access legal divorce can complicate inheritance rights, and leave both abandoned as well as new families unprotected. While divorce touches on deeply held values, it taps into interests as well. Here there are some differences with abortion. Divorce is a state, and access to divorce affects the middle classes, while the physical effects of


Introduction

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illegal abortion—a one-time act—are largely contained among lower class women. Middle class women simply require an afternoon off at a private doctor’s clinic to obtain an abortion, and men can, if they choose, remain completely uninvolved. This, I argue, most clearly politically differentiates divorce from abortion and, as I show in the following chapters, explains the variance in divorce reform across the three countries as well. Indeed, Spain and Argentina legalized divorce within five years of democratization (in 1981 and 1987 in Spain and Argentina respectively) while Chile finally legalized a conservative divorce law in 2004, fourteen years after democratization. The lag in Chile, I show, was partly due to different middle class interests. I define the political process on abortion and divorce in the broad sense of the term, including framing, agenda-setting, legislative passage and policy implementation. Clearly, what finally and concretely matter in terms of policy outcomes are the latter two: passage and implementation. However, an analysis of framing and agenda-setting also gives us an excellent window into the relative power, strategies and motivations of the actors involved and gives us more insight and predictive power about potential future reforms. There is no such thing as a single-variable explanation in the social sciences, of course, and my study is embedded in an international context in which conservative global actors—supported by the Vatican-—have become increasingly organized and active. The ability of these organizations to penetrate economic and political elites in highly unequal countries has given them significant political leverage over domestic policy. Given this, timing of democratization matters in that in today’s climate a strong feminist movement is even more necessary for liberal political change than before. In addition, elites not only have access to more economic resources, they also tend to have more political access in Latin American countries. In Chile and Argentina, the political system is status quo-oriented given the high number of veto points (points at which legislation can be rejected or changed), which makes it very hard to push through and implement legislative change. In fact, in Chile this—a status-quo oriented system that favors the Right—was the stated intent of General Pinochet when he implemented a new constitution in 1980. While there are certainly instances when institutional rules are not respected (for instance, under Argentine President Carlos Menem in the 1990s), this seems to be rarely, if ever, the case when the potential beneficiaries are relatively powerless. Finally, the party system is more responsive to reformist demands in Spain than in Chile, while in Argentina, despite ostensibly Centerleft platforms, parties tend to veer to the right once they gain influence.


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I draw on and contribute to a long tradition of work on inequality, political participation and the quality of democracy, a body of work with roots going back to Aristotle, Louis de Tocqueville and Karl Marx. More recently, Carles Boix (2003) has argued that a key factor contributing to democratization is the level of inequality in society. Researchers have also found that, within democracies, lower class/status groups participate less in politics (see for instance Bachrach and Baratz 1970), unless they are brought into the process through membership in other organizations, particularly unions (see for instance Rueschemeyer, Stephens and Stephens 1992; Huber and Stephens 2001). I show that inequality and class matter even for non-economic, moral politics where the rights of women are at stake. In doing so, I challenge recent work that gives more prominence to ideas, institutions and elite networks to explain policy outcomes on women’s rights (Htun 2003, for example, whose work I discuss in Chapter Two). In other recent works on gender politics in Latin America there seems to be an implicit recognition of the impact of inequality, although it has not formed a central part of the studies. For instance, in work on post-democratization gender politics, both Friedman (2000) and Rodríguez (2003) note the impact of class divisions on the feminist movement in Venezuela and Mexico respectively. Indeed, a lot of the current scholarship on both democratic consolidation as well as policy reform in Latin America and Western Europe has not given much attention to inequality. By this omission, I argue that a crucial influence on politics in Latin America, with the world’s highest income inequalities, has been overlooked. Rather than relying on country-specific arguments, my study makes a general argument about policy reform that explains policy trajectories in all three countries, as well as illuminates some of the differences between the two regions more broadly. The analysis emphasizes the importance of structure and its influence on interests and human agency. In doing so, my study contributes to our understanding of democratic politics and policy reform more broadly in Latin America. It also contributes to the comparative social policy and feminist comparative policy literature. My research design is cross-regional and qualitative. Given the challenges related to validity and reliability in such a study, I have sought to avoid some obvious pitfalls of qualitative analysis. I employ the King, Keohane, Verba (1994) approach to qualitative analysis: I have sought to control the environment through a case selection of most-similar countries with distinct outcomes. I have also systematized my analysis by collecting (as far as possible) comparable data across the three countries, and by


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Introduction

9

addressing and ruling out alternative explanations with reliable aggregate data and corroborating my evidence with other data where I can.

THE ARGUMENT OF THE BOOK I argue that effective democratic participation and policy reform on women’s rights requires relatively equal socio-economic conditions, without which it is extremely hard for feminists to gain social and political ground, and very easy for established powers such as the Catholic Church and their conservative allies to maintain ground. First, the Catholic Church and feminists have access to different resources on an international as well as a domestic level. The Vatican shift since the papacy of John Paul II (1978–2005) to a focus on theological orthodoxy on family and sexual morality has legitimated within the Church hierarchy more rightwing clergy and Catholic organizations such as Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ. These are two international, theologically orthodox Catholic organizations, with a clear stance against Liberation Theology with its message of a ‘preferential option for the poor.’3 I trace how the Catholic Church—an organized, transnational hierarchical institution—and Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, have affected the domestic Catholic Church and its relationship to domestic economic and political elites since 1978 in Spain, Argentina and Chile. External actors with something to offer domestic economic and political elites will have more political influence, and this influence will be even stronger if domestic inequalities are high. In this case, the Catholic Church and linked organizations can provide elites with a moral discourse that distracts attention from the socio-economic causes of poverty, while providing them with moral legitimacy. The agenda of Right parties is largely shaped by their core constituents, the economic elites (Gibson 1996). The incentives to promote a morally conservative agenda among the economic elites increase in democracies with higher inequalities as it gives an alternative discourse to one based on redistribution. The higher the levels of inequality, the more concerned elites will be about the threat of redistribution. Theological orthodoxy—and its (re)assertion of individual morality over collective concerns—can be highly attractive to economic elites who have historically maintained a mutually beneficial relationship with the Catholic Church, and for whom Liberation Theology has been a distasteful ‘aberration.’4 Moreover, a theologically orthodox framing can divert attention away from socio-economic and redistributive issues by identifying predominantly socio-economic problems as having individual


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moral causes, particularly if elites dominate framing through media ownership. The Right can offer significant political influence to these organizations in return. While beliefs certainly play a role, such an alliance among political, economic and religious elites is also built and maintained through compatible interests. Hence we are likely to see more successful penetration of elites by orthodox Catholic groups in unequal countries, particularly when elites are cohesive and politically represented by a conservative party. This makes it easier to access elites and to have influence over the political agenda, while elites will have more of an interest in legitimacy. To sum, the position of the Church on family and sexual morality is an independent variable, influenced by the Vatican shift. On the other hand, the extent to which Church doctrine exerts political influence in domestic politics is linked to both the hierarchy’s as well as orthodox Catholic organizations’ ability to forge allies as well as the relative wealth of those allies. Second, and related, the ability of feminists to redefine legal abortion as a public health issue and/or a women’s rights issue (Lovenduski and Outshoorn 1986: 4), and legal divorce as a social need and an individual right, has been a necessary condition for policy reform. In the chapters that follow, I show that economic inequality allows domestic elites disproportionate influence over media ownership (framing) and campaign financing (framing and agenda-setting), and consequently over the political dynamics all the way from how the problem is defined to whether and what legislation is passed. If this is combined with close relations between conservative Catholic organizations and elites, both framing and agenda-setting are likely to be morally conservative. Third, income inequality and class divisions influence the support base for reformist social mobilization. First, feminists simply do not have access to the same resources that the wealthy and highly organized Catholic Church does, especially when the latter act in concert with economic elites. More importantly, unlike on the Right, a reformist coalition cannot be built only, or even mainly, on mutual interests; rather, an essential base is a sense of solidarity. In conditions of stark economic inequalities and class divisions, middle and upper class women—and men—simply do not see their lower-class counterparts as social equals, and it is hard for feminists (or other reformers) to mobilize a critical mass of activists for causes based on solidarity, especially when they involve such a powerful and organized opponent. Consequently, in the face of weak mobilization even political parties on the Left are likely to be unresponsive, given the competing pressures of campaign contributors and media reactions coming from the Right.


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Introduction

11

Fourth, political access is most importantly influenced by the party system, institutions and the role of the executive. First, the composition of the party system is influenced by a set of exogenous factors that are not the subject of analysis here. As it stands, the conservatives in Chile and Spain are represented by electorally successful Right parties, while in Argentina there is no self-identified national-level conservative party. Spain, on the other hand, had the most electorally strong Left party of the three countries during the time period under consideration here. However, the political agenda of Left, Center and Right parties across the countries—regardless of size—differs as well, and is influenced by the relative mobilization of conservative and reformist social forces. In this analysis, I treat the party system as an independent variable and party agendas as an endogenous variable. Second, political institutions filter agenda-setting and the legislative process. A high number of veto points allows status quo-oriented actors to block reform. Third, the executive can play a dynamic role in aiding or obstructing change. In conditions of higher inequalities, it is particularly tempting for the executive to side with the powerful elites. In these circumstances, then, I show that pushing through reforms can become extremely difficult even when public opinion is on the side of reformists. As Table i.i shows, the timing of legal changes has significantly varied across the three countries. In Spain, both abortion and divorce were legalized within ten years of the transition, and liberal implementation of the abortion law ensured that legal abortion became widely accessible. In Argentina, divorce was legalized rapidly, but abortion reform has not taken place. Finally, in Chile a conservative divorce law was finally approved fourteen years after the transition, and no changes have been made to abortion laws. In addition, in these two countries the debate and agenda on abortion has remained or moved in a more conservative direction.

Table I.1 Divorce and Abortion Reform in Spain, Argentina and Chile Spain

Argentina

Chile

Transition

1975

1983

1989

Divorce reform

1981

1987

2004

Abortion reform

1985

no

no


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THE PLAN OF THE BOOK In Chapter One I discuss the global dimensions of moral politics. I present data on possible structural and cultural explanations for the policy differences, and show that public opinion on abortion and divorce does not vary across the countries; neither does church attendance. Women’s education levels and labor force participation rates are similar as well, and differences in GDP per capita are not huge. I show how the global context influences both Catholic and feminist mobilization, focusing in particular on the impact of the Vatican shift since the papacy of John Paul II on the domestic Church hierarchies as well as Catholic organizations. In Spain, democratization coincided with the assumption of the papacy by John Paul II, who was unable to have a significant impact on the priorities of the domestic hierarchy at this point. In Argentina, the Church hierarchy had always been conservative, and democratization did not change this, even if organizationally the Church began to emphasize family and sexual morality more. In Chile, democratization took place later, in 1990, and the Vatican shift had a significant impact on the priorities of the Chilean Church hierarchy, which began to heavily focus on family and sexual morality. I contextualize the politics of abortion and divorce within the wave of feminist movements from the 1970s on across the Western world. Spain’s location in Western Europe aided contacts between the Left and feminists on that continent. However, the movement itself was very much a domestic affair. In Chile and Argentina, many feminists and Left politicians spent their exile years (during the military times) in Europe and were influenced by the social changes taking place there. However, as I show in the following chapters, feminists have been unable to develop a broad domestic support base for mobilization in Chile or Argentina and in fact remain dependent on external sources for much of their funding. In Chapter Two I present the theoretical framework in detail, outlining the scholarly literature that I build on, and elaborate on the domestic dimensions of income inequality and political access. I draw on the body of literature known as ‘feminist comparative policy,’ as well as recent work on the religious cleavage, political parties and institutions, and inequality. The distinct policy trajectories across these countries can indeed be partly explained by the differences in feminist strategies, party systems and institutional constraints. However, these factors do not explain why the Left in Spain prioritized abortion, why the Left in Chile and Argentina have not, and why the Right in Chile is so proactive on moral issues. For a more holistic picture, the impact of the broader socioeconomic context within


Introduction

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which conservatives and feminists operate must be included in the analysis. I draw on the conceptual work done on inequality and provide a framework by which to empirically apply it to an analysis of policy reform. I show the aggregate differences in inequality, media ownership, campaign financing, and levels of solidarity between Spain, Chile and Argentina. While Spanish income distribution at the time of the transition was moderate and comparable to the rest of Western Europe, Chilean inequalities were and are extremely high, at the high end even by Latin American standards. Argentine income distribution has steadily worsened from levels similar to Spain before the most recent military coup to levels close to Chile by the year 2000. Similarly, the Chilean elite dominates media ownership and campaign financing, and their tight links to conservative Catholic groups ensure that they promote a conservative moral agenda. In Argentina, media ownership has become more concentrated. While there is provision of public campaign financing, corruption is a significant problem in Argentina and allows money to play a role in political reforms. However, elites have had little interest in promoting a conservative moral agenda. Finally, levels of social solidarity are higher in Spain, lower in Argentina, and lowest in Chile. It is easier for feminists to mobilize a critical mass of social support for reform among Spaniards than among Chileans or Argentines. This is reflected, as I show in Chapter Two and the country-specific chapters, in actual levels of feminist mobilization. In Chapters Three, Four and Five, I qualitatively trace the political process on divorce and abortion in Spain, Chile and Argentina, respectively, and explain it by drawing on the theoretical framework developed in Chapters One and Two. I measure the political process on divorce and abortion by tracing political party agendas and outcomes as the most direct visible indicators of this. I then trace the social bases of conservative and feminist mobilization, their strategies on both divorce and abortion, and the impact that access to economic and political resources has had on their strategies and success. In Chapter Three, I discuss the case of Spain. In Spain, democratization resulted in rapid policy reform on both divorce and abortion, and a comprehensive reproductive health policy that dramatically reduced the abortion rate. The transition to democracy was initiated in 1976 (the longtime dictator Francisco Franco died in November 1975) and divorce and abortion were liberalized relatively rapidly. The Church hierarchy remained neutral during the transition, and even relatively neutral during both divorce and abortion reform; in addition, conservative Catholic organizations had a limited foothold among the elites, who commanded a relatively low share of the nation’s total


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income. Feminists mobilized during and after the transition and forged ties with Left parties. The first democratic government of Spain was by a broad-based umbrella Center party, in which secular center politicians and Christian Democrats joined forces. Divorce was legalized during this government, in 1981. The moderate Left (the Socialist party) formed the opposition between 1977 and 1982; in 1982 it won a historical absolute majority in both houses of Congress, which it was able to maintain until 1993. Abortion was introduced for parliamentary debate as one of the first acts of the Socialist government in 1983 and, despite opposition, passed into law without major modifications in 1985(to include threat to physical or psychological health, fetal deformity, and rape or incest), after a two-year wait on the ruling of the Supreme Court on the constitutionality of the law. The Women’s Institute (Instituto de la Mujer-IM) within the government ensured liberal implementation of the law, allowing for the psychological health clause to function as a rough proxy for abortion on demand. On the other hand, abortion remains illegal in both Chile and Argentina today despite astoundingly high abortion rates and the repeated identification of abortion as the primary public health crisis in the democratic era in both countries. Moreover, governments in neither country have been willing or able to provide efficient and equitable reproductive health policy to address prevention. In both Chile and Argentina, the impetus during the 1990s has been to further toughen existing legislation on abortion. The literature on welfare states identifies Left parties as agents of social reform (see, for example, Esping-Andersen 1990, Kitschelt 1994, Huber and Stephens 2001). Even as opposition or as third parties, Left parties can and have played an important role in framing and agenda-setting, pushing Center parties to respond, particularly in cases of majority popular support (for instance in Spain during divorce debates in the 1970s and early 1980s, and in Uruguay in the case of abortion reform in 2002) or as a third party (as in Canada during health care reform in the 1960s) in forcing issues onto the political agenda. However, neither Left nor Center-left parties in either Chile or Argentina have prioritized abortion reform. In Chapter Four, I discuss the case of Chile. In Chile, the transition was initiated in 1989, and a conservative divorce law was finally passed in 2004 after repeated postponements. Abortion to save the life of the woman was prohibited in 1989 by the outgoing military regime, and the only bill that has made it to Congressional debate since then has sought to increase the jail terms of women charged with abortions (and was defeated by two


Introduction

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15

votes in the Senate). Conservative sectors dominate public discourse on moral issues, equating therapeutic abortion with homicide, and divorce with the dissolution of national unity, poverty, increased delinquency, and drug addiction. The Left retains around one-third electoral support in Chile, and has formed part of the governing coalition with the Christian Democrats since 1990. The coalition—referred to as the Concertación—has maintained an absolute legislative majority in the Chamber from 1990 on, while the two Right parties have formed the opposition. In the Senate appointed conservative senators have to date tipped the balance of power in favor of the Right.5 Of the three countries here, only Chile has a significant Christian Democratic party; attempts to foster an electorally successful party in the other two countries have failed. The dominant role of the Christian Democrats in the ruling Center-left coalition, and a Right wing closely allied with Church interests, has constrained the available policy options for the Chilean government. Beyond this, the Left has been timid about countering the Right agenda on moral issues. This is, I show, related to the low levels of social support feminists command and consequently the low levels of influence they have over Left parties. On the other hand, political factors matter: the election of leftwing Ricardo Lagos to the presidency in 2000 was crucial in finally pushing through the divorce law. In Chapter Five, I discuss the case of Argentina. In Argentina, the transition took place in 1983, and divorce was legalized in 1987; however, abortion remains illegal except to save the life of the woman, and in the case of the rape of a mentally handicapped woman. Even in the legally permitted cases, however, the courts and public health system have denied the procedure to women in need. During the 1994 constitutional reforms, then-President Carlos Menem—who assumed an actively anti-abortion stance through the 1990s—unsuccessfully sought to include a constitutional ban on abortion. In Argentina, the two major congressional parties of the democratic era (Unión Cívica Radical—UCR and Partido Justicialista—PJ) have both at some point during the last two decades applied for membership in the Socialist International. They both claim a Left or Center-left, pro-working/popular class ideology. UCR has become a member of the Socialist International, while the PJ joined the International Christian Democrats in 1996. However, their ideological platform and policies have been incoherent, and neither is defined as a Left or Center-left party by scholars today (see Huber et.al. 2006; Coppedge 1997). The lower classes, then, do not have coherent programmatic representation. Neither, however, does the Argentine elite, which is not represented by a conservative political party


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(which Gibson (1996) argues explains the high number of military coups in the country). Also, the Christian Democratic Party slid into insignificance through bad strategic choices in Argentina, and now a prominent sector of the PJ identifies the party as Christian. Overall, we can identify a clear shift in politics in Argentina between the 1980s and 1990s from more ideologically stable and institutionalized politics to less stable and less institutionalized policy-making during the era of President Carlos Menem from the PJ Party from 1989 to 1999 and after.6 In Chapter Six I discuss abortion reform in Latin America and Catholic Western Europe more broadly. The two regions significantly diverge in abortion laws and policies. I show that levels of inequality are much lower in Catholic Western Europe than in Latin America. I also provide evidence on timing of democratization, level of development, women’s labor force participation rates, public opinion, church attendance, and Left and religious party strength and show that these variables do not correlate as well with the dependent variable as do levels of inequality. I provide brief summaries of abortion politics in Italy, Portugal and Uruguay, and show how strong feminist movements have combined with programmatic Left parties to push for abortion reform. In doing so, I reinforce the importance of including income distribution in our analyses of the differences in policy trajectories between the two regions. In Chapter One, I turn to a discussion of the impact of global actors on domestic moral politics as well as alternative explanations.


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Chapter One

Moral Politics in a Global Era

We are accustomed to thinking that globalization causes economic, political, and social liberalization. In the case of gender issues tied to religion, this is not necessarily the case. There are two main, competing external influences when it comes to domestic moral politics: liberal countries and international institutions, and their ties with the domestic Left and feminists, and the—increasingly conservative—Vatican (and the international religious Right more generally) and its influence on and through the domestic Catholic Church and Catholic organizations.1 In Catholic countries, the issue that has roused passions and most acutely polarized the Catholic Church and feminists is abortion. After divorce has been legalized, there has tended to be little serious pressure to reverse the law; however, until that point divorce politics has also elicited very strong opposition from the Church and conservatives, and pitted them against feminists and reformists. While debates around abortion in Catholic countries tend to be ideological in character, the policies also have significant practical consequences for women, families, and governments around the world. In countries where abortion is illegal, complications from clandestine abortions result in high levels of maternal mortality as well as hospitalizations of women. Illegal divorce, on the other hand, has complicated the rights of previous and current families, and has often exacerbated the vulnerability of women and children. As discussed in the introduction, I seek to analyze under what conditions Catholic countries obtain policy outcomes on women’s rights that are equitable and efficient. I define an equitable outcome as one that does not produce major differences across social groups such as sexes or classes. I understand an efficient outcome in the case of abortion and divorce to be one that allows the vast majority of people to abide by the laws under which they live. In the case of marital separations, efficient laws 17


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and policies should allow people to conduct the dissolution of their familial relations in law-abiding and uncomplicated ways. In the case of abortion, I understand an efficient outcome to be one where, first, the vast majority of abortions—whatever the number—are performed legally (instead of underground), and second and related, social resources are directed toward providing safe and legal abortions rather than treating costly post-abortion complications. An efficient policy outcome on reproductive health more broadly can also be understood as one where society directs more resources toward prevention (sex education and contraceptive access) rather than ‘treatment’ (abortions themselves). However, in this study I focus explicitly on the issue of abortion. The two social actors, or interest groups, that are most highly committed to opposing outcomes on divorce and abortion are the Catholic Church and feminists. The Catholic Church has, by definition, been the established, dominant religious institution in Catholic Western Europe and Latin America. On the other hand, lack of legal abortion and divorce created significant social problems that were then assumed by feminists as they gathered strength in the postwar era, particularly from the 1970s on. In Spain, Argentina and Chile, feminists were similarly, at democratization, supported by the fact that lack of abortion and divorce constituted policy crises in all three countries, within the context of majority popular support for some form of liberalization. The following section provides information on public opinion, social context, economic development, church attendance and women’s education and labor force participation rates in Chile, Argentina, and Spain, and makes the point that these factors are comparable across the three countries. The section that follows this discusses the Catholic Church as well as feminists globally.

DOES THE PUBLIC GET WHAT IT NEEDS AND WANTS? Social reality and public opinion The social context of abortion and marital separations in Chile, Argentina and Spain was very similar at the time of democratization. First, illegal abortion and the unavailability of divorce were significant social problems in all three countries. In Chile and Argentina today, one in every three to five pregnancies ends in abortion (see, for example, Paxman et al 1993; Alan Guttmacher Institute 1994). Given population differences, the estimated absolute number of annual clandestine abortions ranges from 335,000 to 500,000 in Argentina, and from 125,000 to 175,000 in


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Chile.2 Consequently, hospital beds tend to be overcrowded with women with complications from illegal abortions, and these complications are the leading cause of maternal mortality in both countries. Moreover, abortion complications have been identified as the leading public health crisis in both countries during the democratic era (discussed in the country-specific chapters). In Spain, estimates of the abortion rate in the late 1970s ranged anywhere from 300,000 (official) to 500,000 (unofficial) clandestine abortions a year.3 An escape valve commonly used among affluent Spanish women during the 1970s was “abortion tourism” in London, where legal abortions were readily available. Tens of thousands of Spanish women resorted to this practice annually, while the majority paid for what they could back home. Given that the practice was illegal, it produced high levels of hospitalizations as well as abortion-related deaths. Similarly, lack of legal divorce constituted a social problem in all three countries at democratization given complications related to regulating new and old unions and inheritance rights. In Spain and Argentina before legalization, select middle and upper classes were able, on the basis of mutual consent, to seek expensive annulments to invalidate the marriage itself. In Chile, on the other hand, annulments became increasingly common among the middle and upper classes during the late 1980s and the 1990s, reducing their willingness to collectively push for legalization. Drawing on a technical loophole, they hired lawyers who argued that the original marriage certificate was invalid due to an incorrect address. These annulments remained out of reach of the lower classes given the high legal costs involved. Public opinion is also remarkably similar across the countries prior to reform, and majority support for liberalization has existed on both issues across the three countries. In Argentina, a substantial majority supported divorce before legalization (Htun 2003: 97). A 2002 survey in Chile pegged public opinion support for legal divorce on the grounds of mutual consent at 85 percent, forming a broad-based societal consensus on the issue (Flacso-Chile 2002). What stands out in the Spanish case is the initially lukewarm support for divorce; in 1978, 48 percent of the population was clearly favorable toward legal divorce, and 60 percent leaned toward legal divorce.4 By June 1980, 82 percent ‘accepted’ legal divorce.5 On abortion, Table 1.1 compares data from the World Values Survey on Spain, Argentina and Chile, and a Flacso-Chile survey on Chile from 2002. The point of reference for Spain is the early 1980s, prior to reform. Unfortunately, comparable data after 1990 is unavailable for Argentina.


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Table 1.1 Support for Abortion in Spain, Argentina and Chile Prior to Liberalization Question: In which cases should abortion be permitted?6 Spain

Argentina

Argentina

Chile

Chile

When . . .

1981

1981

1990

1990

2002

The mother’s health is in danger

73%

82%

77%

75.3%

65.6%

The pregnancy is a result of rape

—

58.3%

Fetus is deformed

53%

66%

59%

40.8%

56.3%

Woman or couple does not want more children

17%

25%

25%

13.9%

21.3%

Sources: Spain 1981, Argentina 1981 and 1990, and Chile 1990 source: World Values Survey. Chile 2002 source: Flacso-Chile.

Public opinion on abortion in Spain in 1981 is remarkably similar to what it has been in Argentina and Chile at democratization and in the following years. Substantial majority support for abortion when the mother’s health is in danger exists in all three countries; slim majority support exists on the grounds of fetal deformity (except in Chile in 1990). Grounds that involve choice receive less support across the three countries. In Argentina, support for abortion under the first two indicators slightly decreases from 1981 to 1990, although the margin of error remains high given the low number of cases (868 and 1002, respectively). The 2002 survey for Chile indicates majority support for rape as grounds for legal abortion in Chile. Left-right ideology has a clear impact on attitudes toward abortion in Argentina and Spain, and a milder impact in Chile (see Appendix 1.1). As I show in Chapter Three on Spain, attitudes toward abortion liberalized quite dramatically during the early years of democracy (late 1970s), as feminists mobilized and influenced idea diffusion and public opinion on the Left in particular. In Chile, on the other hand, media concentration, a dominant rightwing agenda and a comparatively weak feminist movement have resulted in the absence of an open debate on moral issues and their socioeconomic impact since democratization and during the democratic years. In


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Argentina, the problems have been identified quite openly in the media, but there is a lack of mobilization and political attention. Modernization and secularization Aside from public opinion, modernization theory points to other important factors that affect political development and secularization, such as church attendance, per capita income and level of urbanization, and education and women’s labor force participation. Church attendance is the most straightforward measure of religiosity, and is a common indicator used by the literature (Lensk 1961, D’Antonio and Stack 1980, Wetstein 1996). People who go to church may adhere to Church authority even if they personally disagree with it (tapping into something different than public opinion). Also, one of the potential advantages the Catholic Church has (as do other religious organizations) in relation to reformists is its ability to reach a mobilizeable support base through religious infrastructures such as Mass. People who go to Mass on Sundays and participate in church-related organizations constitute an active, consistently reachable social base with a common set of beliefs. Table 1.2 outlines church attendance rates among the three countries. Table 1.2 indicates that just over 40 percent of Spanish respondents went to church once a week or more in 1981, while the corresponding figure for Argentine and Chilean respondents in 1990 is 21 percent and just under 28 percent, respectively. In addition, a larger segment of Chilean and Argentine respondents go to Church less than once a year or never than Spanish respondents. Interestingly, just a few years after the transition to

Table 1.2 Church Attendance in Spain, Argentina and Chile Categories

Spain 1981

Argentina 1990

Chile 1990

Never/under once a year

32.5%

44.2%7

35.4%

Once a year/holidays

14.9%

19.6%

18%

Once a month

12.4%

15.4%

18.7%

Once a week

29.5%

15.5%

15.8%

More than once a week

10.6%

5.4%

11.9%

Source: World Values Survey.


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democracy, Spaniards were more likely to be practicing Catholics than either Chileans or Argentines were in 1990. Level of economic development may be an important factor: it may more broadly impact women-friendly policies as richer countries have more resources and may be more willing to pay attention to women’s concerns. Table 1.3 outlines economic development and urbanization in the three countries. Table 1.3 indicates that Spain had a higher per capita income at the time of transition and at abortion reform in 1985 (although the increase in income during this decade is negligible) than do Chile or Argentina today. However, the differences, particularly with Argentina, are quite minimal. By 2000 (admittedly, before the collapse in December 2001) Argentina’s per capita income was almost equal to that of Spain in 1976. Chile’s per capita income was lower at just over US $ 6000 in 1996 international prices in 1990, but increased significantly to just under US 10 000 dollars in 1996 international prices by the year 2000. The economic differences across the countries, then, are not striking. Finally, Spain was in 1980 (and remains today) the country with the highest rural population. Another possible explanation for national differences in abortion and divorce policies is women’s social, economic and political status. We would expect that with higher levels of education and labor force participation, women would be more likely to a) want more control over their choices, including reproductive potential, and b) be more prepared to demand it. Indeed, Huber and Stephens (2000) have found that higher female labor force participation rates enhance women-friendly policy outcomes in OECD countries. Many studies have also found that a greater share of female legislators in Congress makes governments more responsive to women’s concerns (see Weldon 2002 for an excellent overview). Table 1.4 outlines levels

Table 1.3 Economic Development and Urbanization in Spain, Argentina and Chile

Real GDP/ pc 1996 international prices

% Urban population

Spain

1976

$ 11 381

1985

$ 11 800

(1980) 73

Argentina

1983

$ 9 114

2000

$ 10 995

(1999) 90

Chile

1990

$ 6 151

2000

$ 9 920

(1999) 85

Sources: Real GDP/pc: Heston et.al. 2002. % urban: World Bank 1999.


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Table 1.4 Position of Women in Society and Politics in Spain, Argentina and Chile Average years of school Men

Women

Percent of labor force female

% women in lower house

Spain 1980

13

13

28.3 (1980)

4.3 (1985)

Argentina 1992

13

14

33.2 (2000)

21.8 (1995)

Chile 1992

12

12

33.6 (2000)

7.5 (1995)

Source: World Bank 1998 and 2002; Inter-Parliamentary Union 1995.

of education and labor force participation rates among women and men in 1980 in Spain and for the 1990s and 2000 in Chile and Argentina. Table 1.4 indicates that the differences in aggregate education levels between the three countries (and between women and men) are negligible. Second, percent labor force female in Chile and Argentina in 2000 is around one-third, while in Spain in 1980 it was 28 percent. Finally, the percentage of female legislators in the lower house was lowest in Spain in 1985. The high figure for Argentina is due to a national quota law passed in 1990; interestingly, the higher number of women in the Chamber does not seem to have had a discernible impact on abortion politics in that country (divorce had already been legalized in 1987). In sum, the factors discussed above do not vary much and hence cannot explain the different political outcomes across the three countries.

FEMINISTS AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH ON A GLOBAL LEVEL Feminism has been one of the most influential social forces in the postwar Western world. Most countries overhauled sex-discriminatory legislation and instituted liberal abortion regimes and no-fault divorce as feminist movements gained force and Left parties pushed the issues onto the political agenda in the second half of the twentieth century. Feminists have had to fight harder in Catholic countries given the dominant opponent they were confronted with. However, the widespread success of feminists in many countries, including prominent Catholic countries such as France and Italy, provides role-models for feminists in countries still struggling to achieve legal changes.


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Moreover, United Nations-sponsored conferences on women (1975 on) have provided international avenues through which women’s groups have been able to make contact, share strategies, and lobby for international standards on women’s rights. The most recent high-level conference in Beijing in 1995 involved not only governmental delegates but, perhaps even more importantly, an avenue for non-governmental organizations to meet. Such meetings as well as follow-up conferences and processes provide an important tool for feminists struggling to pressure governments on legal and policy changes on women’s rights. They can seek to hold governments accountable for promises made at these conferences (although such conferences have not reached consensus on the issue of abortion, particularly since the Vatican became an active participant in its status as permanent observer at the United Nations). It could be argued that Spain—or Western Europe as a region overall—is not a good comparison to the Southern Cone given its location in Europe and desire to become part of the European Union (which it did in 1986). Indeed, by 1975 Spaniards—particularly on the Left and the Center—wanted to be accepted as part of democratic Western Europe. This is clear from public statements by social actors and politicians, as well as from parliamentary debates on both abortion and divorce. Regional proximity was also reflected in media reports. Moreover, the bipartisan desire for regional economic integration gave the Left and the Center an additional argument that bolstered their case in comparison to the Right and the conservatives. However, specific laws on these issues were not a pre-condition for political and economic ties with Western Europe, or for membership in the European Economic Community (now the European Union). Ireland with its restrictive abortion laws (and no legal divorce until 1996) is a good example of this. External influences on women’s rights are domestically filtered; they are dependent on reformist social mobilization and strong, accountable Left parties domestically. I show in Chapter Three that Spain had a domestic support base (feminists and the Left) that pushed for liberalization; the European context may have facilitated this, but was in no way determinant. On the other hand, if regional diffusion is the key factor we should be less likely to find countries in Latin America with advanced laws and debates on abortion and divorce. However, Uruguay provides a compelling counter example, and will be discussed further in Chapter Six. Uruguay legalized divorce in 1914; hence divorce was no longer an issue at democratization in 1984. The Uruguayan Chamber passed a law legalizing abortion in October 2002 after extensive social mobilization and political pressure,


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although it was voted down in the Senate in 2004. The issue remains politicized. While income inequality in Uruguay is higher than in any West European country, it is not much above the United States and lower than in any other Latin American country included in the United Nations Human Development Index aside from Cuba (see Figures 6.8 and 6.9).8 Given its regional location, Spain also has the advantage of being closer to institutionalized Left parties with resources. During the Franco regime (1936–1975) the Spanish Left was largely exiled in France. The contacts with French and continental Left parties were tight. Both the Socialists and the Communists were influenced by the renovational spirit of Eurocommunists during the 1970s. Pan-American leftism, on the other hand, has been weakened by a variety of factors. One domestic factor is that Left parties in Latin America are, overall, less institutionalized and poorer, without the kind of union funding and support that have been the hallmark of many European Left parties. This is related to the changes in the class structures of Latin American countries where the informal sector has become more dominant than the traditional working class (Portes and Hoffman 2003). Second, and related, military repression and the neo-liberal shift (dramatic reduction in the role of the state) have further weakened Left parties. Links between the Chilean and Argentine Left and Left parties in West European countries were—and are—hampered by distance. Still, the links should not be understated. With the military coup in 1973, tens of thousands of Chileans, and almost the entire Left political class, went into exile. Many Left politicians lived their exile years in sympathetic West European countries. They returned to Chile during the 1980s to participate in the pro-democracy protests, and then assumed political offices in the Center-left government in the 1990s. Many of them are political leaders, and in interviews revealed personal sympathies for morally liberal postures, influenced by their experiences in Europe.9 Yet these influences have seemingly had little impact on their political agendas. On the other hand, most Argentines are second- or third generation Italians or Spaniards. Ties between Argentina and Italy and Spain have in general been much closer than they have for other Latin American countries. The military coup in Argentina in 1976 similarly forced those who were able to leave into exile, to Spain, and other European and Latin American countries, albeit for a shorter period of time than in Chile. Many who returned remained politically active. A similar dynamic applies to links among feminists. Spanish feminists had tight ties with continental European feminists. However, they had, again, a domestic support base. Both Chilean and Argentine feminists have


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tight ties to feminists and progressive organizations abroad; in fact, Chilean and Argentine feminists are highly dependent on funding from external reformist organizations and foundations. The problem is not that feminists do not have enough external ties; rather, they lack the domestic support. The dependence on external financing is in fact an indication of the lack of domestic sources of funding for reformist causes. External funding is like foreign economic investment: better than nothing but not as beneficial as domestic investment. In sum, the external context facilitated domestic pressure for reform in Spain, but was not determinant. In Chile and Argentina, links existed despite distance; however, feminists have struggled within a less hospitable domestic context. The Catholic Church is, of course, the major conservative international player on the politics of abortion and divorce, particularly in majority-Catholic countries.10 The hierarchy is composed of the Pope and the Vatican as the leadership of the Catholic Church, national Episcopal conferences composed of Bishops in each country that respond to the Vatican, and lower-level clergy responding to the domestic hierarchy and ultimately to the Vatican. Geographical proximity to the Vatican has not been a useful measure in predicting change on abortion and divorce in Catholic countries. Italy, for instance, was one of the earliest Catholic countries to institute a very liberal abortion law in 1978. The countries and/or regions that seem to be most influenced by the Vatican (South America, the Philippines, and Ireland) are marked by their physical distance from it. The influence of the Vatican—filtered through the domestic Church—seems to be at its strongest where inequalities are high, and domestic civil society is weak. A key factor in Church influence on these issues has been the ascendancy of John Paul II to the papacy (1978–2005), which has had a substantial impact on the terms of debate on divorce and abortion. Over time, John Paul II gained more influence over the domestic balance of power among conservative and reformist clergy (through papal appointments, organizational changes, and persuasion/pressure) and consequently in domestic politics in Catholic countries. In fact, at the time of his death in 2005, only two of the Cardinals eligible to vote for the next Pope had not been appointed by him.11 Since John Paul II’s assumption of the papacy in 1978, the Vatican has made adherence to Catholic sexual and family morality agenda priorities of the Church, and abortion and divorce have been two of the most visible issues. John Paul II popularized the term ‘culture of death’ to refer to countries that allow for contraception and legal abortion, and the Vatican’s Pontifical Council on the Family has been a crucial agency in promoting


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Catholic moral values at international conferences as well as in the domestic politics of Catholic countries (Buss et.al. 2003:104). I have argued (Blofield 2001), focusing on Chile, that the Vatican shift under Pope John Paul II since 1978 has, over time, made the Catholic Church more conservative and more militant on issues of family and sexual morality, thus making reform on either abortion or divorce more difficult in the 1990s. This shift has legitimated more rightwing clergy and Catholic organizations with a clear stance against Liberation Theology—which became prominent in Latin America in the 1960s and 1970s—with its message of a ‘preferential option for the poor,’ and instead a focus on moral orthodoxy on family and sexual morality. This shift is linked to the liberalization of abortion laws in the West during the 1970s, which provoked counter-movements both domestically and on the international level (Luker 1984; Blanchard 1996; O’Connor et.al. 1999: 168; Stetson and Mazur 2002; Htun 2003). Such organizations have been fighting against the tide of public opinion in most countries, which has either continued to become more liberal, or has not changed much over time. Htun (2003) argues that the mobilization of anti-abortion movements after the initial wave of liberalization in the West has prevented abortion reform in Latin America, where democratization took place later. The stance of the domestic Church hierarchy on moral issues is strongly influenced by the priorities of the Vatican. Over time, the Vatican exerts complete control over the domestic Church hierarchies through appointments. The domestic Church will be mindful of both external directives and domestic realities in strategizing the best approach to maintain its interests. Given this context, timing of democratization is indeed likely to matter. The later democratization and hence the ‘threat’ of liberalization takes place under the reign of John Paul II, the more vested the Church will be in barring reform on family or sexual morality. Indeed, Spain liberalized divorce and abortion laws early on in the papacy of John Paul II, and Argentina legalized divorce in 1987, while Chile did not democratize until 1990, when the Vatican shift had had time to make itself clearly felt among Chilean clergy. On the other hand, the ability of the Church to influence domestic politics is mediated by the domestic economic, social and political context. For instance, Dorothy M. Stetson (2001: 393) discovers no longitudinal trends in policy reform on abortion in advanced countries in either a liberal or a conservative direction since the first wave of liberalizations, complicating the argument about timing. Also, abortion reform in Uruguay


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was approved by the Chamber in 2002 despite the conservative Vatican agenda. In the Latin American countries that have been formally democratic for a longer time no legal changes have taken place (discussed further in Chapter Six). Timing must be contextualized within the domestic balance of power, with which it interacts. Countries that are more socially equal, and consequently have a more mobilizeable citizenry and more responsive political parties, will be domestically less affected even when there is a change in international trends. This is similar to a country’s dependency on the international economy; all else equal, the more developed a country’s domestic economy, the more able it will be to weather external changes, shifts and shocks. In Spain, the domestic influence of the Church in the late 1970s and early 1980s was low despite the increasingly conservative stance of the Vatican. In fact, the bulk of the domestic hierarchy (including the President of the Episcopal Conference) chose a moderate course, and the conscious retreat by the Spanish Catholic Church from the political sphere—spurred by Vatican II—denied infrastructural support to social mobilization and political parties, particularly the Christian Democratic Party (Linz 1986), and ultimately defused the religious cleavage. The more activist stance of Pope John Paul II gave the conservative sector of the hierarchy a boost, but could not change the overall balance of power in time to change the political approach of the domestic Church hierarchy during divorce and abortion reform. The Vatican shift had a more significant impact on the domestic constitution and policy orientation of the Catholic Church in Latin America. The Argentine Church has historically been exceptionally conservative in the first place and Liberation Theology never influenced the hierarchy much there (Ghio 1996), while a sector of the Chilean Church was composed of more progressive Bishops from the 1960s up until the 1980s. The Vatican’s priorities ensured, however, that the domestic voice of the Church was uniformly conservative in both countries by the late 1980s. Both the Chilean and Argentine hierarchies emitted documents right before or after democratization (Argentina, 1981; Chile, 1991) warning of the impending negative consequences democracy could bring, as they prepared to fight against open debate on family and sexual morality. Distinct domestic junctures influenced post-transition church-state relations in different ways, giving the Chilean Church added leverage due to its opposition to the human rights abuses of the military regime (discussed in country-specific chapters). While their stances are conservative—influenced by the Vatican shift—the extent to which both domestic Churches were able to influence


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politics distinguishes them from each other as well as their Spanish counterpart. Timing influences the stance of the Catholic Church, but it is the domestic social context and political constellation that filter this stance onto the political level. Since the Vatican made abortion and divorce agenda priorities, the most orthodox sectors of the institutional Church (that is, composed or led by members of the clergy) have been able to expand given the actively supportive stance of the Vatican. The Legionaries of Christ and Opus Dei are the two most important such organizations. Both mobilize to promote Catholic doctrine on sexual and family morality. The majority of Opus Dei members are lay people, with priests at the head of each branch. The Legionaries, on the other hand, are formed by Catholic priests and, technically, lay people are supporters, not members. Opus Dei was in fact created in Spain in 1928 and gained the active support of John Paul II,12 while the Legionaries were founded in Mexico in 1958. Opus Dei has specifically anti-Communist roots, which makes it naturally more appealing to elites. At the same time, both Opus Dei and the Legionaries are elite organizations, and recruit mostly elites. Opus Dei enjoyed a great deal of influence during the Franco dictatorship in Spain and has since retained a stronghold among a minority of business and political leaders.13 However, the upper classes are not uniformly morally conservative, and the relatively lower share of resources that the Spanish upper classes command dilutes their overall power in any case. Opus Dei, and to a lesser extent, the Legionaries, have been particularly successful in gaining access to the elites in Latin America, and their upper class nature distinguishes them from the pro-life movement in Western Europe, Canada and the United States. While the United States has the most developed anti-abortion movement (Blanchard 1996), American activists tend to be less educated and from lower socio-economic backgrounds (Cook et al. 1992). The upper class nature of the movement in Latin America gives them more political leverage. Economic elites have provided the networks with funding, access to the media, and promote their political vision. They in turn provide the elites with moral legitimacy, at least in the eyes of the domestic Church and the Vatican, and a mobilizeable network of conservative social activists. In Chile, this relationship has been most tight. Both Opus Dei and the Legionaries have become highly influential among the Chilean upper classes over the last decade and a half. Economic elites go to the private schools and universities of the two groups, who also maintain fluid access to the political Right. In Argentina, the upper classes are less uniformly


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conservative, although Opus Dei is significant among select economic and political leaders. President Carlos Menem (1989–1999) promoted several members of Opus Dei to influential posts during his administration. The Legionaries are today largely insignificant in Spain and Argentina, and strongest in Chile and Mexico. It is their ability to a) gain access to elites and b) in doing so, command a dominant share of the nation’s resources to promote their moralpolitical vision that most dramatically influences the political success of these conservative organizations, and with them the institutional Church in Latin America.

CONCLUSION I have shown that, some of the variables we would intuitively expect to have an impact on moral politics do not vary across these three countries in the predicted direction, and hence cannot account for policy differences. Public opinion, the social problems caused by lack of legal divorce and abortion, church attendance and women’s education and labor force participation rates are comparable across the three countries. While there are some differences in economic development—Spain being richer at democratization than either of the two South American countries— both Argentina and Chile were almost at the same level by the year 2000. As I argue in Chapter Two, it is not per capita income but rather its distribution that influences the political dynamics here. The conflicts between the Catholic Church and feminists are global. The Church, as a transnational, hierarchical institution, operates topdown. Shifts in the Vatican have, over time, significant influence on the appointments, organization, and priorities of domestic branches of the Church. The influence of Pope John Paul II on the politics of abortion and divorce should not be understated. At the same time, though, political conflicts take place in distinct domestic contexts, and it is how the priorities of the Church are domestically filtered that ultimately determine its level of influence. While feminists are not an organized global force in the way the Church is, idea diffusion from global women’s rights conferences as well as the example of liberalization in advanced countries influences feminist organizations domestically. Feminists in Latin America also tend to be reliant on international funding, as domestic funding is less easy to come by. As with Church influence, it is the domestic context, though, that determines the level of influence feminist organizations will have.


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In sum, then, the external context influences the playing field for the Catholic Church and feminists respectively, particularly the Vatican shift in interaction with the timing of democratization. However, external actors interact with the domestic balance of power, and this is what I turn to in Chapter Two.


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Chapter Two

Economic Resources and Political Access on a Domestic Level

I argue that effective democratic participation and policy reform on women’s rights is premised on relatively equal socio-economic conditions, without which it is very hard for feminists to gain social and political ground, and very easy for established powers such as the Catholic Church and their allies to maintain ground. Even though liberalization of non-economic moral issues does not threaten the economic interests of elites, inequality can in fact constitute a barrier for reform on issues like abortion and divorce through its impact on access to economic and political resources and its corrosive impact on democratic participation. In the next section, I discuss the Church, feminists and inequality in the literature, with special attention to Htun’s recent (2003) work on gender politics in Latin America. I then outline income inequality across the three countries. Third, I discuss domestic income inequality and its effect on elites, framing and financing; fourth, social mobilization, solidarity and party agendas; and fifth, political access of conservatives and feminists respectively.

INEQUALITY, FEMINISTS AND THE RELIGIOUS CLEAVAGE IN THE LITERATURE I draw on a long tradition of analysis on economic inequality and democratic politics. The corrosive impact of inequalities on democracy has been recognized by political philosophers as diverse as Aristotle, Karl Marx, and Tocqueville. More recently, income inequality has featured in the literature on advanced countries, as a dependent variable—and in some cases, as an independent variable1—in analyses of economic policies and redistributive social policies (see Huber and Stephens 2001). Moreover, several studies have cross-nationally studied the relationship between inequality 33


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and economic development (see Nielsen and Alderson 1995, Jackman 1980), inequality and political instability and/or violence (see Panning 1983, Muller and Seligson 1987, Lichbach 1989, Midlarsky 1988, Muller et.al.1989) and inequality and democratization (Boix 2003).2 On Latin America specifically, the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC/CEPAL) has been active in collecting data on income inequalities and has published some work on the impact of democratic politics and neo-liberal reform on inequality. Less systematic analysis in either advanced countries or Latin America has been done on the relationship between inequality and the quality of democracy as well as inequality and social policies, particularly non-redistributive ones. The paucity of systematic analysis of the effects of inequality between advanced countries is somewhat understandable in light of the extent to which income inequalities have been reduced in the post-World War II era, not least because of the redistributive role of the welfare state. It is also harder to separate effect from cause in the highly redistributive welfare states. Moreover, the lower (although not negligible) level of variance in inequality may have allowed political scientists to take for granted a relative equality of resources and conditions for participation, and to focus the analysis on the differences in strategies, organization and representation of political parties and the effect of institutional rules. More surprising is the lack of attention to the influence of inequality on democratic politics in much of the political science literature on Latin America, which has over the last ten years focused mostly on the institutional and political aspects of democratic consolidation. Yet the most recent wave of democratization took place in conditions of increased inequalities across the region. Perhaps the fact that levels of inequality are high across the region has inclined scholars to simply acknowledge the corrosive effects of inequality on politics without systematically analyzing the causal mechanisms and possible cross-country differences in impact. By overlooking this factor both the literature on advanced countries as well as the literature on Latin America have missed a crucial component that distinguishes the political dynamics between the regions and, although less starkly, also differentiates politics within these regions. A cross-regional perspective enables us to explore the nature of the differences between Catholic European and Latin American countries more broadly. The effects of inequality are most obvious in cases where economic interests are at stake. However, the influence of inequality is much broader, and affects the nature of social organization and democratic participation itself. Robert Putnam’s (1993) influential theory of social capital, using Italy as a case study, points to the centrality of civil society and


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its capacity to build relations of trust and vice versa as a defining element of a successful, consolidated democracy. In fact, he draws on the famous French philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville, who acknowledged the importance of underlying social equality for the effective functioning of civil society and democracy 200 years ago. Yet a recognition and discussion of the importance of social equality as a point of departure for a vibrant civil society is curiously absent in his work. Solt’s (2004) critique of Putnam shows that the historical distribution of land has influenced political participation in Italy. Recently, scholars have begun to note that the predictive power of the democratic transitions literature may be hampered by its lack of attention to inequality (see Vilas 1997). Carles Boix’s 2003 book argues that the key factor in predicting a transition to democracy may in fact be economic inequality and/or capital mobility, explaining why elites allowed for democratic transitions in Latin America today but have not had to engage in redistribution. Notable political scientists such as Terry Lynn Karl (2000) and Guillermo O’Donnell (1998) have conceptually argued that inequality has a negative impact on the prospects for democratic consolidation. Karl (2000) argues that what may in fact be the crucial determinant of democratic consolidation is not, as commonly identified, the level economic development but the level of inequality. She identifies social inequality as the root cause of democratic failure in Latin America today. O’Donnell (1998), Karl (2000) and Vilas (1997) identify dualistic societies, products of social inequality, as barriers to effective citizenship, political participation, and democratic consolidation. It is these insights that frame my analysis of moral politics in recently democratized Catholic countries. In addition, the body of literature on feminist comparative policy as well as work on abortion and divorce specifically provide theoretical insights. The strength of Left parties in government, the strength of the feminist movement, its ability to influence framing, its links to the political Left, and the strength of a women’s agency (Sainsbury 1994 and 1999; Stetson and Mazur 1995; O’Connor et.al. 1999; Stetson 2001; Mazur 2002; Weldon 2002) have been identified as critical factors in promoting feminist policy reforms in advanced countries. Abortion as a single issue has elicited its fair share of scholarly attention, and the politics of abortion reform from a comparative perspective3 has been the focus of a significant group of literature (Lovenduski and Outshoorn 1986; Glendon 1987; Sachdev 1988; Brodie et. al. 1992; Yishai 1993; Githens and Stetson 1996; Barreiro 2000; Simon 1998; Stetson 2001; Ferree et.al. 2002; Htun 2003). The legalization (or liberalization) of


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divorce has elicited much less scholarly interest among political scientists, perhaps because the legalization of divorce per se has not continued to recently be a source of political contention (except in Chile), even if the specific regulations around it continue to be salient. On both abortion and divorce, scholars have identified the importance of supportive public opinion as a condition for policy reform (Barreiro 2000; Blofield 2001; Htun 2003), as well as framing and the ability to form political coalitions (Htun 2003; Blofield and Haas 2005). I agree with the Feminist Comparative Policy literature which points to the importance of Left parties in promoting progressive reforms as well as the crucial role played by feminists. Even in the absence of Left government strong feminist movements have been able to achieve policy successes when they have been able to influence the agendas of a broader range of parties, including Center and sometimes even Right parties (Stetson 2001: 285). Weldon (2002) shows the importance of strong and autonomous women’s movements in promoting laws on violence against women. On the other hand, in the absence of strong feminist movements, even Left parties tend not to take women’s rights as seriously. Public opinion is most likely a necessary although, as I have shown, not a sufficient condition for legislative reform on such controversial issues as abortion and divorce. While the Feminist Comparative Policy (FCP) literature has largely focused on feminists and the Left, the literature on the religious cleavage points to the importance of the role of organized religion—in this case the Catholic Church—in the formation of political parties and policy outcomes (van Kersbergen 1995; Kalyvas 1996; Warner 2000). The Catholic Church can influence politics directly as an interest group, and/or through political parties that identify themselves as Christian. Rightwing parties in Catholic countries tend to maintain close relations with the Catholic Church, particularly if the beliefs and interests of their core constituents coincide with those of the Church. Also, several Catholic countries have spawned significant Christian Democratic parties. Their particular appeal lies in bringing principles of Catholic social doctrine into politics; hence Scully (1992) calls them “programmatic,” as opposed to “positional” center parties. Negotiation on absolute Catholic principles such as prohibition of abortion and divorce is, of course, complicated for programmatic parties with Catholic roots (Dogan 1995). Hence, we would expect that in countries that have significant Christian Democratic parties and/or Right parties—particularly if they have a role in government—reform would be more contentious: the parties would be likely to seek to postpone, water down, or block legalization of either.


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However, Christian Democratic parties are not homogenous, and the extent to which the parties, or individual legislators, are willing to defend absolute Catholic principles varies. The agenda of the Christian Democrats (as well as of the Left and Right) is contextual. Christian Democratic legislators can broadly be grouped into two camps: liberals and integralists. As elaborated by Berger (1985), liberal Catholics think faith should be a matter of private affairs, and something that unites people in a general sense, while integral Catholics reject “the notion that spheres of life [lie] beyond the reach of religious regulation” (1985: 32). For example, some Christian Democrats in Italy were willing to negotiate on the issue of abortion. Similarly, in Germany and the Netherlands abortion reform took place under a Christian Democratic coalition government, albeit in response to significant pressure from strong Left parties. In Chile, the only country in South America with a significant Christian Democratic Party, the integralist sector within the party is more dominant (Blofield and Haas 2005). In order to understand the role of the Church and conservative parties, we must analyze them within the socioeconomic context of each country. Current Literature on Gender Politics in Latin America Mala Htun’s (2003) broad analysis of gender and politics in Latin America is the first ambitious attempt to provide a general theoretical framework on gender and politics in the region, and it represents a significant advance in our scholarly understanding of these issues. Her book analyzes family law, abortion and divorce in Brazil, Chile and Argentina. As such, it covers some of the same material as does my study. Htun argues that issue differences between abortion, divorce and family laws, the role of elite issue networks, and the factors determining the ‘fit’ among these networks and the state (including the nature of military and democratic governments, and church-state relations) broadly explain the political trajectories of Chile, Argentina and Brazil on abortion, divorce and family law. Below I outline her framework, where I build on it and also where I depart from it. My study, I show, represents both a theoretical and empirical advancement in our understanding of the intersections between religion/moral politics and women’s rights in Catholic countries. Htun argues that we need what she calls a “disaggregated approach” to analyze distinct gender issues. Most importantly for my purposes, she argues that divorce and abortion are different and should be analyzed separately. While they are both what she calls “absolutist” (instead of “technical”) issues, abortion, she argues, produces a higher degree of moral polarization than divorce. Htun discusses the importance of deliberation on gender issues, and argues that what we see with abortion in particular is in


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fact a “democratization of deliberation” (2003: 12) as more interest groups and not simply technical experts have come to influence the debate. On divorce, Htun argues that male professionals, particularly lawyers, formed a critical group of individuals tied to elite issue networks that lobbied for legal divorce. The key factor then became the “fit” between this network and the state, and the state’s relation to the Church: “conflict between church and state creates an opportunity for change, while church-state cooperation precludes it” (8). Abortion, she argues, is distinct. The coalition backing abortion reform, according to Htun, is more isolated and public opinion in Latin America more ambivalent. Htun states that “[e]ven when citizens in Latin America came to accept divorce, they remained deeply ambivalent about abortion” (6). She draws on public opinion data from France, Spain and the United States (155) to show that levels of public support for abortion in Latin America are lower than in these countries. In addition, Htun argues that antiabortion movements are more organized today than thirty years ago and can use the human rights discourse to their advantage; hence, the political costs outweigh the political benefits of pushing for abortion reform. “Fearing the wrath of antiabortion movements and the Church, and judging that little will be gained politically by supporting decriminalization, most parties and politicians attempt to steer clear of the issue” (143). My empirical analysis as well as theoretical framework differ from Htun in several respects. First, the framework I provide endogenizes what Htun identifies as independent variables (the strength of anti-abortion movements and the weakness of the pro-choice coalition) by contextualizing them within the socio-economic context. Htun claims that “most of the political elite” in Chile and Argentina have an anti-abortion posture (9). This is true, although more so in the case of Chile than in the case of Argentina; my framework explains why this is the case. Also, I show that the class nature of the issues (abortion is a problem of poor women, while divorce is—also—a problem of middle class women and men) is in fact a key component in explaining the different political dynamics between divorce and abortion (see also Blofield 2001, 2002). Given this, I use the same theoretical framework to analyze both divorce and abortion, and show how their differential impact on middle class interests—and solidarity—lead to different outcomes across the two issues and across the three countries. Hence, we can gain significant leverage in our understanding of the political dynamics of abortion and divorce by problematizing the influence of “ideas,” and instead, or in addition, exploring the influence of interests. There appears to be an implicit recognition of this by Htun when she notes


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the class nature of abortion and divorce (154). Similarly, the impact of class divisions on the feminist movement in Latin America is noted in the works of Friedman (2000) and Rodríguez (2003). Second, my empirical analysis shows that Htun’s assessment of a “democratization of deliberation” (12) on abortion or divorce, specifically with regard to the case of Chile, is not accurate. As I show later in this chapter and in more detail in Chapter Four, pluralism in the media and on the political level is in fact distinctly lacking in Chile. Public discourse around abortion is largely a reflection of the theologically conservative views of the Church and media owners. Relatedly, while Htun’s assessment of the political costs involved in supporting abortion reform is accurate, the explanatory framework is not. Htun recognizes that the difficulties feminists have had in forging coalitions to support abortion reform makes reform less likely. This is partly due, she argues, to “ambivalent” support for abortion in Latin America. However, more careful analysis brings this conclusion into doubt. Htun compares survey data across the countries from the early 1990s (155): the comparison, however, has little value given that the data from the advanced countries is between ten and twenty years after liberalization of abortion laws in these countries. First, as I show in Figure 3.1 in Chapter Three, public opinion in Spain significantly liberalized after the passage of abortion reform (this tends to be a common phenomenon). Before this, it was actually slightly more conservative than in Chile or Argentina today, as I have shown in Chapter One (and Table 1.1). Hence, while the public in Latin American countries is clearly not majority pro-choice, neither was it in Spain prior to legalization. I show that the lack of a strong reformist coalition on abortion in South America is related to the interests of the actors involved at least as much as it is to their values or ideas. This points to the importance of the other factors in my framework such as access to economic and political resources. Finally, the importance Htun places in church-state conflict as a key factor in allowing for divorce reform is not wholly convincing; divorce was legalized in Spain in 1981 amid amicable church-state relations. As I show in Chapter Three, this lack of a religious “war” had more to do with the approach of the Church hierarchy, related to the timing of divorce reform; the Vatican under John Paul II had not yet had the chance to shift to a more theologically orthodox and politically interventionist approach. When it did come in 1979, it was late in the game. On the other hand, whether or not the Church succeeds in obstructing or postponing divorce reform depends on its domestic power and allies. Both the strength of the Catholic Church in politics and the ability of feminists to form a broader coalition


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among the middle classes is, I show in this study, influenced by the socioeconomic balance of power. My framework, then, provides a broad as well as cross-regional explanation of the political dynamics on the intersection of religion and women’s rights in Catholic countries and, more specifically, on abortion and divorce reform. It is to the details of this framework that I now turn.

INCOME INEQUALITY AT DEMOCRATIZATION IN SPAIN, CHILE AND ARGENTINA The distribution of income and resources mediates the strategies and the relative impact of the Catholic Church and conservatives on the one hand and feminists and reformists on the other hand. The Catholic Church has an advantage in terms of organization and resources at democratization: in all three countries, the Church remained relatively privileged during the authoritarian regimes and maintained its vast wealth. Feminist groups, on the other hand, emerge from a repressive context in which their discourse and very existence has been prohibited. They face, then, more hurdles in terms of organization to begin with. Unequal access to income and resources exacerbates this. The two most common measures of income inequality are the Gini index, which measures income distribution across the five quintiles of population, and direct concentration of income within the top twenty or ten percent of the population. The Gini index runs from zero to one: the lower the Gini index, the more equitable the distribution of resources. The percentage of income and resources received by the richest 20 or 10 percent of the population is a direct measure of the concentration of income among elites.4 Figures 2.1 and 2.2 portray the differences in income distribution in Spain, Argentina and Chile at the time of democratization and after. Argentina has data only from the year 2000 on the income share received by the top ten and twenty percent of the population, and hence these appear as data points and not as trends over time in Figure 2.2. Figure 2.1 indicates that in Spain, income distribution was less unequal at the time of transition than in Argentina and Chile, became more equal in the following five years, and then remained constant until 1990.5 In Argentina, on the other hand, as Figure 2.1 indicates, the gini index increased from 0.42 in 1981, on the eve of the transition, to 0.48 in 1989, at the end of Raúl Alfonsín’s presidency. In addition, the gini index was 0.37 on the eve of the military coup, indicating that the trend toward increased income inequality began during the military regime (Deininger


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Figure 2.1 Gini Index in Spain, Argentina and Chile.

Figure 2.2 Share (%) of National Income of Top 20% of the Population in Spain and Chile. Sources for Figures 2.1 and 2.2: Chile and Argentina 2000: United Nations Human Development Report 2004. Spain, Chile (excluding 10%) and Argentina prior to 2000: Deininger and Squire 2005. Chile 10%: Morley 2001. Argentina: urban areas only.


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and Squire 2005). Finally, during the presidency of Carlos Menem (1989–1999) the gini index dramatically increased to 0.52, closer to Chilean levels.6 In 2000, Figure 2.2 indicates, the top quintile of the population in Argentina received over 56 percent of national income, while the top ten percent received almost 39 percent of national income, more than what the top Spanish quintile received. Cepal re-classified Argentina from a country with medium-low income inequality (relative to the rest of Latin America) to a country with high income inequality in the 1990s. Chile exhibits the most extreme concentration of income of the three countries, and in fact figures among the ten countries with the most unequal income distribution in the world, all in Latin America and subSaharan Africa (United Nations Human Development Report 2004). Income distribution in Chile preceding the military coup of 1973 was already highly concentrated. In 1971, during the Socialist regime of President Salvador Allende, the income share of the top quintile of the population was 52.3 percent (Deininger and Squire 2005); in 1989, after seventeen years of military regime and a neo-liberal economic shift, Figure 2.2 indicates that the top quintile had increased their share to 63 percent. After ten years of democracy in 2000, this share remained at 62 percent. The share of the top 10 percent, at 47 percent of national income in 2000, surpasses even Brazil, known for its unequal income distribution. As Figure 2.2 shows, it is also much higher than the share of the top twenty percent in Spain. It also appears that more intensive concentration of income has been taking place in Chile in the 1990s: according to Rosenthal (1996), of the countries included in ECLAC statistics, only in Chile, Panama and Guatemala has the income share of the top five percent increased during the early 1990s (Rosenthal 1996: 16). These differences are significant from a broader, comparative perspective. The average income share for the top quintile in Catholic Western Europe is 37.9 percent, while for Latin America the average income share for the top quintile is 57.4 percent (See Figure 6.8). The difference is significant in substantive terms; the income share of the top quintile in Latin America is almost fifty percent higher than the share of the top quintile in the Catholic countries of Western Europe. The average share of income for the top decile in Catholic Western Europe is 25.3 percent, while the average share of income this group receives in the Latin American countries is 40.9 percent (see Figure 6.9). In sum, at democratization income inequalities were significantly higher in Argentina and in Chile than they were in Spain, reflecting broader regional differences. In Argentina, income inequalities have significantly increased during the democratic years, while Chile’s have remained


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constantly high during the democratic years. The correlations between income inequality and certain political outcomes do not, of course, explain causality, nor do they automatically translate into specific political outcomes. It is to the mediating factors that I now turn.

ELITES, FRAMING AND AGENDA-SETTING As I showed in Chapter One, the stance of the Catholic Church on divorce and abortion and the lengths to which it will go to influence politics on these issues is an independent variable, determined by Vatican priorities. On the other hand, the ability of the Church to influence domestic politics is mediated by the domestic socio-economic context. Influence over framing constitutes a key component in achieving political reform in a democracy. Feminists tend to point out the discriminatory effects of maintaining abortion and divorce illegal, and to highlight the consequences for poor women, as well as taking principled stances regarding women’s rights, when they demand reform on these issues. There is no doubt that the ability of feminists and reformists to redefine legal abortion as a public health issue and/or a women’s rights issue (Lovenduski and Outshoorn 1986: 4), and legal divorce as a social need and an individual right, has been a necessary condition for policy reform on those issues. As Stetson argues, “a political strategy for any social movement is to insert the movement’s frame of the issue into the policy debate in the hope of affecting both policy content and access to policymaking” (Stetson 2001, 4). This has been identified by the literature more generally as the influence of “cultural norms” (Stetson and Mazur 1995) and idea diffusion and framing (Kingdon 1984, 1995; Tarrow 1994; Sabatier 1999; Htun 2003).7 The key tactic conservatives tend to use to avoid or delay potential reforms is to point to what they see as moral degeneration in society, to claim that liberal laws promote immoral behavior, to question the moral integrity of reformers, and to claim that more pressing issues need to be addressed, nearly always economic. The Church hierarchy claims that its position on marriage and abortion is part of natural law and should apply to everyone, not only Catholics. In some cases, conservatives have become more pro-active and seek to set the agenda by presenting their own proposals to repeal liberal laws or to institute harsher punitive measures for what they consider criminal behavior. These arguments from both sides have been used in the media and in parliamentary debates by feminists and conservatives in all three countries during debates on both abortion and divorce. Whether or not these


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arguments resonate and succeed in bringing issues onto or keeping issues off the political agenda tends not to be related to an objective assessment of relative urgency. For instance, a coalition cutting across Left, Center and Right in the Chamber in Uruguay passed legislation to legalize abortion during its worst economic crisis of the democratic era in October, 2002. Similarly, conservative politicians in both Spain and Argentina, despite claims that debating divorce detracted attention from the serious economic problems of the country, were unable to halt reform. Indeed, during both debates, the countries were experiencing negligible levels of economic growth. On the other hand, the Chilean Senate debated (although failed to pass by two votes) a rightwing proposal to increase penalties for abortion in July 1998, while the country was experiencing its worst economic slump since democratization due to the Asian financial crisis. Similar arguments for and against were used in all three cases. Htun (2003:152) argues that conservatives have been able to frame abortion as a human rights issue, drawing on the Left’s discourse on past human rights violations during military regimes. In Chile this discourse on the part of the Right has been most prominent. I argue that because of the concentration of media ownership, the ability of the Right to use this discourse has less to do with the persuasiveness of the argument itself, but rather with the interests of the Right and its ability to dominate the media and to galvanize the Church. In a context where arguments for and against reform get an equal hearing, the attempts of former allies in human rights violations to use that discourse to their advantage would be unlikely to be received as well in the media and among politicians. In Chile, conservatives dominate access to the media, and their discourse serves strategic objectives. In addition, it could be argued that the Church’s linking of these issues with human rights is insincere to the extent to which this focus has supplanted attention to economic justice and past as well as continuing human rights abuses in these countries.8 Success in framing is partly related to the strategic efficacy of the opposed actors. However, it is also an indication of the balance of power between conservatives and reformists. Socio-economic inequality allows wealthier domestic actors more influence over framing, agenda-setting and outcomes, regardless of the institutional context. A high concentration of income among elites enables them to have more control over the media and campaign financing, and hence over framing, agenda-setting, and the direction of politics and policy reform. On an issue such as abortion, it is understandable that elites may be indifferent to social problems that disproportionately affect the poor. It is not, however, readily apparent why elites would be morally conservative, as these are issues that do not


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threaten their economic interests; abortion and divorce as non-redistributive issues are classical liberal feminist issues. On abortion and divorce, any religious or feminist organization would be thrilled at the opportunity to gain supporters and have influence over framing and agenda-setting. To gain influence, the organizations must have something valuable to offer the elites. On Catholic family and sexual morality specifically, the Vatican shift has, as discussed above, legitimated more rightwing clergy and Catholic organizations with a clear stance against Liberation Theology and instead a focus on moral orthodoxy on sex and the family. This reassertion of individual morality over collective concerns is highly attractive to economic elites who have historically maintained a mutually beneficial relationship with the Catholic Church, and for whom Liberation Theology was highly threatening. A tight relationship with religious organizations can give the Right moral legitimacy, particularly after democratization when Right parties must compete electorally. Moreover, if the elites, and the Right, can dominate framing and agenda-setting, a fundamentalist framing can divert attention away from socio-economic and redistributive issues by identifying predominantly socio-economic problems as having moral causes. For instance, divorce can be (and has been) identified as the cause of poverty among women instead of low wages. The elites and the Right can offer significant political influence to religious organizations in return. The textbook case of such an alliance is postdemocratization Chile. A key factor that links income distribution and elite interests to framing is media ownership. If media ownership is highly concentrated, framing will be filtered through the interests of the owners (which may or may not be morally conservative). In this context, framing is not simply conditioned by public opinion, the ‘public mood’ (Kingdon 1984), or even levels of social movement activism. While Chalmers et.al. (1997) see the media in Latin America as having a democratizing impact on political discourse, specifically in terms of overcoming poverty and inequality, Weyland (1998) in fact points to the corrosive, corrupting influence media can have in highly unequal societies. Given the fact that television has become ubiquitous even among the poor in the age of mass media, while access to television time is prohibitively expensive, elites will have a great interest in controlling the resource, and inequalities in income distribution will allow them to do so. With democratization, all three countries studied here emerged from highly traditional, repressive military regimes that censored discourse on sexuality and the family. In such situations, the media takes on added


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significance with democratization, and can, under the right circumstances, act as a catalyst in providing citizens with information on previously censored topics and with alternative worldviews from which to understand them. It can provide previously silenced groups in society with a voice, and an avenue for calls to mobilize. It can serve this purpose for Church-related mobilization as well, but the potential effect for previously excluded groups is much more significant, since the Church has had a voice all along. In addition, in democratic capitalist societies, the wealthy are bound to have more access, if they so choose, to political power than the poor (Lindblom 1977). The issue is at what point does unequal access to politicians cripple the very essence of the democratic system itself. For a democratic system to function, numbers (i.e. public opinion and social mobilization) should be able to counteract the influence of money. Two factors that affect this are: first, the concentration of income; and second, the laws that govern campaign finance regulation. When elites receive a disproportionate amount of national income—say, for instance, the top 20 percent receive over half of national income—their financial power enables them to easily outbid the middle classes in financing politicians if they so choose. This has become even more acute in the age of mass media. To effectively compete, politicians need access to television, which can reach people—even, or especially, the poor in South America—like no other medium can (Weyland 1998). It offers a great potential to influence peoples’ votes and is linked to the discussion on framing above. High concentration of income will ensure that a small number of very wealthy people control access to this medium, and hence make politicians dependent on them. This is aggravated if campaign finance laws do not exist or are not effectively regulated. (And such laws may be hard to pass given vested interests in the status quo.) With a highly unequal distribution of resources and lack of campaign financing regulations, the elite have disproportionate control over agenda-setting and have the capacity to simply veto issues from the political agenda by threatening to withdraw financial support. If well-meaning reformist politicians are not independently wealthy and have no other sources to turn to—for instance, public financing—they have little choice but to pay attention to their contributors. In the absence of regulation, all politicians—those on the Left as well—will feel the pressure to court the wealthy in order to have any chance at winning votes and seats in elections. To maintain their interests in these circumstances, then, the elites do not necessarily have to have a self-identified conservative party represent them. In Spain, visual media was in the hands of the state and printed media was diversely owned at the time of democratization. With the death of


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Franco, parliament legislated a commission that was responsible for ensuring objective standards of reporting in the media, and television was public until 1989.9 The ownership of newspapers was diversified, and ensured access for all major ideological tendencies and social groups. In addition, campaign financing has been publicly regulated and funded since the 1978 constitutional reform. The law favors parties with parliamentary representation due to the fact that financing is apportioned according to the number of legislative seats (Gunther 1989: 76). As with the electoral system, this bias does not discriminate against either conservatives or reformists, although it intentionally discriminates against the far Left and the far Right. Public campaign financing with no strings attached, and the relatively equal distribution of resources overall, has ensured that, despite imperfections, elites were not and are not able to co-opt politicians by simply buying their allegiance. Accountability to the party and to the electorate come before accountability to financial supporters. In Chile, media concentration is high. The media—except for one state-controlled TV channel and some foreign-owned TV-channels—is basically owned by two rightwing economic groups, Grupo Edwards and Grupo Claro, which also have close ties to conservative religious networks. Moreover, the state-owned TV channel censors ‘touchy’ issues, and in fact pulled a documentary its reporters had made on the abortion crisis in Chile off the air in 1995. These two economic groups also own over 70 percent of the distribution of the printed news in Chile (Sunkel and Geoffroy 2001). It is simply very hard for the feminists and the Left in general to reach a broad audience through the communications media. In addition, Chile had no campaign financing laws until 2003 when a very weak law was passed (Fuentes 2003). Given the tight link between economic elites and religious conservatives, the business community finances political campaigns aimed at upholding Catholic family and sexual morality, and ones that go even further by focusing on punitive measures (such as seeking increased penalties for women who are caught having had abortions).10 The business community funds not only Right candidates, but is also the major source of campaign funding for the Center and the Left, the latter in particular lacking other domestic sources of funding. This is an explicit and successful strategy to control the agenda of not only its natural allies but also its natural enemies. Still, the Right receives significantly more funding than the Left; in the last presidential elections (1999/2000) according to press reports the Right candidate—a member of Opus Dei-backed by the business community outspent the Left candidate by a ratio of ten to one (and lost the election by a margin of only 10,000 votes).11


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This makes it much harder for reformist sectors without resources to get politicians to respond to their concerns, particularly when they run counter to campaign financers. In sum, the wealthy are more able to control the political agenda in conditions of high inequality and lack of effective regulation of how politicians are financed, despite a democratic political context. Even politicians on the Left have financial incentives to be unresponsive to the needs or demands of their supporters. In Argentina, media ownership is more diversified and public debates on television and in the newspapers reflect significant ideological diversity. High quality newspapers have, according to some observers, taken on the role of political oppositionduring the 1990s in addressing and questioning government. While media ownership has become increasingly concentrated in the 1990s, the interests of the owners do not reflect a particular moral agenda. The identification of economic elites with religious conservatism is not as strong as in Chile; while most pro-life leaders tend to come from the middle to upper classes, most of the upper classes have little interest in moral conservatism. Argentina has campaign finance laws that limit spending and provide subsidies to political parties, but the laws have not been effectively implemented (Sabsay 1998). In general, politics in Argentina has been plagued by high levels of corruption, particularly in the 1990s, which has reduced political accountability. Wealthy elites retain privileged access to politicians through corruption. While problems are freely identified in the media, they are rarely pursued even by reform-minded politicians. In sum, concentration in media ownership and unregulated campaign financing increase the clout of economic elites in framing and agenda-setting in general, and make it harder for reformists to get their voice heard and to compete in the ‘marketplace of ideas,’ so to speak. If elite interests in addition coincide with a conservative moral agenda, the playing field becomes even more imbalanced.

SOCIAL SOLIDARITY AND FEMINIST MOBILIZATION Unequal distribution of resources not only impacts access to media and politicians, it also has a corrosive impact on potentially reformist coalitions. First, feminists simply do not tend to have access to similar resources as do the wealthy and highly organized arms of the Catholic Church, especially when they act in concert with economic elites. More fundamentally, unlike on the Right, a reformist coalition cannot be built only (or even mainly) on mutual interests. At some level you need a sense of solidarity with the cause. Deep inequalities—class divisions—damage


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middle class solidarity with the working and lower classes, that essential ingredient any reformist movement needs in order to be successful. A central dilemma of all movements is how to foster collective action. Given this, some issues are easier to reform than others (if support is strong and opposition weak), and coalitions among elite networks may be enough to bring about change. Abortion and divorce, however, do face strong opposition in Catholic countries, and extensive social mobilization tends to be necessary. In fact, distinguishing between Protestant and Catholic countries allows us to see a distinct dynamic on abortion and divorce politics in these two sets of countries. In the case of initial liberalization of abortion laws from the 1960s to the 1980s, nearly all scholars of the topic (Luker 1984, Jenson 1992, Stetson 2001, O’Connor et al. 1999) argue that abortion was brought to the agenda “not as a women’s movement demand, but as a response to demands from doctors and progressive politicians to respond to the increase in abortions outside the law” (Stetson 2001: 4). This dynamic, in fact, applies mainly to Protestant countries, both liberal and social democratic ones. In Catholic countries, feminists have been central to the initial push for policy reform on abortion, and to a lesser but not insignificant extent, on divorce. In Italy, Spain and Portugal, liberalization of both divorce and abortion has required more social mobilization to counter the influence of the Catholic Church on society and politics. Doctors’ associations in fact have tended either to not support or to be explicitly against liberalization of abortion laws in Catholic countries.12 This forced feminist movements to organize around the issue, often alone, and their mobilization came to be the catalyst for a change in how the problem was viewed and defined, and for its inclusion on the political agenda. Given the less severe value conflict incited by divorce versus abortion and the meaning of life, divorce reform has tended to be easier. On divorce, coalitional support on a social and political level has been broader, and feminists have tended to form part of a coalition of reformist professionals—particularly lawyers who deal with marital separations— who forced divorce onto the political agenda. In such coalitions they have played an important role in influencing the terms of divorce regulation to ensure that the interests of women and children are adequately addressed. Divorce has now been legalized in all major Western countries, although with different regulations. However, religious opposition in Catholic countries has been strong in both cases, and support for reform is also related to the different nature of interests. The middle classes have had more of an interest in supporting divorce reform, because divorce is a state rather than a one-time act, and


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the ability—or lack thereof—to remarry and redirect inheritance rights affects the middle and upper classes. Moreover, access to legal divorce affects men as well. In this sense, demand for divorce is not linked to solidarity so much as it is to the collective interests of the middle classes. Abortion as a private, one-time act is easier to hide, and women with resources can pay for an easily available abortion doctor to perform a safe procedure, which leaves no trace and requires simply an afternoon off. While the framework I present applies to both divorce and abortion, I argue that abortion reform requires more effort from feminists acting alone and is less likely to garner middle class support and hence a broader coalition as easily. Those directly affected are women, and those who risk dangerous consequences from illegal abortions are poor women. Prochoice movements have been initiated pretty much exclusively by women around the world. Feminists have had to, first, redefine abortion as a social problem not a moral crime, and then convince men and women of the need for and urgency of abortion reform. How can feminists, then, mobilize active support? It is well-known that the lack of time, skills, and resources makes it extremely difficult for the poor anywhere to organize collectively to make demands on the state (see Bachrach and Baratz 1970). Hence, most reformist movements are dependent on support from and have been led by the middle classes, even if and when the lower classes form a component of the movement. In the specific case of Catholic military regimes, in the absence of legal recourse women (and men) simply resorted to private exit options to resolve unhappy marriages and unwanted pregnancies. With democratization, women and men had and have a choice. They can continue to act in their own individual self-interest, and resolve their problems through means of private exit. However, the framework for conflict resolution has changed, and the potential to access state institutions and to influence public policy becomes real. People gain the ability to act on the basis of a notion of social citizenship in which the interests of the collective are taken into account, and engage in public, collective action to change laws that cause harmful social consequences. On economic issues, the interests of middle and lower class women (and men) can be directly opposed through simple economic interest (for instance, in the case of the rights of domestic workers). However, the legalization of abortion or divorce does not directly threaten the interests of the upper or middle classes; in fact, an argument could be made that legalization can serve them by providing healthier, more reliable workers given less ‘private, domestic’ problems.


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Given that reformist movements tend to be reliant on mobilizing numbers to counteract the influence of money, their barrier is the classic problem of collective action (Olson 1965). For middle class women, individual benefits of legal abortion may not be immediately apparent as private solutions exist. On divorce, individual benefits may not be immediately apparent either if loopholes such as annulments exist. On issues that have a differential class impact, mobilization requires some level of solidarity with the lower classes and a willingness to act—even most minimally—on that basis. In conditions of relative social equality, economic relationships are less hierarchical.13 The upper classes have less opportunities to use their superior economic power to exploit the poor at will. Effective functioning of democratic politics, however, requires not only the absence of acutely exploitative relationships, it also requires the widespread prevalence of a notion of social citizenship that is not simply predicated on the notion of individual self-interest. It requires the willingness to act, even collectively, on the basis of social solidarity and to support policies that help the less advantaged (even if it is simply by paying taxes). I define solidarity as a union or fellowship arising from common responsibilities and interests between classes. This subjective notion of citizenship is based on objective conditions of relative social equality; that is, that the economic gulf that separates rich and poor from each other is not too deep. In such a context, middle class women and men are more likely to see poor women and men as citizens and as their social equals and to feel solidarity with them. In these circumstances, in the face of urgent social problems, democratization can act as a catalyst for social mobilization and political responses, even if it requires facing a formidable opponent such as the Catholic Church. A critical mass is more likely to harbor a sense of solidarity and common belonging, and to identify with the needs of the poor. They are more likely to demand that the government do more and be more willing to push for change themselves, and feminists will be able to mobilize a strong support base. In conditions of high economic inequalities, I argue that this notion of citizenship is weaker and that it is more difficult to foster solidarity to overcome the collective action problem. What constitutes the barrier here is indifference that is fostered by the huge socio-economic gap between the classes. Political scientists have recently referred to the ‘dualist world’ (Karl 2000:153) that income inequalities in Latin America have created or maintained, and the corrosive impact this has on fostering a sense of “common belonging” (Vilas 1997:23) and “broad and effective solidarity” (O’Donnell 1998:55), all essential to democratic consolidation. In a world sharply


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divided between rich and poor, people are, ironically, more likely to blame the poor for their poverty, and are unlikely to expect or demand much social action from their governments (aware that this may involve increased taxation). They are also less likely to engage in collective action themselves. On issues that intersect class and gender discrimination and predominantly affect only poor women, mobilizing support is even harder. The upper and middle classes simply do not think of their lower-class counterparts as citizens with equal rights. The barriers to organization and mobilization among the poor themselves are also exacerbated by higher levels of inequality. Higher levels of inequality have been empirically associated with a deeper gap in the levels of real skills between those in the top and bottom quintile of income distribution of OECD countries (see Huber and Stephens 2001). Hence, the more unequal a society is, the more the poor are at an effective disadvantage to politically participate. Ironically, then, it is easier for the poor to mobilize in countries where they are no longer relatively that poor.14 While similar comparative studies have not to date been conducted in Latin America, this dynamic no doubt applies to Latin American countries as well. The gap in skills between the rich and the poor in both Chile and Argentina is bound to make it even more difficult for the poor to effectively politically participate. Chile and Argentina may in fact have been (at least somewhat) different in the recent past, before the military coups of 1973 and 1976, respectively. Unlike the rest of Latin America, where a world of dualism has been a constant reality, O’Donnell claims that Chile and Argentina were distinct until recently (O’Donnell 1998: 54).15 Indeed, the data on inequality support this claim; economic inequality was significantly lower preceding the military coups of 1973 and 1976, respectively, than they are in both countries today. (Although it did not stop the middle classes from supporting the military coups.) In Argentina, the Gini index was only 0.37 in 1975 (for urban areas), the same as in Spain in 1973. Newspapers from the time reported on abortion as a public health concern and incipient political debates on the liberalization of abortion laws. In Chile, the top 20 percent received 52.3 percent of national income in 1971. While this is still high for West European standards, it is significantly lower than what they receive today (62 percent). In 1964, the Christian Democratic President launched the first comprehensive national family planning program in Latin America, with the stated aim to reduce the public health consequences of clandestine abortions.16 In the early 1970s, newspapers and the literature reported public debates on the need to legalize divorce. In both countries, a gradually liberalizing social and political atmosphere seemed to be building


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up in the early and mid-1970s, which was then abruptly eliminated by the military coups. The military regimes witnessed a massive regressive redistribution of income in both countries, which has continued through the democratic era in Argentina to more closely approximate the levels of current-day Chile. Given this, the social context of the transitions in the two countries was very different from what it was in Spain. Today, inequality and the consequent social distances between the rich, the well-to-do, and the poor have increased in both Chile and Argentina, fostering and reinforcing a dualist world. To be sure, the rich across Latin America have always opted for an exit. Successful social mobilization, except in rare circumstances, is dependent on the leadership and mobilization of the middle classes. In deeply unequal societies, however, a much larger part of the middle classes is more likely to identify with and seek to associate themselves with the world of the rich, and will engage in individualistic, short-term risk-averse behavior to make sure they do not sink into the world of the poor (Conaghan 2005 discusses this in her conclusion). In these circumstances, despite formal democratization, inequality acts as a barrier to the development of a broad and accepted notion of social citizenship based on solidarity. The notion of solidarity can be measured in a variety of ways, constrained by the availability of appropriate data. I measure general trends through comparable public opinion data, which is provided by the World Values Survey. Unfortunately, questions on solidarity are only included in the surveys of the mid-1990s. I measure the concept of solidarity through two questions related to attitudes toward the poor and poverty, and willingness to engage in collective action through two questions on specific political activities, for which data exists from the 1980s as well. People who feel less solidarity, I contend, are more likely to blame the poor themselves for their poverty. Moreover, they are less likely to expect the government to do something about it. Relatedly, they are also less likely to engage in reformist collective action themselves. Figure 2.3 indicates that Chileans and Argentines are less likely to feel solidarity toward the poor than are Spaniards, and that Chileans are less likely to expect the government to do something about it. Chileans, at 40 percent of the respondents, are significantly more likely to blame the ‘laziness’ of the poor for their poverty than are either Argentines or Spaniards, only one-fourth and one-fifth of whom, respectively, blame the poor themselves.17 A similar amount of Chileans also does not believe the government needs to do more to combat poverty, while in Spain just under one-third thinks likewise, despite the fact that


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Figure 2.3 Solidarity through Two Questions. Spain, Argentina and Chile. 1) ‘Why are people in need’ 2) Evaluation of the government’s response to poverty Source: World Values Survey 1995–6.

the Spanish government already allocates a significantly higher amount of resources to poverty reduction than do the Chilean or Argentine governments. The interesting exception here is Argentina. Argentines in 1995 think the government is doing a dismal job in dealing with poverty. This is worth contextualizing—and will be discussed in Chapter Five— within Argentine politics. In 1995, levels of poverty had more than doubled compared to 1990 due to President Carlos Menem’s neo-liberal policy reforms, the dramatic contraction of the welfare state and high levels of corruption. Figure 2.4 indicates the propensity of Spaniards, Argentines and Chileans to sign petitions and attend demonstrations after democratization. Again, the data for Argentina is for urban areas only. It identifies the share of respondents who have either signed a petition or attended a demonstration, or who would never do so. Those who “might do so at some point” compose the omitted category. The survey data indicate that Spaniards were more willing to mobilize collectively some years into the transition, while Chileans and Argentines have been less willing to do so. In Spain in 1981—around five years after


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Figure 2.4 Survey Responses on Collective Action. Spain, Argentina and Chile. Question: Have you engaged in the following actions?1 Source: World Values Surveys 1981, 1990, and 1995-7. 1

I do not include the survey data on strikes. First, strikes are highly dependent on government regulations around unions and striking. Second, strikes may not fit exactly under the definition of mobilization in solidarity, since strikes seek to benefit the members of a union (and hence are a form of collective self-interest).

democratization—approximately one-quarter of the population had signed petitions or attended demonstrations. In Argentina in 1981—still during the military regime—a slightly higher one-third of the respondents had signed petitions, and 23 percent had participated in a demonstration. These figures had declined significantly by 1990, while the number of respondents who declared they would never engage in such actions had steeply increased. Finally, by 1995, the willingness of the respondents in Argentina to engage in collective actions had somewhat increased (and this is indeed reflected in the higher number of political demonstrations in the latter half of the 1990s). However, over half the respondents still declared they would never participate in a demonstration. In Chile, democratization has not acted as a catalyst for collective action. Chileans have become less politically active since democratization, particularly in the case of attending demonstrations. Many Chileans attended demonstrations against the dictatorship in the 1980s, and this is reflected in the high number of Chileans—30 percent—who say they have


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attended demonstrations in the 1990 survey. By 1995, this figure had dropped to half at fifteen percent. Similar to Argentina, over half of Chilean respondents declared in 1995 that they would never attend a demonstration. While some may argue that in the Chilean case demobilization is simply due to protest exhaustion from the active 1980s, the exact opposite case—that policy entrepreneurs could have taken advantage of pre-existing networks and experience to mobilize people—could be made.18 Given this data, we would expect that reformist and feminist mobilization would find more fertile ground in Spain, while in Argentina and particularly in Chile feminists would find it harder to elicit the support of a critical mass for collective action based on solidarity. Sonia Alvarez discusses the professionalization of feminist organizations across Latin America and their incorporation into state activities as a natural consequence of democratization, in distinction to the militant base of what she refers to as the “historical feminist movement” (Alvarez 1998: 306–308). She refers to this phenomenon as the “NGO’ization” of the feminist movements. While this has certainly taken place across Latin America, state feminists and politicians in the region continue to require a social support base to push through reformist policies, particularly when they are controversial. Hence, “NGO”ization, while necessary, is not sufficient on controversial issues if it is not accompanied by a domestic social support base. Chapters Three, Four and Five demonstrate that feminist mobilization on abortion was more widespread in Spain than it has been in either Argentina or Chile.19 Suffice it to give an example here. A highly effective strategy, based on solidarity, and used by feminist organizations in many Catholic countries to influence framing and to force the issue onto the political agenda has been to collect signatures from women who admit to having had clandestine abortions (and men who admit to having aided them). In Spain, this campaign resulted in the notarized signatures of tens of thousands of Spaniards in the late 1970s. In Argentina, a similar campaign in 1996 elicited less than one hundred signatures, while in Chile feminists in a similar campaign in the mid-1990s were able to secure only five signatures. In Chile, even divorce politics has been influenced by lack of middle class interest and support; the middle classes have not acted collectively and have, instead, managed to find a private exit solution by way of fraudulent and expensive (but increasingly common) annulments. This allowed for legislative reform to be dragged out for ten years and resulted in a relatively conservative outcome. Strong feminist movements are a necessary condition in Catholic countries for abortion reform in particular, and a feminist presence within


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coalitions is important for gender-equitable divorce reform. Lower levels of solidarity have resulted in a narrower support base for feminist mobilization in Argentina and Chile, particularly on issues such as abortion where the impact is predominantly contained within the lower-classes. Divorce reform was pushed through by middle class pressure in Argentina. In Chile, through the 1990s middle class pressure was weak as couples with resources were able to hire lawyers who processed fraudulent annulments. This private exit option was increasingly popular throughout the 1990s. The level of feminist mobilization influences the willingness of Left parties to pick up feminist causes. As the feminist comparative policy literature points out, without feminist pressure Left parties are unlikely to push for women’s rights, particularly on highly controversial issues. The ability of feminists to form tight ties, and to be taken seriously by Left politicians, is dependent, first, on the capacity to credibly point to a mobilizeable support base. Second, it is dependent on the extent to which conservative counter pressures weigh on (potentially) reformist politicians. The factors outlined above—media concentration, campaign finance, and social mobilization—all affect the responsiveness of Left parties. In societies with a relatively equal distribution of resources, the translation of social preferences to the political level should be relatively straightforward, particularly on issues without external constraints (for instance, expenditure cutbacks in the face of a high national debt). First, on issues where majority support among the population exists, if civil society organizations/interest groups can mobilize people, and develop ties with Political parties, the parties will be more likely to respond to citizen preferences. In this case specifically, feminist mobilization and ties to Left and Center parties will make it less likely that the parties will simply capitulate when faced with Church and rightwing reactions. Second, diverse media ownership and equitable campaign financing enable these preferences, once mobilized, to hold politicians accountable. In unequal societies, social mobilization in support of feminist issues such as abortion is weak. Hence, reformist politicians are unsure of the support base they could call on were they to promote liberalization. Given this, Left parties are unlikely to respond to feminist demands. Meanwhile, the potential reactions of the Church, the media, and sources of campaign funding will remind politicians of the cost. This is compounded if conservative organizations have formed tight ties with the elites. There are few incentives to pay attention to feminist demands, even when they are supported by majority opinion.


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The agenda of the political Left has indeed been markedly distinct in the three countries. The Left has been much more active in promoting socially liberal, secular policy stances in Spain than it has in the other two countries. In Spain Left parties responded to social pressures, and the visibility of the issues forced the Center and the Right to shift more in line with citizen preferences as well. Once the social problems had been crystallized by feminists into clear political demands, the Left was willing to assume the task of pushing them through Congress, and the Right was unwilling—and unable—to go to great lengths to block legislation. A liberal divorce law was formulated and passed by the Center government in Spain in 1981 with support from liberal Christian Democrats, and abortion reform was in fact on the political agenda of the Center party before the Socialist electoral victory in 1982. Evidence indicates that the Center government would have sought to reform the abortion laws as well, had it been voted back into office. The absolute legislative majority of the Socialists after the 1982 elections explains why the party was able to pass its abortion bill through parliament without modification (although with a two-year wait); it does not explain, however, why PSOE chose to prioritize abortion reform to the extent that it did. In Argentina, on the other hand, the meaning of ‘left’ and ‘right’ is less clear. Despite party programs, the policy orientation of the parties tends to be unpredictable once they are in power. Divorce was legalized under the secular Center/Center-left government of Alfonsín in 1987 due to significant middle class pressure; abortion was not even debated. In the 1990s, when abortion was politicized, the terms of debate had radically shifted into the hands of the Right. President Menem (1989–1999) campaigned on a leftwing platform but executed rightwing policies once in power, pursued very close ties with the Vatican and sought, unsuccessfully, to impose a constitutional ban on abortion in 1994. Neither the UCR nor FREPASO sought liberalization of abortion laws during the 1990s. Despite the lack of an explicitly conservative or Christian Democratic party (at least until 1996 when Menem’s party joined the International Christian Democrats), Argentine politics on moral issues became very conservative in the 1990s, as Chapter Five shows. In Chile, the disjuncture between political debates and social attitudes as well as behavior is extreme. This is the case for Left parties as well, which, although institutionally stable and ideologically oriented, pay little attention to public opinion and to what they perceive to be insignificant feminist pressures on these issues. The political Left has abandoned a reformist agenda on abortion, and has hesitantly and over a period of fourteen years pushed through a moderate divorce bill. The formation of political agendas is discussed in detail in the country-specific chapters.


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POLITICAL ACCESS Three factors are important regarding political access first, the party system; second, political institutions, specifically the number of veto points; and third, the role of the executive. First, the party system of a country is influenced by a variety of factors such as the electoral system (see for instance Siavelis 2000) and the politicization of extant social cleavages (see for instance the classic Lipset and Rokkan 1967), both of which are outside the scope of this analysis. The political Left has gained higher representation in Spain than it has managed to achieve in either Chile or Argentina post-democratization, and it formed the government in Spain from 1982 until 1996. Abortion was legalized by the Socialist Government. Argentina lacks coherent and programmatic Left parties with significant political representation, which has hurt the interests of the lower classes. In Chile, the Left, while solid, is far from gaining a Congressional majority. Second, political institutions can influence agenda-setting in that rational political actors, aware of constraints, will modify legislative initiatives according to what they think has a chance of being passed within a given institutional framework (of course, legislative initiatives can have for politicians a symbolic value regardless of whether they stand a chance of passage). Institutional rules impact the process legislative bills go through, whether they pass or fail, how long it takes, and whether and how they are modified. The literature on institutions in Latin America analyzes the impact of constitutional rules on political parties and coalitional dynamics, and on political agendas and outcomes ( see for instnace Carey and Shugart 1992; Carey 1998; Siavelis 2000; Morgenstern and Nacif 2002). The more veto points there are, the more opportunities strong interest groups and political parties have to water down legislation and to postpone or block change, and the harder it is to pass legislation (see for instance Immergut 1992; Huber and Stephens 2000). Political institutions in both Chile and Argentina favor the elites. While Spain has a parliamentary system, both Chile and Argentina have presidential systems, which can make legislation more difficult to pass, particularly in the event of divided government. Moreover, in both countries the methods of representation of the Senate have constituted a major hurdle for reform and democratic accountability more broadly. In Chile, until 2006, nine senators have been appointed (half of the spaces reserved for representatives of the armed forces). In Argentina, until 2001 regional legislatures elected or simply nominated the senators that represented each


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province. In Chile, the binomial electoral system is additionally designed to over-represent the first minority, which is the political Right. All three countries have a Supreme Court. In Argentina, respect for institutional rules deteriorated during the Menem Presidency (1989–1999), who resorted to governance by decree on economic policy in an effort to overcome legislative obstruction (see, for example, O’Donnell 1994). However, as I mentioned earlier, this seems to be rarely if ever the case when the potential beneficiaries are relatively powerless. In sum, Spain’s parliamentary system and political institutions have somewhat less veto points than those in presidentialist Chile and Argentina. This creates an added hurdle for feminists and reformists seeking legislative change in Latin America. Third, the role of the executive is crucial. In both the parliamentary system in Spain and the presidential systems in Chile and Argentina, the executive has significant control over the political agenda in Congress/Parliament and hence can force a debate on a bill he/she considers important. In addition, the executive can promote or obstruct legislative change by appointing ministers (parliamentary) or by lobbying committee chairs (presidential). Hence, the stance of the executive is important, as well as whether and to what lengths he/she is willing to go to in order to intervene in legislative debates. Spain’s democratic methods of representation, as well as the parliamentary system, reduce the number of potential veto points in the system and hence the ability of the elites to block undesirable change. These factors, combined with higher representation of the Left, make it easier to pass legislation in Spain once it is on the agenda, and are likely to slow legislative passage down in Chile and Argentina. Finally, individual executives can play important roles in aiding or obstructing change; both the UCD and Socialist Prime Ministers in Spain took a reformist stance. While Chile’s Christian Democratic executives shied away from anything controversial, Leftwing President Ricardo Lagos (2000–2006) finally broke the years-long deadlock on divorce. Finally, Argentina’s President Menem’s aggressively conservative stance dominated politics in the 1990s, including abortion politics.

CONCLUSION I have provided a theoretical framework through which to understand the ‘battles’ between feminists and the Catholic Church, and outlined some of the empirical evidence that I provide in Chapters Three, Four, Five and Six. My central point is that, more than values or culture, what influences the political process and outcomes on abortion and divorce is access to


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economic and political resources, within a changing global context. Of course, I control for a variety of factors here, most importantly for Catholic religious dominance and, in my case studies, for democratic history. However, I show that within Catholic countries there is significant variation on political outcomes, and we can best explain the variance by including a thorough analysis of the socio-economic context and political dynamics. Given the military legacy, feminists gain a voice at democratization, while the Church maintains its voice. Beyond this, how well feminists can gain a social base and influence party agendas is strongly influenced by access to resources and by income distribution. The more equal resource income distribution is, and the less veto points the political system has, the easier it is for feminists and reformists to push for liberalization of policies, even if they are on highly controversial issues such as divorce and abortion. This framework is embedded in an international context—discussed in Chapter One—in which conservative global actors such as the Vatican have become increasingly organized and active since the rise to the Papacy of John Paul II in 1978. When high levels of domestic inequality are combined with higher mobilization of the Vatican and orthodox Catholic groups such as Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, reform becomes more difficult. In these conditions, elites’ domination of media ownership and campaign financing gives them significant leverage over framing and agenda-setting. High levels of inequality, on the other hand, can have a corrosive effect on solidarity. On a practical level, legalizing abortion was not in the immediate interests of middle class women in any of these countries, because clandestine clinics provided them with safe abortions. What abortion reform—much more than divorce reform—requires in countries with a formidable opponent such as the Catholic Church is solidarity with the effects that illegal abortion has on poor women. This solidarity is not as strong and is not as easily mobilized in societies with deep class divisions. Similarly, the political power of poor women in such countries is even lower. Combined, these factors make it very difficult for feminists to mobilize a critical mass of middle class support to further the cause of abortion reform. I turn now to the case studies of Spain, Chile and Argentina respectively, and explain moral politics in these countries by drawing on the theoretical framework developed in this chapter. Following this, in Chapter Six, I provide a broader comparative analysis of Catholic Western Europe and Latin America.


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Chapter Three

Social Equality and Social Reform in Spain

EXPLAINING THE CASE OF SPAIN: A SUMMARY In Spain, the transition to democracy brought about both social and political secularization, and both divorce and abortion laws were reformed within a decade of Franco’s death in 1975. The reasons for the success of the reformists in Spain lie in the interaction of relative social equality with political access. Spain, I show, had an equitable distribution of resources at democratization, and it was enhanced by access of all social groups to the media, and public regulation of campaign finance which made co-optation of politicians less possible. Both conservatives and feminists had access to political parties and institutions. I show how feminist organizations succeeded in politicizing divorce and abortion in civil society and the media. Access to the media was crucial for their ability to promote alternative worldviews and influence framing and agenda-setting. Outrage at abortion-related deaths and trials sparked feminist mobilization, which resonated in a responsive civil society. Feminists were able to elicit the public solidarity of a broad group of women and men, which is possible in a society where people see each other as equals. This stimulated people to seek political change through formal channels, instead of resorting to private means of exit. In this context, feminists forced the issues onto the agenda of Left parties. While the Communist party was staunchly supportive from the beginning, the Socialist party (PSOE) was hesitant to push for abortion reform until extensive feminist mobilization. After this, Left parties remained accountable to their constituencies and maintained their electoral promises on the political agenda. They were more prepared to risk encountering organized opposition, given the strength of their support base. They forced the Center government to maintain divorce on the political agenda, 63


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and pushed for a more liberal final version. The absolute majority the Socialists gained in the 1982 elections and the subsequent liberalization of abortion was simply one, albeit crucial, step in the political process. The conservatives in Spain were not able to dominate access to resources or to veto political reforms. The conscious retreat by the Spanish Catholic Church from the political sphere, spurred by Vatican II, denied infrastructural support to political parties and social mobilization, and defused the religious cleavage. The assumption of the papacy by John Paul II shifted the terms of debate entirely, as the Vatican began to push for more active intervention on the part of the Spanish Catholic Church. The domestic balance of power and determined moderation of the head of the Spanish Church, Cardinal Tarancón, minimized the influence of the interventions, however, and limited the effectiveness of conservative sectors such as Opus Dei. While the social support base for conservative mobilization existed, it was not guaranteed and automatically accessible without Church support, and conservatives had to mobilize using the same strategies as feminists. Moreover, conservatives were not able to dominate media debates and silence feminists, and had limited political allies with limited access to veto points. In the ensuing years, the Vatican shift was to have a significant impact on the terms of debate in South America, as the case studies of Chile and Argentina indicate. Finally, the strong Left and the low number of veto points allowed for both issues to remain on the agenda until legal reform was achieved. The Right’s recourse to the Supreme Court on abortion hindered reform by two years, but this in fact may have worked in favor of reformists regarding policy implementation, as explained below. The role of the executive was particularly crucial after legislative reform of abortion. The Socialists set up the Women’s Institute (Instituto de la Mujer ) upon assuming power in 1983. By 1985, when the Supreme Court finally made its favorable ruling on the Socialist abortion reform, the Women’s Institute—staffed by feminists—was fully functioning and ready to participate in the policy-making process. This enabled the feminist movement to influence the implementation of abortion reform from within the state. Abortion remained a top priority for state feminists, who were able to counter conservative organizations during the struggle for equitable implementation. State feminists were able to ensure that access to abortion was broad by the late 1980s. In the next sections, I discuss the social context of divorce and abortion, and then present the party agendas and the political process on divorce and then abortion. I then explain what led to successful reform by


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analyzing the social conditions, mobilization and political access on both sides. Finally, I look at policy implementation on abortion reform.

SOCIAL CONTEXT OF DIVORCE AND ABORTION Unregulated marital separations and new unions as well as illegal abortions were identified as significant social problems at the time of the transition in Spain. Unregulated separations and unions had become an increasing problem in Spain, and annulments had become increasingly common among those who could afford them (Matsell 1981: 146). Similarly, estimates of the abortion rate in Spain in the late 1970s ranged anywhere from 300 000 to 500 000 clandestine abortions a year.1 Tens of thousands of women who could afford travel, lodging and medical costs flew annually to England for safe abortions, while others paid for what they could back home. Abortionrelated complications were a significant public health problem in Spain. As discussed in Chapter One, public opinion on divorce and abortion was highly divided in the years immediately following the transition, and support for liberalization on either issue was ambiguous at best. Surveys indicated that public opinion shifted from mild to solid support on divorce between 1978 and 1980, as the need for legal divorce was politicized in society. On abortion, respondents were divided as well and there was not a clear pro-choice majority by 1981(see Table 1.1). Public opinion on both divorce and abortion was certainly supportive of reform, but not in levels any higher than those in Chile and Argentina in the 1990s.

POLITICS IN SPAIN Spain’s transition to democracy was triggered by the death of Dictator Francisco Franco in November 1975. Delegates were elected to a constitutional convention which wrote a new Spanish Constitution in 1978. It was overwhelmingly approved by the general population in a referendum. Spain’s electoral system is modified proportional representation. In the Chamber, district magnitude ranges from 2 to 33 seats per district, with an average district magnitude of 6.73. There is a set four seats per district in the Senate. The system seeks to reduce fragmentation and does so by clearly favoring large parties. While it boosts the representation of rural areas that tend to be more conservative and reduces the influence of both far Right and far Left, the system favored both the Social Democratic Left (PSOE) in the 1977, 1979 and 1982 elections and the Right (AP) in the 1982 elections.


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The Spanish political system has less veto points than either the Argentine or the Chilean system. Spain’s parliamentary system does not allow for an independent power base for the executive and it fosters higher levels of party discipline. In addition, the Senate has significantly less powers than the Chamber: it cannot introduce legislation (except in rare cases), it must deliberate on approved Chamber bills within under three months, and a Chamber vote can override a Senate veto. Both factors make it easier to streamline policy reforms, particularly in the case of an absolute majority by one party. In the post-transition parliament, the Union of the Democratic Center Party (UCD—Unión de Centro Democrático)—an umbrella for a variety of diverse ideological tendencies—held a plurality of seats (a third of the national vote) between 1977 and 1982, although it remained a few seats short of an absolute majority. The UCD formed the government, with Adolfo Suárez as Prime Minister. The Socialist Party (PSOE—Partido Socialista Obrero Español) constituted the major opposition party. The rightwing party Popular Alliance (AP-Alianza Popular) and the Communist Party (PCE-Partido Comunista Español) each commanded between three and seven percent of the seats during this time. While the UCD generally allied with the PSOE to pass its bills, there were times when it allied with the Right. The UCD disappeared after the 1982 elections. The primary beneficiary was the PSOE, which achieved an absolute legislative majority with just under half of the national vote. The AP—the party with the closest links to the Franco regime—surged to become the main opposition party. Both parties had made a conscious move toward the ideological center during their electoral campaigns. The PSOE had removed socialism from its program and the AP had distanced itself from the Franco past. Finally, the Communist Party also virtually disappeared in the 1982 elections as the PSOE managed to crowd it out and given the global decline of the movement overall. The Politics of Divorce Reform 1975–1981 I discuss the political agenda of each party from Left to Right. On the far Left, the Communist Party assumed an actively pro-divorce stance immediately following Franco’s death. The PCE sought to add an amendment to guarantee legal divorce in the new constitution, and was supported by the PSOE. Along with abortion, the proposal was defeated while disagreements over both divorce and abortion threatened to bring the constitutional negotiations to a standstill in what were the most acrimonious debates of the entire process (Boetsch 1985: 159). Finally, the major political parties agreed to postpone debate on the issues for legislative politics.


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The PCE was the first party to introduce a legislative bill in the postdemocratization parliament to legalize divorce,2 on the basis of mutual consent, in May 1979.3 The UCD sided with the political Right and managed to quite narrowly reject the bill for debate with a vote of 125 in favor and 135 against. The Communists supported subsequent bills introduced by the PSOE and individual Left legislators, and sought to lobby for a more liberal bill once the government project was introduced to parliament. The party supported the final, more liberal version of the UCD divorce bill that was approved and promulgated in 1981. During the transition to democracy, the PSOE moderated its program to become a catch-all party. The party rejected an explicitly Marxist platform and assumed the programmatic goals of West European—style Social Democratic parties and a reformist, secular stance on church-state relations. The Socialists presented another divorce bill in 1979 soon after the Communist bill was rejected for debate. The party argued that the current system of expensive annulments was nothing more than institutionalized fraud that only served the rich. The Socialist representative appealed to social urgency and public opinion, and demanded that the government take a clear stand on the issue. The UCD was again able to block legislative debate by siding with the Right, garnering 141 votes against while 133 voted in favor.4 For the UCD Center Party, moral issues were divisive from the beginning, given its heterogeneous composition that ranged from Christian to Social democracy. These divisions were mitigated by a general recognition—even among the Christian Democratic minority within the party— that legislation on marital separations was needed; divisions arose from the specific nature and urgency of the legislation. After assuming power in 1977, the UCD began preparing a draft on divorce legislation. The first draft of the government bill—made public in June 1978—reflected the strength of the Christian Democratic sector in the party. Its stated aim was to preserve family unity, and to allow for divorce under limited circumstances. It did not include divorce on the basis of mutual consent but demanded causes and evidence, stipulated long waiting periods (three to seven years) and gave the judge broad powers to deny requests for divorce. One year later, the government had still not introduced a bill for parliamentary consideration. The UCD was forced to speed up its pace after three legislative bills were introduced by the Left in 1979, and it managed to narrowly reject debate, as noted, only by siding with the political Right. In January 1980 the Council of Ministers approved the government’s civil code reform—which included divorce—for debate.5 Apart from members of Opus Dei in the party this bill was an acceptable point of departure for the UCD.6


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The watershed event on divorce was Prime Minister Suarez’ decision to switch the Minister of Justice from the Christian Democrat Iñigo Cavero to the Social Democrat Fernandez Ordoñez in September 1980. The new minister immediately declared he would negotiate a divorce law “acceptable to all,”7 and indicated that control over the terms of divorce would shift from the conservative to the liberal sector in the party.8 This shift in the balance of power most likely contributed to closer ties between the Center and the Left once details of the bill were negotiated in the Commission of Justice. The Socialists lobbied to liberalize it by pushing for a mutual consent clause and restricting the powers of the judge. Opus Dei and a sector of the Christian Democrats unified their opposition to the divorce bill.9 The Minister, on the other hand, staked his political career on pushing through a progressive law. According to some observers, divisions over divorce contributed to the breakdown of the Center party.10 The Justice Commission, by a slim margin, approved more liberal legislation that stipulated a one- to two-year waiting period for divorce on the basis of mutual consent, and five years if the other spouse opposed it.11 Despite tensions, the moderate Christian Democratic President of the Justice Commission promised that his sector would not pose an obstacle for the approval of the divorce project. This version was voted on and legalized by Parliament in 1981. The Right Party AP’s electoral losses in the 1979 elections barred it from being a major player in the parliamentary debates on divorce, although the plurality of the UCD necessitated Right support to keep divorce off the parliamentary agenda until the government project was ready. The Right’s response to the legislative initiatives was to simply deny that legislation was an urgent social need and that there were more important concerns to attend to, and that their party, along with the immense majority of the Spanish middle class, strictly followed Catholic doctrine on the family (Congreso de los Diputados 1979: 997–999).12 The party also called for legislation that allowed couples to choose a marriage that denied the right to divorce. Rightwing legislators added amendments to the UCD draft to legalize optional indissolubility, and to make divorce retroactively inapplicable. Given their low representation, they had no say in the final version of the bill. While the modifications to the divorce project reached an astounding 300 (a few of which were accepted), the virtually unified Center-left position by 1981, and the numerical weakness of the AP in parliament ensured relatively rapid policy reform on divorce.


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The Politics of Abortion Reform 1975–1985 Again, I discuss the parties from Left to Right. Of all political parties, the PCE was the first and most consistent defender of abortion rights in early post-Franco Spain. In February 1978, during the constitutional reform, the PCE presented amendments to guarantee the decriminalization of abortion and was voted down. A Communist Deputy proposed an amnesty law for those charged or sentenced on abortion, adultery, or contraceptive “propaganda” (which at the time was still illegal). The initiative failed with a vote of 119 for and 156 against, revealing a clear split in the political balance of forces on the issue. After the constitution was approved at the end of 1978, the Communists assumed an active stance on abortion. In the fall of 1979, national attention focused on the trial of eleven women accused of abortion practices in Bilbao, and forced political parties to take stands on the issue. The party repeatedly indicated its support for legal abortion, and publicly solidarized with the women on trial for abortions. In 1980, during parliamentary debates on reforming the penal code, the PCE presented a bill to legalize abortion on economic and social grounds (effectively elective abortion) in the first 12 weeks, which did not receive support. The PCE presented another abortion bill in June 1981, arguing that the current system discriminated against poor women, and that Spain needed to modernize legislation to conform to European standards. The UCD along with the Right rejected legislative debate on the bill the following year. On the other hand, after the transition the PSOE, despite its secular policy stances, was divided over the urgency and nature of abortion reform. The party, seeking to become a governing catch-all Center-Left party, was more concerned about the political fallout. During the constitutional negotiations, the PSOE sought to avoid the explosive issue. In the party congresses of 1976, 1979 and 1981 decriminalization of abortion was voted into the party program. There was a constant tension between whether to seek full legalization or liberalization under the health, rape, and fetal deformity indicators. While the PSOE executive tended to support elective abortion, the parliamentary group was only willing to contemplate the three indicators.13 Abortion did not make it on to the electoral platform of the Socialist Party in either 1977 or 1979. However, in 1982, the PSOE included liberalization of abortion in the case of threat to health, rape or incest, and fetal deformity into its electoral campaign. While the restrictions elicited protest from the feminist movement, the health clause included


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psychological grounds, which allowed for a potentially broad and subjective interpretation.14 The Socialist electoral victory in 1982 and the absolute parliamentary majority the party achieved allowed them to define the political agenda, and the PSOE gave reform of abortion laws priority. The party justified the bill and the urgency status the executive gave it by referring to public opinion and electoral promises. The parliamentary majority allowed the Socialists to proceed rapidly with approval of the bill (although the party officially allowed for a vote of conscience), and consistent rejection by the AP opposition in commissions and plenary debates in Congress and the Senate was ultimately ineffectual; the original project was approved unmodified. However, AP’s resort to the Supreme Court to declare the bill unconstitutional froze the reform for two years. This threat had also cautioned the Socialist executive from including socio-economic grounds in the first place given its fear that the Supreme Court may not be amenable to it (Barreiro 2000). A favorable, if divided, ruling from the Supreme Court in 1985 allowed a technically slightly modified version to be legislatively approved and promulgated the same year. The UCD, on the other hand, supported AP’s attempt in 1978 to get a constitutional prohibition of abortion during the constitutional negotiations.15 However, the rapid escalation of tensions convinced the party that it was essential to leave the issues of both abortion and divorce for later. The official position of the party at the time was “in defense of human life” and against decriminalization, but it masked growing internal divisions.16 In 1979, in the midst of the Bilbao abortion trial, the party leadership reiterated its party platform in favor of the status quo. Again, this masked internal divisions as sectors of the party pushed for internal debate and a more liberal posture, and one female politician even resigned from municipal government due to her disagreement with the party line on abortion.17 Toward the end of 1979, the UCD Council of Ministers approved a draft of the proposed criminal code reform which included decriminalization and limited liberalization of abortion laws. However, Christian Democratic Minister of Justice Iñigo Cavero vetoed it, and any reference to abortion was eliminated from the version presented to the plenary in December 1979. While the new Social Democratic Minister of Justice, Fernandez Ordoñez (1980–1982), personally supported liberalization, the party preferred to avoid the issue when the PCE abortion bill came up for debate in February 1982. The UCD sided with AP to reject legislative debate on it, and called for a public vote in an effort to intimidate liberals in the party.18


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Its total destruction in the 1982 elections precluded the UCD from having any voice during the parliamentary debates on the Socialist bill in 1983, although some conservatives from the party had been courted by AP and were integrated into its ranks. The rightwing party, AP, maintained a unified stance seeking a constitutional prohibition of abortion during the constitutional negotiations but, as mentioned, did not succeed.19 In Parliament, AP’s limited presence between 1979 and 1982 did not allow it to influence the political agenda more than marginally. Some legislators on the Right advocated increasing penalties; these calls did not gain party support or coalesce into a legislative bill. In fact, one prominent AP deputy supported elective abortion.20 The 1982 elections catapulted the AP to political significance by giving it over one-third of parliamentary seats and allowing the party high visibility during the parliamentary debates on abortion in 1983. The rapidity with which the Socialists moved on abortion, however, caught the AP by surprise.21 Once impending legislation was announced in January 1983, the leading opposition politician on health issues—AP legislator Carlos Ruiz Soto—tried to mobilize anti-abortion sentiment by appealing to Catholics, organizing seminars and conferences, printing brochures, and writing letters to newspapers. In the midst of his campaign, the AP leadership reversed its position and requested Ruiz Soto to back off, withdrew him from his leadership position on abortion, and replaced him with a more ‘moderate’ lawyer.22 The political Right was nearly unified against abortion reform, but divided on the best strategy to maintain the status quo. During the actual debates, legislators from the AP were split between rejecting debates on abortion from the principled stance that parliament has no authority to legalize homicide, or pragmatically seeking restrictive changes to the proposed legislation (Barreiro 2000: 111–112). Right legislators presented five modifications: two rejected the reform altogether, and three sought to restrict the grounds for abortion. All were defeated; the Socialist majority ultimately precluded the Right from altering the legislation. As noted, the Right was able to postpone the reform for two years by challenging the legislation on constitutional grounds. However, the Supreme Court ruling in 1985 was favorable to the Socialist bill. By 1985, when the technically modified bill re-entered parliament for another vote, the AP did not bother to actively oppose the bill. Some even voted for the bill, due to the evolution of public opinion on abortion (Barreiro 2000:126–127; Figure 3.1). Even Ruiz Soto felt that “the fight was over.”23


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POLITICAL ACCESS Both reforms were driven by the Left: the Left opposition pushed for a liberal divorce law, and the Left majority ensured liberalization of abortion laws. While the Right was against legalization in both cases, the Center played a key role in allowing for legalization of divorce. In both cases, the role of the executive was crucial as well. The UCD was divided on divorce reform, and the Prime Minister’s decision to switch Ministers of Justice was a key factor in allowing for liberal legislation to be passed in Commission. Similarly, while abortion reform made it to the platform of the PSOE in the 1982 elections, it was the executive decision to prioritize it that allowed it to be pushed through relatively rapidly. Similarly, two years later, when the law came into effect, the executive role was again perhaps most crucial. As I detail at the end of this chapter, the Socialist executive’s commitment to feminists allowed the Women’s Institute to reform implementation in a way that ensured liberal access to abortion. Finally, the Right resorted to all the veto points available to try to block legislation but was unsuccessful. With both divorce and abortion, legislators added amendments which were voted down. With abortion, the Right’s resort to the Supreme Court on constitutional grounds was unsuccessful as well.

INCOME EQUALITY, THE MEDIA AND CAMPAIGN FINANCE IN SPAIN While the political dynamics in Spain ultimately allowed for reform, the relatively equal distribution of resources in Spain by the end of the Franco era provided a fair playing field for reformist and conservative social mobilization and influence on framing, agenda-setting and political outcomes on divorce and abortion. As outlined in Chapter Two, inequalities in Spain by the mid-1970s were quite moderate, and decreased through the end of the decade to low levels even by European standards. This ensured that a small elite was unable to dominate access to resources. Two important aspects of resource distribution for democratic consolidation and for our purposes are media ownership and campaign finance laws. Franco had instituted Spain’s first TV channel in 1956; since then, television had been in the hands of the state. With democratization, control passed over to parliament, which set up a charter in 1977 to ensure objectivity in the media.24 Private television channels did not appear in Spain until 1989.


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Between 1975 and 1985, four national newspapers in Spain are worth mentioning, all of them held by different owners. La Vanguardia, considered a newspaper committed to objectivity, had the highest circulation at 200 000 in 1975. El País was created in 1976 as a reaction to the military regime, and its high quality made it Spain’s most read newspaper by the early 1980s, when its distribution surpassed 200 000. El País was (and is) left-leaning in its sympathies, and maintained a bias in favor of the Socialist party. ABC was the main, high-quality conservative newspaper, and a staunch supporter of the Right party. Ya was essentially the mouthpiece for the Catholic Church and maintained a distribution of 140 000 in 1975, after which it rapidly declined (Hooper 1995: 293–5). The conservatives and the Catholic Church had solid outlets for their points of view; they did not crowd out leftist points of view, however, and reformists also had access to the media and to newspapers. Campaign financing has been publicly regulated since the 1978 constitutional reform, and favors parties with parliamentary representation due to the fact that financing is apportioned according to the number of legislative seats (Gunther 1989: 76). Similarly, public funding for the annual costs of political party functioning are apportioned according to parliamentary seats, rather than other measures such as membership size. As with the electoral system, this bias does not discriminate against either conservatives or reformists, although it has a negative impact on the far Left and far Right. Public campaign financing, and the relatively equal distribution of resources overall, ensured that the elites were not able to coopt politicians by simply buying their allegiance and parties and politicians were freer to respond to social demands as they saw them.

FEMINISTS AND CIVIL SOCIETY With the 1978 constitution, legal barriers to women’s equality in family, economic and political life were removed, as well as the prohibition on contraceptives (Duran and Gallego 1986: 202), although, as mentioned, debates over the legalization of divorce and abortion were postponed. Feminists were mobilized by the social problems that illegal abortions and unregulated marital separations and new unions were causing, and as press censorship was lifted they were able to freely discuss these issues and criticize the status quo. While public opinion was divided, feminists were successful in mobilizing the liberal sector of the population. As Figure 2.3 in Chapter Two indicated, Spaniards overall are very sympathetic to the problems of the poor and think the government should do more to help them. However, our ability to extrapolate from this survey


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data is severely compromised given that it is from 1995. Hence, it is impossible to say whether these attitudes are consequences of earlier government policies or of a longer period of democracy, or whether they reflect basic attitudes that have remained unchanged since the early post-transition period. What we can surmise is that, overall, in the 1990s the Spanish respondents are more likely to blame society for the problems of the poor than are Chileans or Argentines, making them more amenable to solidaritybased reforms. In addition, in 1981, as Figure 2.3 indicated, less Spaniards than Argentines or Chileans declared they would never participate in demonstrations or sign petitions. Indeed, qualitative accounts indicate that by the end of the Franco era in the mid-1970s, civil society in Spain had begun to flourish (see Pérez Díaz 1993 for a detailed account). The budding civil society fostered by social equality provided fertile ground for feminist mobilization, which then had influence over the Left and the Center. Many feminist groups were formed in Spain in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and formed part of the broader opposition to authoritarian rule (Scanlon 1990:94). The first national feminist meeting was held in 1975, still in clandestinity (Trujillo 1999: 6). Several authors downplay the role of feminists in Spain during these years (see Duran and Gallego 1986; Barreiro 2000: 95). Duran and Gallego argue that in the mid-1970s a new women’s movement emerged in Spain, and that initial meetings to address specifically feminist concerns in what they call the 1976–1977 pre-election “euphoria” attracted thousands of women (1986: 205–208). However, they downplay its membership and importance in Spanish life (1986: 205), probably because their points of reference are to women’s movements in other West European countries such as France and Italy. Compared to South America, the movement was strong. The feminist movement picked up both the issues of divorce and abortion, and was able to elicit the support of a critical mass of mainstream, middle class women and men. Feminists began to demand legal divorce and decriminalization of abortion soon after Franco’s death.25 They gained support among women, men, professionals and the media, and fostered strong ties to Left parties. While Left parties have virtually always been more sympathetic to women’s rights than parties on the Center or the Right, feminists have still had to, in Spain as elsewhere, convince them that gender is not a secondary concern to the class struggle (Escario et. al 1996). Feminists struggled to convince the indifferent Left of the urgency of reform on women’s issues (Trujillo 1999: 11) not addressed at the constitutional reforms, and two on which virtually all feminists were unified on


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were divorce and abortion. The issues cut across organizational lines as well as class and ideological lines within the movement itself, which encompassed liberal, socialist, and radical feminism. Two broad feminist networks were formed in the early post-Franco era, both of which lobbied for a liberal divorce law and decriminalization of abortion. Feminist strategies included pressure within political parties, letter-writing/media campaigns and professional seminars, and protest and confrontation. A key factor that allowed for the diffusion of feminist ideas was the diverse ownership of the media, and the most prominent daily newspaper El País provided a crucial avenue for feminists to get their voice heard.

PRO-DIVORCE MOVEMENT With divorce, ready social support was more widespread than with abortion. Male professionals could identify with the need for legal divorce in a way that they did not, or could not, with abortion. The middle classes wanted a legal solution to former and new unions, children’s rights and inheritance rights. Legal professionals began pushing for a divorce law immediately following the death of Franco.26 In 1978, at the first executive meeting of the Federation of Feminist Organizations the leadership criticized the divorce projects developed by Left parties at this point for their indifference to specifically women’s problems.27 Through 1979, various social organizations presented their own divorce projects which were more advanced and liberal than the UCD project and presented them to politicians and published them in the media. The two main networks of feminist organizations both presented their own alternative divorce projects. One of them was picked up by a sympathetic politician of a minor Left party in 1979, who presented it in parliament on behalf of the feminist movement. It was rejected along party lines for debate; however, it reinforced the need to move on divorce, and exposed the legislators to an explicitly feminist point of view. A group of 15 lay Christian organizations declared their explicit support for a divorce law, and declared that legislating an advanced divorce law was a matter of social urgency. They also published their own divorce project, which was far more liberal than the government project. In 1979 the Lawyers’ Association of Madrid officially declared itself in favor of divorce (and against abortion).28 Feminists were also very prominent in the media, and hardly a week passed by without a feminist column on divorce in the sympathetic main daily newspaper El Pais. Universities held seminars on divorce constantly.


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In 1979, as the Episcopal Conference of Spain extensively debated what to say about divorce, feminists protested outside and engaged in confrontational tactics. One of the demonstrators spray-painted “Machista Bishops” on the street, and police arrested 19 of them.29 Repressive tactics simply fueled the social conflict and attracted the attention of the media. In early 1980 feminist organizations staged a protest to denounce what they saw as a systematic postponement of the divorce debates. Hundreds attended, and the Communist Party supported the protest. Two weeks later the UCD Council of Ministers approved a divorce project for legislative debate. While Left parties were essential in pushing the governing party to prioritize the divorce law and to make it more liberal, the social pressure for reform in civil society and reported by the media provided the support base for Left initiatives. This is evidenced also by the public opinion shift: support for divorce went from between 48 and 60 percent in 1978 to 82 percent in 1980. Feminist mobilization was important, but professional support among lawyers and reformist Catholics, and media access, were crucial as well. The middle classes in Spain—to whom fraudulent annulments, although cumbersome, were an option—came to identify with the need for an adequate divorce law. A critical mass was willing to publicly support it, even if it meant publicly going against Catholic doctrine. Their sense of citizenship in democracy included collective action that would benefit all Spaniards, and precluded attempts to simply resort to private, non-institutional means to solve individual problems (as is the case in Chile, where the middle classes largely resorted to fraudulent annulments through the 1990s rather than collectively demand change). In fact, a scholar of church-state relations argues that the passage of the divorce law “was, to date, the clearest demonstration that, despite its tradition, its influence, and its resources, the church is no longer the most important determining factor in the organization of Spanish society. Its power can continue to be a force in the development of public policy, but in Spain’s plural democracy it cannot always overcome the tide of popular public opinion and will” (Boetsch 1985: 161; italics added by the author). The legalization of divorce was considered an indicator of the consolidation of a plural democracy. Pro-choice Movement A readily mobilizable social infrastructure for abortion is narrower. Those directly affected are women, and those who risk dangerous consequences from illegal abortions are poor women. Feminists have had to, first, redefine abortion as a social problem not a moral crime, and then convince men


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and women of the need for and urgency of abortion reform. In Spain specifically, feminists had to convince the PSOE and the UCD that the status quo on abortion was unacceptable in order to get the UCD to consider reform and to get the PSOE to prioritize it. Given this, catalyzing events such as abortion-related deaths and trials can be used to promote the cause. Feminist networks in Spain succeeded in fostering reactions of outrage and solidarity to deaths from clandestine abortions and trials of women charged with abortion-related crimes. Such events receive scant media attention in Argentina and Chile. In Spain, from 1977 until parliamentary debates in 1983, feminist mobilization around abortion was constant, and was the primary factor in pushing the Left parties to include the issue in their agendas. In January 1977, a woman’s death from abortion sparked feminist protests on the urgency of abortion reform.30 In the ensuing years, feminists organized campaigns to decriminalize abortion and held demonstrations across the country, mobilizing hundreds of women, including noted political figures such as feminist and later Socialist deputy Cristina Alberdi. Many publicly admitted to having had abortions.31 Women increasingly came to be framed as victims, not criminals in public discourse, and the blame for their deaths and trials was placed on the repressive and unjust policies of the state. In the fall of 1979, a trial of 11 women on abortion-related charges in Bilbao became the catalyst that diffused the issue among the public at large. Feminists organized massive protests in response to what they saw as an outrageous act of social injustice. This was crucial in galvanizing public opinion and broader support. Feminists launched a signature-gathering campaign of people willing in solidarity to publicly admit having had abortions. To succeed, middle class women had to be willing to identify with the interests of lower class women, and to use formal collective channels (instead of private options to exit) to change the political system. Indeed, feminists gained the support of thousands of women and men. Within a week of the initiation of the trial, 1300 women had signed the declaration, many of them famous.32 After two weeks, 1200 men had declared having helped with abortions, including prominent politicians such as the President of the PCE Santiago Carrillo, AP Deputy Antonio de Senillosa (going against his party line), and Socialist Javier Solana.33 At the same time, thousands of people staged protests, and groups of lawyers and liberal newspapers declared their support for the women.34 Political actors beyond the feminists began to support abortion mobilization, particularly local governments, trade unions, and the Communist Party, the latter demanding an amnesty for the women (Matsell 1981:147).35


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The major parties remained hesitant to take public stances on the issue and sought to avoid it. When forced to respond, a PSOE official acknowledged that the party was supportive of decriminalization while it was not “pro-abortion.”36 The UCD leadership’s reiteration of the official party stance against decriminalization created internal tensions and divisions in the party, leading, as mentioned, one female politician from the party to resign her seat in municipal government.37 On both the moderate Left and the Center, the social pressure was becoming too acute to ignore. In the UCD, even the majority of the Catholic segment of the party were “democratic Catholics,” and willing to recognize “the protagonism of the civil society.”38 As noted, the UCD ended up including abortion reform in its criminal code reform project in December 1979, but this was vetoed by the then Christian Democratic Minister of Justice. The mobilization of public opinion finally elicited the suspension— although not the ending—of the trial.39 The feminist campaign did not demobilize, however, and feminists continued to collect signatures. The following year an abortion clinic in the southern city of Sevilla was raided, and four women and one man were arrested. Charges were dropped when they presented a document—signed by one thousand women—that read “I have voluntarily had an abortion.”40 By February 1981, 26 000 signatures of women and men, admitting to an abortion or to aiding one in front of a public notary, had been collected in Andalucía alone.41 Finally, the trial ended with the acquittal of most of the women, and the practitioner received less than two years.42 The issue had not been politically resolved however, and charges against women kept cropping up through the country. In June 1981 the feminist movement started a campaign to collect half a million signatures to solicit a referendum on legalizing abortion.43 The campaign was eventually shelved, as Left parties picked up the cause through legislative channels. The PCE introduced in parliament a bill to legalize abortion, and consistent feminist lobbying within the Socialist party forced abortion reform unto the PSOE’s 1982 campaign platform. The feminist movement had succeeded in politicizing the issue of abortion in Spanish society and in diffusing the ideas within a larger public. This is reflected by the public opinion shift in Table 3.1. The CIS surveys indicate growing popular support for abortion reform during the years of most intense feminist protest—the late 1970s and the early 1980s.44 The feminist movement had stretched the limits of acceptable alternatives in public discourse, which allowed the Left to strategically commit itself to a more liberal position than it could have without the solid social pressure. The Socialist victory in 1982 provided the “political opportunity” for liberalization of abortion laws (Trujillo


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Table 3.1 Spanish Public Opinion on Abortion in 1979, 1981 and 1983. The respondents were asked about: 1979 (%)

Liberalization in certain cases

1981 (%)

PSOE project

1983 (%)

In favor

27

Agree

39

Agree

57

Against

60

Disagree

43

Disagree

33

No answer

13

No answer

18

No answer

10

Legalization

Source: CIS surveys. 1979, 1188 cases; 1981, 2394 cases; 1983, 2377 cases; drawn from Alcobendas 1983.

1999: 19). However, it was only one step, although crucial, in a long political process. Abortion reform became part of the 1982 PSOE party program that had been developed over a period of several years, with extensive consultation with a broad variety of social sectors.45 Feminists had forced the issue onto the agenda, and the absolute majority of the Socialists provided the window of opportunity to push it through despite Right opposition. The Socialist Minister of Justice at the time argues that society was simply ready to confront the issue, and that feminists were merely one factor along with sociological changes, democratization, public exposure of hypocrisies, and the recognition that abortion was a public health problem.46 Ironically, the Minister’s statement in itself reflects the success that feminists had in diffusing their ideas and imposing their framing on society more broadly. Feminists had been responsible for both the public exposure of hypocrisies as well as the recognition of abortion as a public health problem. They succeeded in transforming the issue from a latent to a salient one, for which politicians then assumed the political responsibility as well as the credit. According to Durán and Gallego (1986), Spanish feminists were able to conquer within ten years legal reforms that had taken over forty years to achieve in other European countries. Conservatives, on the other hand, were not as successful. While public opinion indicated a similar support base in Spain as in Chile and Argentina, they did not have the economic and political resources of their counterparts in the Southern Cone and had to compete with feminists on a relatively equal playing ground. Moreover, the Catholic hierarchy did not unequivocally support them.


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THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND CONSERVATIVES The Catholic Church emerged from the Franco era as the single most powerful social institution in Spain. Catholic organizations included almost 325 000 members in 1970; more members than the Falange (Franco’s organization), political parties, and clandestine groups together (Laboa 1985: 53). While the relationship of the Franco regime to the Catholic Church had been characterized by tight institutional relations and mutually beneficial cooperation, by the 1960s, in the spirit of Vatican II, a new generation of priests became increasingly uncomfortable with the churchstate “marriage.” In the 1960s the leadership began to distance itself from the Franco regime and to call for more openness and respect for civil rights and liberties (McDonough et.al. 1998). This disengagement was gratefully acknowledged even by the leader of the Communist Party during the constitutional negotiations. Moreover, the social image of the Church overall was strong; 70 percent of the population had either a positive or a neutral image of the Catholic Church at the time of transition (Linz 1991). The Church had the potential, had it had the unified will, to make its presence felt politically. The historical decision of the Church hierarchy, noted for its importance by all observers of the Spanish transition, to distance itself politically from the main political actors once the transition was initiated in 1975 was crucial in defusing tension on religion-related issues. Despite its formidable mobilizing potential, the hierarchy did not lend its infrastructure to political parties or to anti-divorce and anti-abortion mobilization. The religious cleavage—which could have been one of the fundamental axes of Spanish political life—was not politicized (Gunther et.al. 1988). Conservatives were left to compete on the same ground as feminists. The Vatican and Domestic Leadership Given the nature of the Catholic Church as a hierarchical institution accountable to the Pope, ideological shifts in the Vatican have a great impact on domestic policy directions of national churches. The costs associated with going against Vatican priorities limit the domestic space for maneuver the hierarchy and dependent organizations have. Within this space, Cardinal Enrique y Tarancón, President of the Episcopal Conference in Spain during the transition years until 1982, pursued a course that was decidedly moderate. In doing so, he was commended by Pope Paul VI, and criticized by Pope John Paul II. Bishop Gabino Díaz Merchán took over as the President of the Episcopal Conference in 1982, and continued with the moderate stance.


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The Vatican II Council in the 1960s had changed the dynamics of church-state relations. In 1965, Gaudium et Spes specified that “[t]he Church and the political community in their own fields are autonomous and independent from each other” (Gaudium et Spes 1965). The Vatican’s relative openness until John Paul II allowed the domestic hierarchy, if it so chose, to respond to domestic social and cultural changes in a more flexible way. In the Spanish Church, the shift had an impact on the divisions between the old hierarchy, young radicals, and a large group of moderate centrists (Boetsch 1985: 148). It changed the domestic balance of power and gave the younger, more open priests leverage with the conservative sector (Laboa 1985). Most importantly, Cardinal Enrique y Tarancón decided to pursue a moderate, non-conflictual course. The leadership did not lend its institutional infrastructure to support the conservative movement in Spain, which then had to rely on similar means as the reformists, and on this level, the reformists won. During the transition, Cardinal Tarancón stated that the Church sought “to manifest clearly and publicly that we want to remain outside of all the vicissitudes of the struggle for power” (Gunther and Blough 1980: 382). In doing so, he was backed up by Pope Paul VI (Laboa 1985: 57). The hierarchy did not, however, remain strictly neutral in its public statements on moral issues. Before both the 1977 and 1979 elections, the Episcopal Conference published guidelines for Christians on how to vote, advising them to be cautious of platforms that sought to legalize abortion or divorce.47 However, the limited mobilization of its infrastructure to rally behind the instructions left conservatives to their own devices, and they had to compete with feminists without the infrastructural support of the Church. Once the Vatican shifted with the ascendancy of Karol Wojtyla to the papacy as John Paul II, it was too late to gain the ground lost to reformists. The Church, Political Parties and Conservatives in Civil Society The Left, Center and Right all sought amicable ties with the Catholic Church. Broadly, the impact of relative hierarchical neutrality (and hence inability on the part of the parties to elicit either stringent opposition or explicit support) was to reduce the ideological stakes for the Left, encourage the demise of the Christian Democrats while at the same time free those who survived electorally to negotiate within a broader ideological space, and to reduce the incentives for the Right to countermobilize. Instead, parties were able to more freely respond to demands of the electorate. Spain had enough social support to foster a Christian Democratic party, along the lines of its German and Italian counterparts. In 1977,


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before the first parliamentary elections, the party received 16 percent public opinion support (Gunther et.al. 1988: 110). However, the party ended up resoundingly losing in the elections of that year (Linz 1986: 216). Two factors contributed to its rapid demise: strategic mistakes, and lack of Episcopal infrastructural support. Strategically, the Christian Democrats declined the support that their West European counterparts had been willing to lend them. Moreover, they simply did not put up candidates in many Christian areas (Gunther et.al. 1988). An additional handicap was the refusal of the Church to explicitly endorse the Christian Democratic Party (McDonough et.al. 1998; Gunther et.al.1988; Linz 1986). Cardinal Tarancón’s neutrality toward the Christian Democrats denied the Spanish party the support Italian and German parties had had after the Second World War, which could have been particularly effective in the over-represented conservative rural areas. The few instances of local priests taking stances did not make up for lack of hierarchical, infrastructural backing. This lack of explicit support to the Center-right allowed the Left, in the words of AP politician Ruiz Soto, to “flourish.”48 The Right maintained an explicit defense of “the great Christian tradition of Spain” (Gunther et.al. 1988: 221). While relations with the Catholic Church were “good,” they were, according to Ruiz Soto, marked by reticence and constant withdrawal on the part of the Church.49 AP’s position on divorce, although consistent with Catholic doctrine and in line with the explicit calls of the conservative Bishops, went further than the hierarchy had declared was necessary. The lack of formal ties deprived both the Right and the Center in Linz’ assessment of valuable organizational support (Linz 1986). It also reduced the mobilizeable support base for conservative causes, and made it less politically beneficial for the Right to be proactive on moral issues. Given their desire to disassociate from the experience of the Civil War,50 both the Socialists and the Communists sought amicable relations with the hierarchy. They tried to appear as much as possible at churchrelated events, in efforts to do away with their anti-clerical image and to attract the votes of practicing Catholics, which accounted for half the population. Only six days after the 1977 elections the PSOE leader (and later Prime Minister) Felipe Gonzalez met with Cardinal Tarancón. The leader of the Communist Party even declared that the only issue the Communists and the Church disagreed on was the legalization of abortion (Gunther et.al. 1988: 226). The strategy was more successful for the Socialists than for the Communists, whose support base remained markedly atheist (Linz 1986). This strategy was viable for the Left because the Catholic hierarchy was willing to co-operate. In Chile and Argentina, as Chapters Four and


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Five show, the Church has been much less willing to remain neutral or even moderate. Opus Dei was founded in Spain in 1928, and has always been influential among a minority of Spaniards, mostly elites. It was founded as specifically an anti-communist and anti-secular movement, and maintained close ties with Franco, who placed many members of Opus Dei in ministerial positions. During the democratic years, several ministers and politicians on the Right have also belonged to Opus Dei, giving it some influence on a political level. However, the Spanish economic elites—the core constituency of the Right—have shown little interest in promoting a conservative moral agenda. Even if they were, the relatively lower share of resources that the Spanish upper classes command, compared to their counterparts in Chile and Argentina, dilutes their overall power in society and politics. Conservative lay groups in Spain—in relation to Argentina and Chile—were clearly disadvantaged by the Church hierarchy’s (although not individual Bishops’) withdrawal from political and social mobilization. The potential structural advantage of conservative social organizations—their ability to reach a mobilizable support base through religious infrastructures—was not automatically available. Moreover, these groups were not able to penetrate the upper classes, and their inability to control the media and mobilize business resources—as they have done in Chile—disabled them from silencing alternative worldviews and from dominating framing on abortion and divorce. The diverse ownership and ideological perspectives of the media, and the relatively equal distribution of resources throughout social groups, allowed for plural discourse. In addition, in the late 1970s, the strategies of conservative lay organizations were not as effective as the strategies of reformists. They had taken the status quo for granted, and analysis of their public statements reveals a lack of preparedness for democratic debate, as their main strategies were to deny relevant information and to appeal to Catholic doctrine instead of arguments based on evidence, even if methodologically faulty. The timing of reform in Spain—at the beginning of John Paul II’s reign— certainly gave Spanish conservatives less of an edge over reformists. The reformist movement, on the other hand, was strong regardless of the position of the conservatives.

ANTI-DIVORCE MOVEMENT By 1978, during the constitutional negotiations, it became clear that divorce was on the political agenda of both the Center and the Left. While Cardinal Tarancón repeatedly spoke out against divorce from a moral


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point of view, he acknowledged the need for divorce in very limited cases, and reiterated that as Bishop, his responsibility lay in bringing forth moral arguments against divorce, not giving “lectures of political prudence to those who have legislative responsibilities.”51 In February 1979 the Episcopal Commission declared, in its instructions on how to vote, that it was against “certain divorce projects,” thus not precluding legalization of divorce altogether.52 When the first, conservative draft of the UCD project was published, a Church official went so far as to say that “the bishops would not feel disgust if this project was approved, given its restrictive character.”53 More conservative Bishops spoke out stridently against political autonomy on divorce, but Tarancón made it clear they did not have the backing of the hierarchy. Tarancón himself pursued a decidedly moderate, almost neutral stance. During the drafting of the divorce bill, both Tarancón and the Minister of Justice denied that contacts between the Church and state existed, and there were no explicit calls by the hierarchy for Catholics to fight against divorce laws. At the opening of the December 1979 Episcopal Conference, Tarancón declared to the press that “divorce is a social evil, but we will not interfere in civil legislation.”54 This is in stark contrast to the behavior of the hierarchy in both Argentina and Chile. The most salient indicator of Episcopal disunity on divorce was that it took the Spanish Church five years to come up with a document on the family that was acceptable to at least two-thirds of the clergy, which was the required number of votes to get the document passed. The earlier drafts had not achieved the required majority given their levels of “higher openness.”55 The possibility of two parallel documents—one integralist and the other more liberal—was being unofficially discussed (but officially denied). Some priests even argued that a regulatory law on divorce could actually be something good for society.56 By this time, the dynamics in the Vatican were beginning to shift with the assumption of the papacy by John Paul II in late 1978. The new Pope had immediately made abortion and divorce matters of Papal priority, and reformed the Vatican’s stance on legislative autonomy. The Vatican, which had veto power over any domestic Episcopal publication, stepped in to issue “grave warnings” over the doctrinal content of the document in discussion.57 At the end of 1979, the Episcopate finally approved, nearly unanimously, a document on marriage and the family that spoke out against family planning, abortion and divorce in traditional doctrinal terms, although it recognized the “just autonomy of civil authorities” on the issue of


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divorce.58 It was a disappointment to reformist Catholics, but given the divisions and the unwillingness of the bulk of the clergy to mobilize a religious war on the issue, in the words of Gunther et.al., “the statement of the Episcopal Conference was less influential, even less creditable, than it otherwise could have been in these areas” (1988: 228). The hierarchy left it at this, and the lack of hierarchical calls for Catholics to “fight” against divorce upset the conservatives. They condemned the silence of the moderate clergy, and sought to strengthen their domestic weight by drawing in the sympathetic Vatican. The Vatican declared its explicit support for a Bishop who was publicly critical of Episcopal moderation. In its official newspaper, the Vatican chastised the Spanish bishops for not taking a more aggressive stance on divorce.59 The Pope named a new Vatican representative (nuncio) to Spain, who asked the Bishops to form a unified posture on divorce, so that they could take the “whole weight of the Episcopal conference” into the divorce debates.60 The Vatican’s efforts succeeded in motivating some hardening in ecclesiastic postures (Cuenca 1985: 144), but did not succeed in motivating a whole-scale change in direction. During this time, conservative Catholic organizations staged a number of pro-family, anti-abortion demonstrations. A protest in May 1978 drew 400 people, mostly Franco supporters and conservative Catholics, against divorce and abortion, and called for all Catholics to come out and protest. The call was ignored, even by the hierarchy. In December 1980, rightwing Catholic organizations linked to post-Franco political forces staged a protest against divorce that drew a more impressive crowd of 4000 people.61 Moreover, a sizable, although declining, minority in public opinion polls were against the legalization of divorce. A mobilizable constituency was clearly there, but without strong links to the Church hierarchy, to the economic elites, or to the political Right, it had no direction. Similarly, the political Right’s campaign against divorce was halfhearted. The legislators themselves were divided in their ideological stances,62 and only a few integralist Catholic legislators, several of them members of Opus Dei, cared enough to mount something resembling a campaign in the media and in political venues. During the drafting of the legislation, when reformist sectors were accusing the government of deliberate foot-dragging, an editorial in the daily El País linked the legalization of divorce to democratic consolidation: The resistance to divorce is not an isolated act: it forms part of a general policy of resistance to the deepening of democracy. There is no doubt that divorce forms part of the system of individual and collective


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The Politics of Moral Sin liberties of a democracy, and everywhere it has come with democracy and forms an integral part of it.63

Given that public opinion was against them, there was only so much the conservatives could do. The conservative sectors allowed—or could not disallow—legislation on divorce to be equated with democratic consolidation.

PRO-LIFE MOVEMENT The doctrinal position of the Church hierarchy on abortion was clear-cut. The Episcopal Commission published a document in 1974 that condemned abortion as homicide.64 The document estimated that 70 000—100 000 annual abortions took place in Spain (Conferencia Episcopal Español 1984: 333).65 While this was a clear undercount, what is significant is that the Church cited social reality as a valid part of the discourse as well. In contrast, in Chile and Argentina the Church has sought to limit the terms of debate on abortion only to its moral dimensions. Both pre-election documents of the Episcopal Commission condemned abortion, and during the intense abortion protests in the Fall of 1979, Cardinal Tarancón repeatedly spoke out against decriminalization. However, the Church hierarchy did not engage in or actively support antiabortion mobilization. Anti-abortion groups mobilized on their own. The Spanish organization Adevida (one of the main pro-life organizations in Spain) was founded in 1974, and the umbrella Anti-abortion Association was formed in 1977. In response to the Bilbao protests, the Right staged counterdemonstrations in late November 1979,66 almost two months after the feminists had begun their campaign. By this time, the conservatives were unable to dominate framing. During 1980, thousands of women staged demonstrations, collected over 10 000 signatures against legalization, and over 50 associations joined an anti-abortion demonstration held in Madrid.67 Their strategy was to deny the accuracy of the statistics on abortion and to minimize it as a social problem. Given even the Church’s recognition of the social dimensions of abortion, and the widespread documentation of clandestine abortions reported in the media by this time, the tactic was ineffectual. The organizations could not halt the growing social acceptance of the need for abortion reform, or its impact on the policy priorities of reformist politicians. During the 1982 elections, the Church remained remarkably quiet on the issue despite the inclusion of abortion in the electoral platforms of both the Socialist and Communist parties. When former Prime Minister Suárez


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tried to boost his party’s flagging support by mobilizing religious sentiment against the Socialists through claims that the PSOE was promoting “free abortion” (Gunther et.al.1988: 225), it had no effect. Apart from initiatives by local Bishops and priests as well as the voting instructions, the Church as a whole did not seek to mobilize public opinion against the Socialists. After the Socialist victory, the hierarchy faced a dilemma. There were several aspects of the Socialist campaign platform that went against the Church’s interests and beliefs; most importantly, education reform and abortion. The hierarchy decided at this point to pick its fights and to prioritize opposition to education reform, which they saw as a concrete issue of power rather than a symbolic one.68 By 1982, the President of the Episcopal Conference was Gabino Díaz Merchán, another moderate. Once the Socialists declared in January 1983 their intention to rapidly move ahead with abortion reform, the Episcopal Commission reacted with strong verbal condemnation. Díaz Merchán appealed to the strong anti-abortion stance of the current Pope.69 The hierarchy published an official document condemning decriminalization in early February, and the Episcopal Conference ratified the document half a year later.70 The document was clear in its condemnation of abortion but did not seek to demonize the Left, and it came late in the game. While it officially condemned decriminalization, the hierarchy unofficially assured the Socialists it would not launch a large-scale opposition. The government met with high-level officials of the Church in late January, and the PSOE spokesperson said of the exchange that “the government can count on a moderate reaction by the Church, [which] . . . was not going to produce special resistance.”71 Meanwhile, during the same month the Pope included, for the first time, abortion in Canon Law as a practice that results in automatic excommunication.72 The Socialists created in 1983 a political and technical commission to communicate with the Church (Barreiro 2000:92). In this commission, the Church focused its energies on fighting the education reform. Abortion was conflictual, but basically people agreed to disagree (ibid. 93–94). The PSOE did not include any of the changes demanded by the Church to its bill. Moreover, once the abortion project was on the table, the Church kept its word and did not mobilize its own infrastructure to mount an antiabortion campaign. The political Right had been caught by surprise; they had taken the status quo for granted, and were un-organized and un-prepared to mobilize and fight for the issue.73 Opposition politician Ruiz Soto reacted swiftly, calling for the mobilization of Catholics on a massive scale against legal abortion. The Church simply ignored the calls made by Ruiz


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Soto. The importance of the hierarchy’s withdrawal is evident when compared to education reform. In this case, the Church did call for social mobilization, and succeeded in bringing almost one million people to the streets for a massive demonstration against government policy (Hogan n.d.). In the case of abortion, not only did the hierarchy (although not all Bishops) not call for mobilization itself; it actually appears to have influenced the de-mobilization of the Right opposition’s anti-abortion campaign. According to Ruiz Soto, an official from the Church hierarchy called the leader of the AP, Manuel Fraga, to persuade his party to back off. Ruiz Soto was demoted, and the Church rapidly distanced itself from him.74 Anti-abortion lay groups did mobilize. They made a million posters with pictures of a fetus saying “Mother, don’t kill me,” and hundreds of thousands of brochures of other types were spread by eleven thousand prolife youth.75 Major Doctors’ Associations pronounced against abortion as well.76 Despite the anti-abortion sentiment, only one demonstration against abortion was organized during the parliamentary debates, by Opus Dei, and very few people showed up.77 The backbone of the conservative mobilization against divorce and against abortion seems to have been driven by Opus Dei networks, some of whom were well-placed politicians, lawyers and doctors. However, Opus Dei was unable to elicit the support of the Catholic hierarchy, and its links to political parties were limited although not non-existent. Their reach was limited given their inability to access significant economic and political resources, and the strong social pressure for reform.

POLICY IMPLEMENTATION: THE CASE OF ABORTION REFORM 1985–1990 In some cases, passage of a law is meaningless if it is not implemented. This is not the case with abortion. Decriminalization in itself is crucial, since women who seek abortions and practitioners who provide abortions can operate without fear of prosecution as a result. Given this, it is also likely to decrease the private sector cost of an abortion. In terms of access to the service, however, the nature of policy implementation is crucial. In Spain, the ability of feminists to influence implementation within the administration through the Women’s Institute was key to liberal implementation. As discussed, societies that are highly unequal have a detrimental impact on collective social solidarity. This can also corrode policy implementation. Institutions are likely to be less efficient due to co-optation, and in the worst cases, corruption. Even if individuals are not initially corrupt, once they achieve a position as a civil servant in a ministry/bureaucracy and


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have control over scarce resources, the temptation has been shown to be, in many countries, overwhelming. While the relationship is not perfect, high levels of corruption in democracies correlate with social inequality.78 In highly unequal societies, even when former pro-democracy activists are incorporated into government (as happened with the Chilean Centerleft government, and the Radical government in Argentina in the 1980s) they run the risk of losing touch with their support bases and of being coopted. In the Spanish case institutionalization of the women’s movement in the form of the Women’s Institute did not imply the co-optation or dilution of feminist demands.79 The 1985 legislation on abortion did not specify how and under what conditions the new law should be implemented. As Joyce Outshoorn (1996: 150) argues, implementation of abortion reform “mainly revolves around the question of whether sufficient hospitals, clinics, and doctors willing to perform abortions are available. Institutional factors such as different hospital systems, the possibility to set up private clinics, and the presence of trained personnel are key factors here. Of extreme importance are the attitudes of hospitals and clinic boards and personnel.”80 How the government decided to regulate these factors was bound to have significant consequences for the availability of abortion. Implementation in Spain did not come without a fight. The government faced a dilemma: how to ensure adequate implementation without having to directly confront the powerful doctors’ associations? Two issues were crucial: conscientious objection, and the regulation of the conditions under which and places where abortion could be performed. While the doctors’ associations won the first fight, feminists won the second one. The Socialists created in October 1983 the Instituto de la Mujer (Women’s Institute), which responds directly to the executive. Many feminists active in the Socialist Party gained positions within the Instituto de la Mujer (hereafter IM), and were able to lobby for more efficient implementation of abortion reform (Barreiro 2000: 134–146). It took two years for the IM to hire all of its staff and to set the directive organs. By the time the Supreme Court ruled on abortion in 1985, the IM was fully functioning. Abortion was a top priority for the Institute, and Carlota Bustelo, the IM director and a committed feminist, urged the government to rapidly solve the problem of implementation (Valiente 2001: 239–241). Conservative mobilization was more effective during policy implementation than it had been preceding the legal reform. Medical associations had been lobbying since 1982 for a conscientious objection clause in the event of liberalization.81 Pro-life organizations began small-scale but consistent protests across the country.


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The government passed two decrees in 1985 to implement the legal reform. Given conservative resistance, the government instituted a conscientious objection clause, which allowed doctors to refuse to perform abortions on religious grounds. However, such a refusal did not have to be consistent; doctors who refused in the public sector could continue to perform abortions for profit in the private sector. Hence, many doctors simply referred their female patients in need of abortions to their private practices. The government also decreed five-person assessment committees to decide whether abortion was acceptable in each case. Finally, the government instituted very high requirements for the physical conditions involved with the procedure, in effect making the procedure possible only in hospitals. This created a significant problem, given the breadth of the conscientious objection clause and the fact that the majority of doctors refused to perform abortions in hospitals.82 According to Ruiz Soto (who was a gynecologist by profession and who went back into medical practice after retiring from politics in 1986), “there was total reticence on the part of doctors; I remember that two doctors were contracted at our hospital [for abortion procedures] and no one would talk to them. . . . they even had to bring the anestheticians from outside, and finally they simply did not perform abortions at this hospital.”83 It was soon clear to IM feminists that implementation was ineffectual. Celia Valiente, an expert on gender reforms in Spain, argues that it was the prioritization of abortion by IM feminists, close relations with the Ministry of Health, and a focus on empirical research into the issue, that allowed the IM to influence government policy at this stage (Valiente 2001: 237–243). Since its creation in 1983, the IM directive had sought co-operative relations with the Ministry of Health to ensure adequate implementation once abortion reform was promulgated.84 Moreover, the IM promoted research into abortion, which was important in informing the personnel itself as well as in sensitizing policy-makers on the dimensions of the abortion problem (Valiente 2001: 242–243). A sympathetic government allowed the IM to participate in the policy-making process. The importance of the political will of the feminist nucleus within the Institute, however, should not be underestimated. The importance attached to abortion was due to the ideological convictions of the IM directorate, translated from the feminist movement surrounding abortion. The IM publicized three main problems with the 1985 government decrees: first, the assessment committees exercised undue power over access to abortion; second, very few public and no private clinics performed abortions; and third, due to the breadth of the conscientious objection


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clause, very few abortions were actually performed in public hospitals (Barreiro 2000: 140). The IM made two recommendations: the simplification of the procedures to obtain an abortion, most importantly, the elimination of assessment committees; and second, an increase in the number of authorized centers. The IM even asked the government in 1986 to change the law and to include socio-economic grounds for abortion; this created tension between the executive and the IM, and was shelved for strategic reasons. Radical feminists accused the IM of caving in by not lobbying for abortion on demand. While this is true, feminists in the IM on the other hand believed that, at this point, implementation was more important in terms of access than broadening the grounds for abortion (Valiente 2001: 240–241). Without effective implementation, the law meant little to most women in need of it. Moreover, feminists were aware that implementation that guaranteed ease of access could potentially allow for widespread use of the psychological health clause, and hence become a proxy for abortion on demand.85 In November 1986, the government issued a Royal Decree that eliminated assessment committees and allowed clinics to perform “low-risk” abortions (during the first twelve weeks of pregnancy). These changes were largely based on IM critiques (Valiente 2001: 240–241). Immediately, clinics across the country opened to service the demand. Clandestine abortions and deaths related to them significantly decreased. The pro-life groups brought a suit to the Supreme Court against the new decrees; it was rejected in 1988.86 Effectively, the end result is that the overwhelming majority of abortions in Spain came to be performed in the private sector, which constitutes a hurdle for low-income women. The loose regulatory requirements and the non-prohibitive cost, however, ensure that the vast majority of women who want an abortion can now get one in safe, regulated conditions. Also, in a legal context both parties can and often do negotiate payment options in installations over time. The nature of implementation ensured that the number of legal abortions increased significantly, as Table 3.2 indicates.

Table 3.2 Number of Legally Performed Abortions in Spain, 1986–2000 1986

1987

1988

1989

1991

2000

411

16,206

26,069

30,518

41,798

63,756

Source: Ministerio de Sanidad y Consumo, 1992; 2000: UNECE Gender Statistics Database, 2004.


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The number of legal abortions increased from 411 in 1986 to 16 000 in 1987 (after the government decrees) to almost 64 000 in 2000. At the same time, abortions performed on Spanish women in Britain declined from over 20 000 annually in the early 1980s to less than two thousand in 1989.87 The breadth of the psychological health clause combined with the eventual ease of access—a result of IM pressure—ended up creating de facto access to abortion on socio-economic grounds (Valiente 2001: 243; Barreiro 2000: 144–146). By the late 1980s, over 97 percent of abortions were performed under the maternal health clause, and the vast majority of these under the psychological health clause (Barreiro 2000: 146; Valiente 2001: 243). In effect, despite restricted, the clause became a rough proxy for abortion on demand. Finally, during this period of time the actual need for and number of abortions in Spain dramatically declined,88 related to a Socialist government campaign initiated in the 1980s to improve knowledge about and access to sex education and contraception. Figure 3.1 traces the social evolution of attitudes on abortion in Spain between 1983 and 1988, after legislative reform. After the policy reform on abortion, the terms of the abortion debate shifted. There developed over the 1980s a social consensus among the population on the acceptability of the new abortion law. Interestingly, twenty years later the most strident anti-abortion politician Ruiz Soto admits that liberalization did not destabilize society, and that abortion as a

Figure 3.1 Spanish Public Opinion Support (%) on Abortion after Legislative Passage. Source: CIS surveys # 1341, 1456, 1749 (CIS 1989).


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social problem is now practically non-existent given the reduced absolute numbers of abortions. He does not think there is any reason to attempt to prohibit abortion again.89 The words of the Socialist Minister of Justice are significant: “between 1982 and 1996 a number of changes were realized that could only be done by the Left, and which end up being assumed by the Right.”90

CONCLUSION The case of Spain shows that social conditions, specifically lower concentration of resources in the hands of elites, the ability of feminists to mobilize a critical mass and make their voice heard in the media, the moderate role of the Church (allowed for by relative Vatican openness at the time), and political access impacted agenda-setting and outcomes on divorce and abortion. Relative social equality provided feminists with a mobilizable support base and fair access to the media and to political parties; within this context, feminist strategies were highly effective. While latent support existed among the Left and Center political elites, abortion in particular was not considered a priority (except by the Communists) until feminists drove home the message and made it a salient political issue. Feminists organized during and after the transition, and actively demanded reform on divorce and abortion. A critical mass of the Spanish middle class chose to identify with the message of the feminists, and the needs of the lower classes. This social pressure made the Left—and the Center—place divorce and abortion reform on the political agenda. Despite a strong Catholic Church, and extensive institutional privileges during the Franco regime that consolidated its reach, the Church was unable—and the bulk of the clergy was unwilling—to impose its will over the will of the majority. While Tarancón’s decision to avoid explicit political intervention was historic, he was able to maintain his position because of the moderate Vatican and the deep divisions among the Spanish clergy between reformists and conservatives. This unwillingness of Tarancón— and the bulk of the clergy—to foster mobilization against reform on moral issues forced the pro-life, anti-divorce organizations and those on the political Right who really cared to operate on the same level as the feminists. On this level, they lost. Moreover, the inability of the political Right to dominate access to resources, the media and politicians, and hence to silence plural discourse enabled feminists and reformists to make their voice heard. Reform on moral laws came to be seen as an integral part of democratic consolidation.


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The decision of the Church was, at least partly, enabled by the lack of Vatican pressure. Over time, the Vatican has complete control over the domestic composition of the Episcopal Conference through appointments of Bishops. Hence, over a period of over two decades John Paul II was able to concretize his vision through the tools available to him as head of a transnational, hierarchical institution. This has given conservatives an edge in many Catholic countries; when it is combined with a clear imbalance in access to economic and political resources, this edge can become extremely powerful. However, even a strong, conservative Church cannot on its own dominate policy-making. For instance, the Catholic Church in Spain has become increasingly conservative over the past two decades and has focused on lobbying against liberal projects. Despite the vehement opposition of the Church, the Spanish Socialist Government in 2005 passed a law legalizing marriage between same-sex couples. Relative social equality, I have shown, also fosters effective and equitable policy implementation. This, of course, is not enough. The appointment of feminists to top positions of the new Women’s Institute in 1983, and a sympathetic executive were crucial in allowing for liberal implementation. The commitment of feminists in the IM to their ideological beliefs, and their actions that belied a sense of collective solidarity with the needs of all women, were essential in ensuring the widespread access of women to legal abortion during policy implementation in Spain.


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Chapter Four

Moral Fundamentalism in Chile

EXPLAINING THE CASE OF CHILE: A SUMMARY Chile has been a democracy for 15 years now. No legal changes have taken place on abortion since the military regime outlawed therapeutic abortion in 1989, and a conservative divorce law was finally approved in 2004, fourteen years after democratization. During this period, we see the consolidation of integralist Catholicism on the political Right, a shift from pluralist policy postures to liberal Catholicism on the political Left, while the political Center—Christian Democratic Party—is divided between liberal (majority) and integralist Catholicism (or moral fundamentalism).1 Secular policy initiatives that have dominated Western politics in the past decades have become virtually non-existent in Chile.2 The high concentration of wealth in the hands of the elite in Chile has enabled them to dominate access to resources during the democratic era, most importantly, to the media and campaign financing, and to give potential donations to civil society organizations and to private education.This elite also forms the core constituency of the political Right in Congress. This elite, and the political Right, have promoted an increasingly conservative moral agenda since 1990. This agenda is the result of the penetration of the social bases of the elites by Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, most markedly since democratization. They have constructed educational institutes, both schools and universities, fostered think tanks, and created fundamentalist civil society organizations to dominate framing and agenda-setting on family and sexual morality. Their religious discourse, on the other hand, provides the Right as well as the economic elites with a legitimating moral discourse that explains social problems through lapses in individual morality rather than in 95


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reference to socio-economic structures. This discourse has then been actively promoted by the political Right in its post-democratization campaigns and policy proposals. These high levels of inequality and deep class divisions make it harder, on the other hand, to forge cross-class solidarity and to organize a strong reformist movement, despite the fact that the executive has been in the hands of the Center-left since 1990. The middle classes in Chile are less likely to identify with and struggle for the needs of the poor, hence making it very hard for feminists to elicit the kind of support base they need to seriously challenge the structural advantages of the conservatives and the Right. Finally, the status-quo oriented institutions give the Right additional leverage to postpone or change legislation even after it has been proposed. This is most clear in the case of divorce.

SOCIAL CONTEXT OF DIVORCE AND ABORTION By democratization in 1990, the lack of legal divorce and abortion were serious regulatory and public health problems in Chile, given that separated couples were unable to re-marry and tens of thousands of women had to be annually treated in public hospitals as a result of botched clandestine abortions. The outgoing military regime (which ruled from 1973 to 1990) had aggravated the problem by outlawing therapeutic abortion (to save the life or health of a woman) as one of its last initiatives in 1989. Just like anywhere else, Chilean couples have separated despite the prohibition on divorce until 2004, through fraudulent annulments, by simply not getting married, or by staying legally married to former partners after starting new family relationships.3 One sector of Chileans has resorted to fraudulent annulments, where the couple appeals to a ‘technical fault’ on the original marriage certificate. This de facto divorce was obtainable until 2004 on the basis of mutual consent and the ability to hire lawyers, and was annually practiced by thousands of middle class Chileans. In 1991, civil courts granted 10 204 annulments through this mechanism. Another sector has sought recourse through the Minors’ Court where, during the same year, the court granted 23 387 separations involving children to legally married couples (Provoste 1996). These couples, however, have remained legally married. Finally, many couples have simply no longer married given the legal complexities and lack of recourse to divorce for less well-off couples. In 1991, the Minors’ Court dealt with 19 134 separations involving children of non-married couples.4 This form of family is today the most common: in


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1999, 56 percent of Chilean children were born out of wedlock.5 The same figure in 1994 for Italy and the United Kingdom was seven and 32 percent, respectively (Giddens 1998: 107). The lack of uniform and equitative legal regulation of separations and re-marriages has had a negative economic effect most notably on women and children, given the gender gap in wages and the many ways in which the Chilean legal system has enabled fathers to shirk their financial responsibilities. Not only is the behavior of Chileans far from conservative on divorce, since the late 1980s they have consistently supported a legal change on this issue. As Table 4.1 indicates, majority support for legal divorce existed prior to and since democratization in Chile. In 1987, two-thirds of respondents favored legal divorce; this was corroborated by a scholar in 1992 who found that in all surveys preceding 1992 the average support for legalization was 67 percent. By 1996, a survey found that 80 percent of the respondents favored a divorce law, where it has remained. In fact, as Table 4.2 shows, when specific circumstances are cited, support increases. Only a small minority favored the status quo. Table 4.1 Percent of Respondents Who Support Legal Divorce in Chile Year

1987

>1992

1996

2002

Favor legal divorce

67%

67%

80%

80%

Sources: 1987: Gallup; 1992: Gacitúa, p.58; 1996: Desuc-Copesa; 2002: Flacso-Chile.

Table 4.2. Grounds on Which People Should Be Allowed to Divorce. Chile, 2002 Grounds

Percent support

Mutual consent

84.6%

Aggravated living conditions (eg. alchoholism, infidelity etc.)

87.1%

More than a year of separation

67.6%

Unilateral demand (only one spouse wants divorce)

40.2%

Source: Flacso-Chile 2002.


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As Table 4.2 indicates, overwhelming support existed in 2002 for legalization in cases of mutual consent and aggravated living conditions, while strong support existed for cases in which couples have been separated at least a year. Finally, a solid minority—40 percent—supported legal divorce when only one spouse wants it. The law Chileans wanted was more liberal than the divorce law that was finally approved in 2004, given the extensive wait an application for divorce requires in practice. Despite the absolute prohibition on abortion, women resort to the practice in high numbers and the social effects in fact constitute one of the most urgent public health problems in Chile. It is estimated that around 120 000–175 000 abortions are performed each year (Requena 1990; Alan Guttmacher Institute 1994). This translates to roughly one abortion for every three live births, one of the highest abortion rates in South America (Alan Guttmacher Institute 1994). Abortion complications are the leading cause of maternal mortality in Chile, which in itself is quite low.6 However, tens of thousands of women are annually hospitalized in the public health system for abortion complications,7 costing the state approximately US $15 million a year (Casas et.al. 1998). This problem has been characterized as one of the primary public health problems in Chile by officials in both the Health and the Women’s Ministries. Finally, a study completed in 1995 found hundreds of women prosecuted for abortion during the first half of the 1990s, virtually all of whom came from the lower classes and who were caught when they were hospitalized for abortion complications (Casas 1996). Table 4.3 outlines support for abortion under specific circumstances during the democratic years in Chile. As Table 4.3 indicates, solid majority support among the population for the re-legalization of therapeutic abortion (when the woman’s life or health is in danger) has existed since its prohibition in 1989. An increasing share of Chileans support legal abortion in the case of rape (58 percent by 2002) and in the case of fetal deformity (56 percent by 2002). While the majority of Chileans are not pro-choice, a consensus in favor of the status quo does not exist, and popular support for initiatives to liberalize laws beyond therapeutic grounds has become solid. In addition, 58 percent of respondents in the 2002 survey think that politicians “should legislate on abortion” (Flacso-Chile 2002). What is remarkable is the similarity of Chilean public opinion through the 1990s to Spanish public opinion in 1981, five years after the transition, and two years before liberalization of abortion was approved by the Spanish parliament. By 2002, more Chileans supported abortion


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Table 4.3 Support for Abortion in Chile. Question: In which cases should abortion be permitted?8 Percent agree When . . .

1990

1996

1997

2002

75.3%

58.7%

75.6%

65.6%

—

47.7%

56.8%

58.3%

Fetus is deformed

40.8%

32.6%

35.7%

56.3%

Does not want more children

13.9%

10.7%

7.4%

21.3%

The mother’s health (90) / life (96,97,02) is in danger Pregnancy result of rape

Sources: 1990 survey: World Values Survey. 1996 survey: Desuc-Copesa. 1997 and 2002 surveys: Flacso-Chile.

“on demand” (‘a couple does not want more children’) at 21.3 percent than Spaniards in 1981 at 17 percent (see Table 1.1). These issues divide the Chilean population just as they divided the Spanish population at the time. Despite this, the political dynamics in the two countries have been radically different. Another issue is the profile of potential reformists and conservatives. Analysis of the 1990 World Values Survey reveals that those on the Left, and the middle and upper middle classes, are slightly more likely to be more liberal. Also, evangelical Protestants, who tend to be disproportionately lower-class, are on average slightly more conservative than Catholics.9 Given this, change must, as expected, come from the secular middle classes. In addition, the attitudes of those who identify with the Right overall are not much different from the average, and hence do not explain the proactive conservative agenda of the Right parties (which comes from the fundamentalist policy postures of the top core constituents; these elites do not even appear in surveys).

POLITICS IN CHILE Both political institutions and the Chilean party system influence the political process on moral issues. More specifically, the constraints of the institutional design, a strong political Right, and the constraints imposed by a


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Christian Democratic Center party in the governing Center-left coalition, make it harder for reformists to pass legislation. There are five major parties in the Chilean Congress. Since 1989, the Left (Party for Democracy/Partido por la Democracia PPD, Socialist Party/Partido Socialista PS) and the Center (Christian Democratic Party/ Partido democrata Cristiana PDC and minor Radical Social Democratic Party/Partido Radical Social Democrata PRSD10) have joined forces in the Concertación coalition. Meanwhile, the two Right parties have formed the Alianza por Chile, including the Independent Democratic Union/Unión Democrata Independiente (UDI), the party most closely identified with the previous authoritarian regime, and National Renovation/ Renovación Nacional (RN), rightwing but less identified with Pinochet (see Pollack 1999 for a detailed analysis of the political Right). During the 1990s, the Left and the Center together have tended to receive over half the votes (evenly split between the PDC and the Left), while the Right tends to receive just over 35 percent of votes (see Siavelis 2000: 46–49). In recent elections UDI has expanded its electorate mainly at the expense of RN and the PDC. The three post-Pinochet presidents (1990–2006) have come from the Concertación—the first two from the PDC, and current President Ricardo Lagos (2000–2006) from the Left. The Center-left government set up a Ministry for Women, Servicio Nacional de la Mujer (SERNAM) in 1991, which has become important in drafting and implementing legislation on less controversial women’s issues (Haas 2000). Political institutions in Chile maintain a conservative bias since Pinochet’s creation of the current constitution in 1980, although there is debate as to what extent (see Siavelis and Valenzuela 1996; Siavelis 2000). Chile’s post-democratization presidential system is designed to give one minority—the political Right—veto power over legislative changes. While the governing Centerleft coalition has held a majority in the Chamber between 1990 and 2004, nine appointed senators have until now tipped the balance of power in favor of the Right in the Senate. This gradually changed given more control over appointments by Centerleft presidents during the past decade, until finally a bi-partisan agreement eliminated the appointed senators altogether beginning in 2006. Similarly, the complicated binomial electoral system favors the Right, and the political Right is indeed strong. It has simply been harder to get legislation passed through the Senate, even if it has survived the Chamber. The Center-left has maintained a majority in the Chamber and has controlled the executive during the democratic years. However, the Christian Democratic Center party also acts as a constraint on reformist agenda-setting,


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legislative negotiation and passage. Coalition politics forces the Left to negotiate touchy policy initiatives with the Christian Democrats if it wants them to have a chance of passing congressional review and being debated— and passed—on the floor (Blofield and Haas 2005). Given this point of departure, we would expect to see a reformist impetus emerging from the Left on abortion and divorce, and for its initiatives to be negotiated with PDC legislators to accommodate a more conservative ideal point given coalition politics within the Concertación, and the institutional advantages of the Right (Blofield and Haas 2005). We would also expect reformist initiatives to increase as the timidity associated with the negotiated transition recedes, and for divorce to encounter more support than abortion. Indeed, scholars have found the growth of an independent voice on the Chilean Left on policy issues where public opinion is reformist (see Plumb 1998 on post-materialism; and Blofield and Haas 2005 on women’s rights). However, this has not taken place with abortion, and only with qualifications with divorce. Politics of Divorce Reform 1990–2004 In 1990, legal divorce had broad cross-party support. A 1990 survey of political party members’ positions on divorce indicates that on the Right, fully 50 percent of UDI legislators, and 45 percent of RN legislators, were in favor of legal divorce. On the Centerleft, 60 percent of PDC legislators, 70.5 percent of PPD legislators, and 77.5 percent of PS legislators supported legal divorce.11 Only RN had a narrow majority opinion against divorce. As with Spain, I discuss party agendas from Left to Right. In 1990, initial willingness to legislate on divorce existed within the governing coalition. The electoral program of the Concertación itself stated—somewhat ambiguously to be sure—in 1989: “resolving the hypocrisy of marital annulments through legislative initiative is within the proposals of the democratic government.”12 After the Concertación assumed power in 1990, judicial, public and ministerial organs of the state urged the government to act. The Minister for SERNAM announced that a debate in Congress on the matter was desirable.13 In 1991, the Director of the Civil Registry as well as several Supreme Court judges publicly urged for a renovation of the century-old legislation.14 However, divorce remained a divisive issue for the PDC, given the anti-divorce foundation of the party in 1957 and the strong adherence sectors of the leadership maintained to it.15 Given this, once a Left-initiated bill to legalize divorce was introduced in the Chamber in 1991, the SERNAM Minister retreated and declared that she would not encourage any


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debate on the issue.16 The presidents of both the Chamber and the Senate were lobbied by the Church, and the bill was buried.17 The two consecutive executive governments of PDC President Aylwin (1990–1994) and PDC President Eduardo Frei (1994–2000) decided not to support any legislative initiatives, despite tacit acknowledgement by both that legislation was needed.18 Executive hesitance did not hinder legislators in the coalition from introducing their own bills. The main impetus initially came from deputies on the Left, who sponsored liberal divorce bills that were never debated in Congress in 1991, 1993 and 1994. They paved the way, however, for a more conservative bill in 1995. On this bill, several liberal Christian Democratic deputies lent their support to the efforts and also became the most vocal spokespersons for the bill in the media. It was lengthily debated and approved in 1997 in the Chamber along party lines.19 Given the necessity for partial PDC support, a shift from a more openly secular and pragmatic bill to a Catholic base was an expected result of coalition politics. The bill did not allow for divorce on the basis of mutual consent, but required a waiting period of at least five years, if aggravating circumstances (such as homosexuality or domestic violence) were not proven. In this sense, it departed significantly from domestic public opinion (see Table 4.2) and from virtually all divorce legislation in Western countries, where no-fault divorce has become the norm. In 1997, the bill entered the Right-controlled Senate Commission of Justice, which shelved it. During the 1999 presidential campaign leftwing candidate Lagos promised to push for a Senate debate on divorce if elected.20 As President, he forced a Senate debate and vote on an executivemodified version of the bill in 2004. This version is more liberal; it allows for couples to file for divorce on the basis of mutual consent after a oneyear separation. However, and crucially, the judge takes another three years to process the filing, which includes a mandatory mediation process. Hence it is not that different from the stalled bill. This version was finally approved on the Senate floor in March 2004, and signed by the President into law on May 8, 2004. As indicated earlier, in 1990 opinion on divorce was divided within the Right parties. In 1991, the UDI President declared his support for the legalization of divorce. However, after rapid party pressure, he reiterated that his party was against divorce, and party leaders officially declared their opposition to any initiative to legalize divorce.21 The RN also maintained internal divisions over the issue, given that a significant minority of the party were free masons, while most of the members were traditional Catholics. One RN Senator publicized a legislative


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project he had developed to legalize divorce in 1991.22 The project was never presented, however, and the party leadership assumed a stance similar to UDI. Now, prominent leaders maintain that divorce is not and has not been a conflictual issue, indicating victory over the liberals.23 In 1997, virtually all of the Right voted against the divorce bill. During the Chamber debates, the Right presented two counter-initiatives with the support of one Christian Democrat.24 These would have, in effect, restricted the scope of the bill dramatically, either by avoiding the actual “dissolution of the marital bond” (that is, divorce) or by making the bill retroactively inapplicable to already married couples, as well as giving couples at the moment of contracting marriage the choice to maintain the marriage “indissoluble,” and hence renounce a possible future recourse to divorce. Gaining around one-third of the Chamber votes, both initiatives failed. Joaquín Lavín—the youthful UDI figurehead and the Alianza presidential candidate in the 1999 elections—also made it clear prior to the elections that if he were President, he would veto legislation that allowed divorce even if it passed the Chamber and Senate.25 After the Chamber defeat the Right consolidated a more active strategy to dominate agenda-setting. During the five years (1997–2002) the bill sat in the Senate Commission of Justice, two consecutive rightwing presidents of the Commission, in the words of one of them, did “everything we can” to postpone discussion.26 This allowed the Right time to organize an alternative project with the participation of right-wing policy analysts, intellectuals, and clergy.27 The basic idea of the project was to avoid divorce by modernizing (but not fundamentally changing) annulment legislation, and by giving the Catholic Church as well as select other religions the authority to approve or to deny applications for annulment. This counterproposal was presented by the Right in 2002 and was introduced along with the divorce bill for debate in the Senate Commission of Justice in October 2002, when vehement divorce opponent RN Senator Sergio Díez was no longer President of the Commission. It failed. The Politics of No Abortion Reform 1990– I present the Right agenda on abortion first, since it has been more proactive than the Left. Since 1990, the Right has promoted only one position on abortion: absolute prohibition. When a leftwing deputy proposed a bill to reinstate therapeutic abortion in 1991—two years after it was repealed—she was vilified by the political Right and by the media (see footnote 53 of this chapter).


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While the bill was buried, the Right called on the governing coalition to assume an actively pro-life stance or be exposed as pro-abortionists.28 In 1994, UDI and RN legislators initiated three nearly identical abortion bills, all proposing to increase penalties for women who have abortions and their accomplices to equal penalties for homicide; to change the definition of abortion in the penal code from a “crime against public morality” to “homicide”; and to introduce the concept of arrepentimiento eficaz (effective repentance) in which women who supply the police with the names of abortion providers or accomplices receive reduced sentences. UDI demanded urgency status for its bills. While its institutional advantage enabled the Center-left executive to refuse urgency status (thereby forcing the Right to use ordinary legislative channels) the Right achieved control over framing on the issue. Again, the newspapers focused on rightwing takes on the issue and almost completely omitted leftwing critiques. The two Chamber bills were eventually shelved, but the Senate bill was unanimously approved for debate by the Justice Committee and lost the plenary vote in 1998 by only two votes. Despite the outcome, the UDI sponsor of the bill considers the process a political victory because it has managed to divert the public and political debate away from whether or not to liberalize abortion laws as is the case in other countries, to whether more punitive strategies are the most appropriate way to attack the crime.29 Such a conservative political debate, according to scholars and observers of Chilean politics, is enabled by what they refer to as a specifically Chilean ‘double discourse’ in which public morality is separated from private behavior (see Shephard 1999 for an overview of this discourse in Chile). What distinguishes Chile is the inability of reformists to effectively counter this ‘double discourse’ to the extent that they have in other Catholic democracies. In the early 1990s, there was an initial openness on the Left to reinstate therapeutic abortion on the political agenda. The Socialist Party had an official position in favor of therapeutic abortion in 1991, and support existed among PPD and PRSD legislators as well. However, once the sponsor of the therapeutic abortion bill was characterized as homicidal by the political Right, most Left politicians decided to back off and the initiative was shelved. The PDC leadership made it clear it had no interest in broaching abortion because it went “against Christian Democratic values.”30 This distinguishes it from European Christian Democratic parties, where with politicization of the issue a diversity of postures came to exist.


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Isolated voices on the Left in the following years calling to reinstate the issue on the political agenda went nowhere. The journey of the rightwing Senate bill on abortion reflects the lack of priority the Left relegated to the issue. When the Senate abortion bill was scheduled for plenary debate in 1998, UDI sponsor Larraín argues that he had the needed Christian Democratic votes to approve it. The Left was unprepared for the debate, and a leftwing senator called an abortion expert four days before the date of the debate to provide an analysis of the bill and its potential effects.31 The ultimate rejection of the bill by two votes was a surprise to its sponsor, and while it can be read as a short-term success for the Left—a couple of Christian Democrats had changed their vote—the fact that the narrow victory was reliant on the work of one person—notified a few days in advance—indicates that the Left has neither organized around nor prioritized the issue. Politicians’ personal beliefs reflect survey results, and the majority of the Left (and even some on the Center and Right) privately support limited liberalization of abortion laws.32 However, even feminist deputies affirm that liberalization is not a political priority—or even an issue—in their party.33 Hence there is no active opposition to Right discourse on abortion as homicide; reactions are limited to defending certain products—such as the morning-after pill—as not being abortive. President Lagos’ explicit announcement—after initially demonstrating support for re-legalizing therapeutic abortion in 1999 and then backing off after an intense media reaction—that the executive will not initiate or support any such initiatives during his presidency was hailed as a vindication of Catholic morality by moral conservatives.34

POLITICAL ACCESS The dominant role of the Christian Democratic Party in the Center-left coalition forced Left legislators to negotiate a more conservative divorce bill in 1995, after several failed attempts. In addition, the conservative bias of Chilean political instititutions allowed the Right with elements of the conservative section of the PDC to both postpone divorce legislation for years and then affect the final product; the mandatory mediation process was a concession to conservatives. The role of the executive is crucial in Chile as well. While both PDC presidents refused to formally support divorce legislation, leftwing President Lagos’ explicit commitmment to the legalization of divorce during his tenure broke the Right’s gridlock in the Senate. On abortion, on the other


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hand, a complete lack of political will is reflected in the Left’s silence on the issue. Even Lagos shied away from the issue. Partly, the veto power of the Right and a conservative coalition partner disuade the Left from even introducing bills with little chance of success (Haas 2000; Blofield and Haas 2005). However, low levels of political support are also a reflection of the skewed distirbution of income, a fundamentalist elite, and low social mobilization.

INCOME INEQUALITY, THE MEDIA AND POLITICS IN CHILE Income inequalities in Chile have historically been high. As Figure 2.2 indicated, after the transition the top quintile of the population in Chile received at 62 percent almost double the share of national income compared to their Spanish counterparts, who received 35 percent five years after democratization. In addition, 46.7 percent of national income is concentrated among the top decile of the population, the highest in Latin America after Guatemala. This concentration of income is corroborated by other studies. A detailed analysis of the concentration of ownership and wealth among the largest enterprises in Chile during the 1990s shows a very small minority in control of most of the wealth (Fazio 1997; Ferreira and Litchfield 1998). In Chile, wealth is concentrated in the hands of a small and very cohesive elite, and it is this elite that forms the core constituency of the political Right. This elite maintains significant control over the media. Two Chilean economic groups, both solidly identified with the Right—Edwards and Copesa—together own over 70 percent of the distribution of the printed media in Chile (Sunkel and Geoffroy 2001: 40–53). Agustín Edwards is the owner of the former, and owns 17 newspapers across Chile, including the most prominent one, the conservative El Mercurio. More progressive newspapers that had arisen during the 1980s—often with foreign financing— died out during the early 1990s because of their inability to attract advertisers and compete with the two giants (Sunkel and Geoffroy: 52). Influence over framing in the printed media is easily gained if one is able to influence the owners of these two groups. Apart from the public television channel and the Catholic University’s Canal 13, the visual media is owned by four private companies, three of which are foreign and one that is Chilean, owned by conservative Ricardo Claro. Pluralism in the media has been severely compromised due to the purely entertainment-oriented interests of the foreign companies, the Catholic ideological line of Canal 13, and the ideological


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constraints imposed by the board of the public television channel (Sunkel and Geoffroy: 103–105). This has allowed the printed and visual media, as the next section demonstrates, to become a mouthpiece for conservative Catholic values. While Chile passed a law on campaign finance in 2003, it does little to change the actual dynamics on financing. Prior to passage, Chile has had no public funding or regulation of campaign finance that would level the playing field, aggravating the political consequences of income inequality. In effect, what this has meant is that Right, Left and Center are all dependent on the business elite for financing. While they are most generous with the Right, the major donors fund politicians from the Left and Center as well in order to influence agenda-setting. The new law does little to regulate funding or sanction offenders, but will provide a small subsidy to candidates in future elections (Fuentes 2003). Candidates are also not required to disclose the amount and sources of their financial support (ibid.).

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND CONSERVATIVES IN CIVIL SOCIETY The Catholic Church in majority-Catholic countries tends to have a massive social infrastructure and resources at its disposal, and Chile is no exception. The Church has remained a strong institution throughout the twentieth century. It is the largest single land-owner in Chile and commands a significant sector of the private education system. In Italy and West Germany, the institutional Churches had welcomed the creation of Christian Democratic parties. While the Catholic Church in Chile had not supported the creation of the Christian Democratic Party in 1957 because of concerns over its leftwing bent, the party certainly increased the influence of Catholic social doctrine in politics when PDC candidate Eduardo Frei won the presidential elections in 1964. However, upholding Church sexual doctrine on a political level does not seem to have been one of the priorities of the Church at this time.When President Frei initiated the first national family planning program in Latin America in 1964—to reduce the high number of clandestine abortions—the head of the Church Cardinal Raúl Silva Henríquez tacitly accepted the program, on the grounds of the autonomy of the political.35 The Vatican and Domestic Leadership During the military regime in Chile, a contingent of Chilean bishops, some of them influenced by Liberation Theology, criticized the human rights abuses of the military regime in the 1970s and the 1980s. Centers of aid to


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victims of the regime and their families were created under the auspices of the Church. With political liberalization and democratization in the 1980s, many high-ranking members of the clergy took it upon themselves to demand that the regime stick to its promise of holding a national referendum on Pinochet’s rule in 1988, as mandated by the 1980 constitution. The contribution of the progressive bishops to the human rights movement and to democratization was marked, but should not be overstated. A significant contingent of the bishops remained staunch supporters of the military regime. Pope John Paul II (1978–2005) became increasingly uncomfortable with the active political stance of the Church during the 1980s and called on the Chilean Church to return to a predominantly pastoral role (although not on issues of sexual and family morality). The first democratic elections in Chile—in 1989—came later than the transitions in other Catholic countries, and took place at a time when the increased conservatism of the Vatican on family morality under the papacy of John Paul II had had time to make itself felt. Key papal appointments from the 1980s on have replaced reformist Bishops with orthodox conservatives (Fleet and Smith 1997: 116).36 For instance, in an uncommon move, the Pope let it be known he expected the more progressive head of the Chilean Church, Cardinal Silva Henríquez, to hand in a resignation request at 75 years, and then accepted it (usually, resignations are not accepted at first request). The Pope appointed more conservative Bishops—first Cardinal Juan Francisco Fresno and then Cardinal Carlos Oviedo—to head the Church in a newly democratic climate. Cardinal Oviedo published a widely disseminated document warning of the dangers of democracy and pluralism to moral rectitude in 1991 (Oviedo 1998: 67–103; Brito 1997: 49–63). Church resources have also shifted to the prioritization of family morality. The centers of aid to victims were closed in the late 1980s. The Vicaría de la Familia—Family Vicariate—was created in the mid-1990s along with numerous pastoral institutes for the family. These organizations have sought to counter liberal discourse by influencing framing and agenda-setting, and not merely trying to influence final votes in Congress. The most prominent university in Chile, the Catholic University, is very conservative on family and sexual morality. Since democratization, the Chilean Church has maintained that Catholic doctrine on divorce and abortion must be upheld in the legislative realm, and its hierarchical nature has allowed it to foster a united public front on the issues despite the existence of some internal discord and to lobby heavily.37


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The Church, Political Parties and Conservatives in Civil Society Scholars have argued that the Chilean Catholic Church has managed to translate the oppositional role a prominent sector of the hierarchy had played during the military regime in defense of human rights into post-transition influence over policy (Fleet and Smith 1997; Haas 1999). Indeed, the Church has actively sought allies across the political spectrum—with the PDC, the Left, and the Right—to maintain Catholic family morality as the legal status quo, given its prioritization by the Vatican. Given the PDC’s identity as a Christian party, legislative reform on issues the Church has a stake in is, quite predictably, politically complicated and divisive for the party. The more conservative leadership prefers to retain unquestioning adherence to Church doctrine on moral issues, while liberal Catholics in the party allow for a limited autonomy of the political and have supported conservative divorce bills (Blofield and Haas 2005). The Church has also used this legacy to openly pressure the Left to avoid policy initiatives that diverge from Catholic doctrine on family morality. Its calls on the Left to pay its political debt (for Church condemnation of human rights abuses during the military regime) are often explicit, and many Left politicians are affected, or choose to be affected, by them.38 What is curious is that so many years into democracy the institution still exerts this influence over ostensibly secular parties, even though most of the activist Bishops have since been replaced. For instance, Cardinal Oviedo himself was not supportive of the Church’s work on social justice under the dictatorship, but has used it to increase his leverage on politicians (Haas 1999). Given a conflictual relationship during the Pinochet regime, when many rightwing politicians were acquiescent of human rights violations, we would not expect a close alliance between the Church hierarchy and the Right in the 1990s. Yet the two actors have managed to foster close relations and to find common interests during the democratic years. The position of the Right on abortion and divorce has given it highly prized moral approval from the Church, while the moderate tone adopted by the Church on military and economic policy has eliminated accusations of leftwing conspiracies among the Right. At the same time, on a social level the Church has had to contend with decreasing church attendance rates throughout the decade—lower than in Italy, Spain or the United States, and a decreasing share of Chileans who identify themselves as Catholics (World Values Survey 1991, 1995; Lehmann 2002). Even many within the Church believe that the hierarchy runs the risk of appearing fundamentalist and becoming a “private club for the faithful.”39 The continued influence of the Church in politics has been


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cemented by the active growth of links between rightwing Catholic groups and the Chilean economic elite. The backbone of the rightwing movement against moral liberalization in Chile has been fostered by Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ. The explicit stance of these groups against Liberation Theology and their prestige with the Vatican—given current Papal priorities—has helped them access domestic business elites. They have assumed an explicitly unthreatening stance on issues of wealth distribution, and doctrinal critiques of neoliberalism do not form part of their agenda. While this has led to critiques from other sectors of the Church,40 their impact has become negligible as the Church hierarchy itself has shifted to the Right. Policy entrepreneurs among these networks have sought to mobilize a ‘pro-life, pro-family’ movement during the past decade and a half by tapping into the financial resources of these economic elites. They have managed to penetrate the core constituency of the political Right, which has enabled them to dominate rightwing agenda-setting on these issues. They have particularly focused on promising young leaders on the Right, many of whom are women, trained at top U.S. universities, and who are now running for and gaining office. They are better placed to capture electoral votes than the older generation tainted by the military legacy. While Opus Dei officially arrived in Chile in 1950, its institutional presence received a boost with the formation of private schools and a university in the last decade. The University of Los Andes has expanded from a tiny building in downtown Santiago in 1990 to an institution with several thousand students and an impressive campus in the most exclusive district in the city. This expansion was achieved primarily through business donations;41 many of the owners of the largest enterprises belong to Opus Dei (Escobar 2001: 23). The Legionaries came to Chile in the early 1980s, but their organizational efforts took off with the arrival of Irish priest John O’Reilly in 1986. According to O’Reilly, the mission of the Legionaries is to influence the most powerful sectors of society, that is, current and future leaders in the political, economic and social realm.42 According to an UDI politician and Legionarie supporter, O’Reilly assured the elites there was nothing morally wrong with being wealthy; they could simply fund his causes in return for being considered ‘good Catholics.’43 This was particularly valuable for an elite that was keen on pursuing post-Pinochet electoral success and needed to regain some moral highground while unwilling to make economic sacrifices. O’Reilly successfully created a network of donors for educational institutes, think tanks, interest groups, and campaigns. In the 1990s, the


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Legionaries opened six private elite schools in Santiago and bought a university (Finis Terrae). A significant sector of the upper classes go to the private schools of Opus Dei and the Legionaries, which they now consider to be among the best schools in Santiago. In this context, well-funded rightwing think tanks have prioritized intellectual production on moral issues. The most important is the Freedom and Development Institute (Instituto Libertad y Desarrollo—ILD), which maintains a close relationship with the American think-tank The Heritage Foundation. Well-funded by the domestic business community, Instituto Libertad y Desarrollo is most closely aligned with UDI, but retains tight links to politicians in RN as well. Policy analysts at ILD and other institutes have been able to shift the justifications for orthodox policy initiatives away from interpretation of Catholic doctrine to arguments based on empirical data and democratic theory. These documents have served as the base for media campaigns, rightwing legislative initiatives and votes, and opposition to leftwing legislative initiatives. The Legionaries and their supporters have also founded numerous, ostensibly independent social organizations among the elite, the most prominent of which is Chileunido (Chile United), to promote Catholic morality and policy initiatives through media and lobby campaigns.44 The explicit intent has been to foment an independent civil society presence.45 These organizations have served to actively diffuse policy studies among politicians as well as the public at large. They inform legislators on the Right, Center and Left of their concerns and activities regularly, making their presence known.46 They have sought to universalize Catholic doctrine by disavowing explicitly Catholic roots, and by—at least theoretically—welcoming like-minded people from all religious faiths. Leaders of these organizations claim that the similarity of their ideology with Catholic doctrine is coincidental.47 On the other hand, the ability of these organizations to distance themselves from strict interpretation of doctrine has allowed them more creativity in discourse, and they have in fact used the discourse of the Left to their own advantage by calling for pluralism and tolerance toward their message as representatives of a democratic civil society. This has hit hard for leftist groups, for whom calls for pluralism—in opposition to the imposition of Catholic morality—have been one of the cornerstones of their calls for the political liberalization of moral laws. At the same time, these organizations do rely on the religious networks for infrastructural support, and personal links with Opus Dei, the Legionaries, think-tanks, and political parties are tight.48


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The two media magnates, Agustín Edwards and Ricardo Claro, have joined the Legionaries and Opus Dei, respectively, and are highly sympathetic to theological othodoxy as a point of departure. Individuals within the religious networks have successfully sought key positions as editorial directors in the press and television in order to influence issue framing, and have found sponsors for media campaigns. The political leadership in both parties, and UDI in particular, is tightly linked to either Opus Dei or the Legionaries. Joaquin Lavín belongs to Opus Dei. Financial support from domestic elites enabled Lavín to hire a U.S. campaign manager (who had also served as a campaign manager for George W. Bush) for the 1999 presidential elections and, with US$ 60 million, to outspend the Centerleft candidate, Ricardo Lagos, by a ratio of ten to one.49 He forced Lagos to a second round and was very narrowly beaten by him. Opus Dei has also achieved a notable presence on the Supreme Court. The Right has successfully pitted the opposing sides into dichotomies in public discourse: family versus social disintegration, poverty and chaos, and the human rights of the ‘innocent and defenseless’ versus intentional homicide in the form of abortion. This has served the Right politically. First, the Right has posited predominantly socio-economic problems such as poverty, drug addiction, and teen pregnancies as purely moral problems, diverting attention away from the social and economic causes of these problems. This has enabled the Right to avoid compromising on issues that involve redistribution without admitting to being uncaring or self-interested. It has also mended fences with the institutional Church. Second, and relatedly, fomenting divisions within the PDC and between the PDC and the Left in the context of right wing framing forces the parties within the Concertación to publicly disagree and/or assume defensive positions on these issues. In this sense, the Right can strategically draw on the dynamics of the governing coalition in which the Left and Center uneasily coexist. Despite its highly effective strategies, the success of the Right is ultimately embedded in its superior economic resources, and its willingness to spend significant resources in extending its populist message to the lowerincome population.50 These tight alliances among Catholic organizations (and many in the hierarchy), economic elites, and the political Right have succeeded in forging an activist moral agenda on the political Right. Rightwing politicians have in turn been able to use their domination of framing and agenda-setting as well as the conservative institutional context in Chile to their best advantage.


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Anti-divorce Movement. Church opposition to legal divorce have been vehement and constant. The Episcopal Conference has clearly condemned divorce, and Bishops have heavily and repeatedly lobbied legislators on the issue through the 1990s, until legalization. In addition, Conservative policy analysts have actively produced studies on the harmful effects of legal divorce. Ignoring the fact that by the late 1990s, over half of Chilean children were born out of wedlock without a divorce law, these analysts maintain that allowing for the breakdown of the family by legalizing divorce will cause poverty, drug addiction, suicides, and criminal behavior, using the United States as a case study of social ills caused by divorce. Similarly, one study identifies government aid to single mothers in the United States—which it argues undermines the traditional family—as increasing poverty among single mothers from 21 percent in 1960 to 50 percent in the 1990s.51 The relationship of skewed wealth distribution with poverty is never mentioned. The ability of the Right to dominate framing in the media allows these works to be uncritically reported. An example of a typical headline, from 1996, reads: “Crisis of the family affects possibilities to overcome poverty, says Allamand” [RN leader at the time].”52 Conservative professionals have also lent their intellectual support for rightwing legislative initiatives. Pro-life Movement. The Chilean church’s opposition to abortion is, of course, a given. In addition, the church has focused on condemning and lobbying against government programs on sex-education, on anti-HIV condom campaigns, and against the morning-after pill (a 2002 government decree allowed for the distribution of the morning-after pill to rape victims in hospitals). The media bias is even more readily apparent on abortion. For example, with the introduction of the therapeutic abortion bill in 1991, newspapers focused almost exclusively on rightwing critiques of the proposal that accused the sponsor and the Left more broadly of legitimating homicide.53 One weekly that gave a sympathetic overview of the issue went bankrupt in 1994.54 On the other hand, during the 1994 rightwing legislative initiatives on abortion, the media focused on rightwing presentations and justifications for the bills, and almost completely omitted Left critiques. In 1994, activists linked to UDI launched a highly visible public relations campaign in support of the abortion bills, including signaturegathering events to demand that the government grant the bills urgency status, and the creation of hotlines where anonymous callers can reveal information on the underground ‘abortion mafia.’


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Social organizations have launched campaigns of their own. One example is the graphic pro-life campaign of Chileunido (an ongoing campaign since 1998) in which all TV channels have agreed to view their advertisements free of cost, in effect donating the organization millions of dollars, and other companies have given them direct donations.55 Pro-life activists on the political Right have also managed to ensure that the National Ministry of Women (SERNAM) either avoids these issues or assumes stances acceptable to the political Right. When the newly appointed leftwing SERNAM Minister, Adriana Delpiano, represented Chile at the UN follow-up conference on women in 2000, both feminists and conservatives had lobbied for a stance consequent with their ideological points of view. The Minister had promised feminists she would maintain the position Chile had adopted at the Beijing conference in 1995 (against abortion but supportive of ‘reproductive rights’). Unexpectedly, she responded to intensive UDI lobbying and officially declared Chile to be ‘pro-life.’56 These actions serve to warn of the kind of organized opposition any politician who might advocate the decriminalization of even therapeutic abortion will encounter. UDI political advisor and pro-life activist Jorge Reyes argues that abortion is the most profound, ethical theme that confronts us as a society . . . here the issue is not to cede on anything . . . it is a politics of convincing rather than consensus.57

FEMINISTS AND CIVIL SOCIETY Chile had a strong pro-democracy movement in the 1980s. Unlike in Spain, where Franco died, or in Argentina, where the military decided to step down after the Falklands war defeat, in Chile those in opposition had to struggle to pressure the military regime to follow its own democratization schedule through the 1980s. During the 1980s pro-democracy protests, the imbalance in resources between the Right and the Left was somewhat equalized as foreign money—mostly European—flooded in to support pro-democratic organization. By the 1980s, many in the middle classes were opposed to the dictatorship and joined protests. Since the return to democracy, most of the funding sources dried up as groups were expected to adjust to a democratic setting and to find domestic sources of funding. With the transition, the movement was rapidly defused. Aside from external constraints such as reduced international funding, reformists in


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civil society seeking to promote more equitable policies during the democratic era have also been confronted by a powerful internal constraint. Given the deep inequalities in Chile, people are less likely to feel solidarity with and more likely to blame the poor for their poverty. Moreover, they are less likely to expect the government to do something about it, or to engage in collective action themselves. As Figure 2.3 indicated, 40 percent of Chileans in the mid-1990s were likely to blame the poor themselves for their poverty, while 60 percent think society is to blame. A similar amount of Chileans—just under 40 percent—also believe the government need not do more to combat poverty, while in Spain just under one-third thought likewise, despite the fact that the Spanish government already allocates a significantly higher amount of resources to poverty reduction than does the Chilean government. Similarly, as Figure 2.4 indicated, democratization in Chile did not act as a catalyst for collective action. Many Chileans attended demonstrations against the dictatorship in the 1980s, but with the transition demobilized. While it could be argued that demobilization is simply due to protest exhaustion from the 1980s, the exact opposite case—that policy entrepreneurs could have taken advantage of pre-existing networks and experience to mobilize people—could be made. Moreover, the numbers of Chilean respondents claiming they would “never” engage in collective action was 56 percent by 1996 (Figure 2.4). Many women’s groups were also funded by international organizations during the protests. While mobilization among women was extensive, the primary motive for it was opposition to the dictatorship, and support for women’s rights was a secondary concern. There was also a clear distinction between middle class opposition and urban popular movements, which also made economic demands and were side-stepped in the negotiated transition (Blofield 1996). During the transition, a Coalition of Women for Democracy formed which, at its height, drew an estimated 20,000 participants to its Women’s Day celebration on March 8th, 1989. The Coalition did not include abortion or divorce in the demands it made to the Centerleft presidential candidate, although leftwing women outside the Concertación demanded legalization of both (Baldez 2002: 175–180). Feminist organizations have been unable to foster a domestic financial base. Extant organizations remain financially dependent on international funding agencies and irregular government contracts for particular projects, contributing to what Alvarez (1998: 306–308) refers to as the “NGO’ization” of the women’s movement. More importantly, the pool of potential activists are the demonstrators of the 1980s—and their children—


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and they disbanded completely after the transition, as the dramatic drop in the numbers of people who have participated in demonstrations reveals. Most women’s groups soon defused as well as they were unable to find enough of a critical mass to continue. Lack of resources has plagued this sector, as income is solidly concentrated in the hands of an increasingly fundamentalist economic elite. There is a consensus in the literature that during the democratic years “the women’s movement seems to have lost its visibility and has, in fact, been pronounced transformed, paralyzed, or even dead” (Schild 1998:99). Scholars have identified various internal and external factors as having contributed to the weakness of the movement. Internal factors include an excessively democratic culture (Frohmann et al 1995), the divisions between the autónomas and políticas (Frohmann et al 1995; Valenzuela 1998; Schild 1998; Haas 1999; Ríos 2003; Htun 2003) and the ‘professionalization’ of the movement (Schild 1998; Haas 1999; Baldez 2002; Ríos 2003). External factors include the logic of the transition and ‘normalization’ of politics (Valenzuela 1998; Ríos 2003), government policies (Ríos 2003), relations with Sernam (Haas 2000; Franseschet 2003), traditional party politics (Valenzuela 1998), the reduction of external funding (Schild 1998; Ríos 2003), and the neo-liberal project (Schild 1998). These factors have certainly contributed to the movement’s demise. However, while the internal divisions of feminists exist (as they do in every country) and the political-institutional context in Chile presents specific difficulties, it is the inability to tap into the broader society, specifically the secular middle classes that have elsewhere formed the support base for a reformist movement, that has made these divisions and barriers so visible and salient. This factor has been overlooked by the extant literature. Pro-divorce Movement. The reformist sector on divorce in civil society was composed of feminist groups and lawyers’ networks. One of the most prominent feminist networks on these issues was Grupo Iniciativa (Initiative Group), a network of eleven women’s organizations that lobbies on women’s issues, including divorce. On divorce, feminists were able to foster networks with reformist politicians and lawyers, who may not identify themselves as feminist but who share the view that marriage legislation must be modernized and divorce legalized. Grupo Iniciativa produced documents with policy recommendations on divorce, but their dissemination and policy presence among politicians was not as sustained as the influence of their counterparts on the Right. The group, along with other reformists, also engaged


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in public debate and social campaigns, and sought to create links with feminist politicians and, to a limited extent, with SERNAM. This enabled feminists to have a voice, if not influence, on the policy-making process on the divorce bill. However, there were few media campaigns from civil society actors in favor of legalization through the 1990s. The most vocal spokespersons in the media were in fact Christian Democratic supporters of the 1997 bill (the modified version of which was finally approved in 2004), who defended it on liberal Catholic, not secular terms, identifying with a position more conservative than public opinion. Those with resources simply continued to rely on annulments. The pressure ultimately came from the executive, not society. Pro-choice Movement. The Foro Abierto de Salud y Derechos Reproductivos (Open Forum on Health and Reproductive Rights) is an umbrella organization of feminist groups working on reproductive rights. The Foro has produced studies on the public health dimensions of abortion as well as on women jailed for abortions, but they receive little media attention given rightwing control over framing. Support for a media campaign similar to that of Chileunido but to highlight the public health consequences of illegal abortions on women would be unthinkable. Moreover, abortion deaths or court prosecutions of poor women caught for abortion—the latter more frequent than elsewhere in South America (Casas 1996)—receive no media coverage. That said, room for maneuver exists as both television and some of the newspapers need to maintain a certain level of pluralism in order to compete for the mainstream audience, which does not identify with moral fundamentalism. Similarly, news sells and attention-grabbing events will be reported. The mainstream La Tercera has taken an editorial stance in favor of legal divorce and the morning-after pill, not a position consistent with integral Catholicism. In addition, politicians’ personal beliefs are reflective of survey results, and the majority of the Left (and even some on the Center and Right) privately support limited liberalization of abortion laws.58 However, feminist strategies to engage the media have been weak. Feminists have not attempted to widely diffuse and politicize survey results, and to mobilize public opinion support in an effort to pressure politicians. The Foro itself has chosen to focus on initiatives with limited reach on a social level; political contacts are not notable, and contacts with even feminist deputies are scarce. Leaders in the Foro admit to not sending responses to conservative framing on abortion in the press, and to declining interviews,


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given previous experiences in which they were ridiculed.59 This has made it hard to make the presence of feminist networks known, and has served to enforce the perception among the silent, moderately liberal public at large that ‘no one else thinks like you.’ In fact, when abortion is—frequently— discussed in the mainstream La Tercera, often only pro-life organizations are quoted. A search of letters to the editor on abortion published in La Tercera between 1997 and August 2000 found only pro-life groups represented (unaffiliated individuals were not considered). A good indication of lack of any impact is that politicians on the Left, Center and Right contend that a social consensus against the legalization of any form of abortion exists in Chilean society.60 Whether ignorance of survey results (reported in newspapers) is feigned or sincere is less important than the fact that politicians feel comfortable contending that a social consensus does indeed exist. Clearly, feminist strategies could be more efficient. However, the deeper problem here is that feminists have been unable to gain any significant interest among the middle classes, which has left the burden of activism to be shouldered by a small number of overworked and exhausted individuals.61 There are many fewer individuals who identify with the problems the poor confront, and are willing to engage in reformist collective actions such as expressing their views to a newspaper editor. This lack of interest and support is no doubt increased by the knowledge that public forms of action will elicit ridicule and moral condemnation in the rightwing media, which in turn makes it even harder to foster a critical mass to break rightwing dominance.62 In the mid-1990s, an attempt by a feminist organization in the Foro to launch a signature-gathering campaign on abortion to replicate what the Spanish feminists had done utterly failed when only five women signed the document.63 The feminists could simply not gain interest among women and men to engage in public support. Similarly, in the late 1990s the Foro initiated small-scale monthly protests in the central Plaza de Armas in Santiago where they set up crosses in memory of poor women who had died from abortions. Again, not enough participated and the protests attracted very little attention from passers-by. The protests lasted some months and then died out for lack of interest. Middle class women or men have instead preferred to solve their problems individually and in private. Reformist politicians also know that if they were to push for the liberalization of abortion laws, an effective network of civil society organizations to back them up does not exist. Feminists in civil society have not mobilized to back up those isolated voices on the Left that have called for


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the reinstatement of therapeutic abortion, leading even feminist legislators to conclude that an effective network of feminist organizations to back them up does not exist and that liberalization is not on the agenda.64 While double militancy as feminists and party members has pushed some women’s rights issues onto Left agendas—despite low social mobilization— receptivity declines in the face of unified Church-right opposition. A quote by a Socialist Senator encapsulates the problem of both perceptions and reality: “look out the window, I don’t see any feminist movement here, anything like what I saw in Italy in the 1970s.”65 The older generation PDC politicians refer to feminists in outrightly degrading language.66 In this context, Left parties are unlikely to respond to feminist demands despite public opinion or personal beliefs. The same Senator also dismisses the immediate problems caused by lack of legal abortion. He argues that the problem of abortion is already solved in Chile, because “everyone knows a doctor.”67 The comment reveals the deep class divisions in Chilean society and the Senator’s lack of connection to his social bases, where women rely on coat hangers, not doctors. Meanwhile, the reactions of the Right, real and potential, constantly remind reformist politicians of the political costs of promoting abortion reform. This lack of mobilization and alternative framing in the media has led to a narrow and conservative spectrum of public positions on these issues, where the center occupied by Christian Democrats is more conservative than it has been in other countries. It is in this context that the political balance between Left and Center and Left and Right should be understood.

CONCLUSION If stable institutions and political parties are key factors in translating citizens’ preferences to the political level, we would expect Chile, with its stable institutional context and a multiparty system, to follow in the footsteps of Catholic West European countries in legalizing divorce and liberalizing abortion laws. Instead, Chilean politics on moral issues is even more conservative than the politics of other Latin American countries on these issues, most of which have weaker institutions and less ideologically oriented parties. In the context of the Vatican shift to moral orthodoxy, which is a global phenomenon, the rightwing Catholic groups Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ have successfully penetrated the social bases of the Chilean elites in the last decade. These groups, the institutional Church, and economic elites in Chile have formed a mutually beneficial alliance in which a legitimating moral discourse is traded for significant religious


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influence through the extensive economic resources and institutional advantages of the political Right. Given resource concentration in the hands of the Right, this affects framing, agenda-setting and, combined with the Right’s institutional advantages, political outcomes (or lack thereof). The fundamental internal problem on the Left is the wall of indifference among the potentially reformist social sectors that, under different social conditions, would form the support base for a feminist movement. This wall of indifference is, I have argued, a product of the deep inequalities that impede cross-class solidarity toward the poor. This makes it hard for feminists to mobilize strong social support, and the lack of support, combined with the conservative media and elites, then silences the reformist voices on the Left that would in another context broaden the spectrum of policy positions and shape agenda-setting.


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Chapter Five

The Interaction of Inequality and Delegative Democracy in Argentina

EXPLAINING THE CASE OF ARGENTINA: A SUMMARY The transition to democracy in Argentina took place in 1983, and divorce was legalized in 1987. Abortion has not been liberalized, and agenda-setting on the issue veered significantly to the right in the 1990s. The party system in Argentina differs from that in Spain and in Chile in several respects. First, there is no strong self-identified conservative party. Second, while both major parties of the democratic era claim a Center-left ideological space, neither is any longer classified as a Left or Center-left party by scholars. While a liberal divorce law was indeed instituted in 1987, pushed through by a strong reformist coalition, there has been no serious political discussion of abortion reform during either decade, despite the fact that it remains the primary public health crisis in Argentina. Why the first and not the second? The reasons for the increasingly conservative agenda-setting in Argentina lie in the interaction of increasing inequalities with unequal political access to the executive and to political institutions. Since the transition, economic inequality has rapidly increased. Middle class interests and solidarity have been affected by the rapidly deteriorating economic conditions. In Argentina, divorce reform was carried through during the 1980s in conditions of intermediate inequalities. It was also in the immediate interests of middle class Argentines, given the lack of loopholes of the kind that had come into existence in Chile. The reformist coalition for divorce was strong, and conservative opposition was strong but not broad enough. The executive was unwilling to block reform; hence, opponents were forced to use legislative channels. Here, distinctly from Spain the Church hierarchy mobilized extensively against the law but, distinctly from Chile, was virtually isolated in its opposition. In 121


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1987, the UCR party (Unión Civica Radical—Radical Civic Union), the vast majority of whom were pro-divorce, had a legislative majority in the Chamber, and the PJ (Partido Justicialista-Justice Party) was divided. PJ senators were able to stall but not stop the legalization of divorce. Legalization of abortion, on the other hand, was not an immediate concern of the middle classes. Abortion requires mobilization on the basis of solidarity with poor women, which has not motivated people the way it did in Spain. A strong movement has not developed and, given this, it has been easier for political elites to consistently ignore the abortion crisis in the face of other, more ‘pressing’ concerns. Distinct from Chile, moral conservatism has not been prominent among the Argentine economic elites. As I show, the business community in Argentina is not particularly morally conservative. Without more solid elite support, the Church has not been able to dominate public debate on these issues, and the media reflects a diversity of frames and opinions on the issue. Economic elites are also unrepresented by a political party and hence not organized into a collective political force; rather, elites have tended to lobby the executive directly to gain favorable policies. Opus Dei is prominent in Argentina, but also seeks influence through more direct relations with the executive. President Menem, elected in 1989, veered strongly to the right on economic and moral issues. He sought to gain favor with the Vatican and to neutralize potential political opposition from the Catholic Church to the increased poverty and inequalities resulting from his policies, as well as to corruption in his administration. In this sense, his anti-abortion discourse served to divert critiques by the Church of the socio-economic problems of the country, and provided him with the Vatican as an ally. Inequalities in Argentina have consistently worsened throughout the democratic years, reaching levels similar to Chile by the year 2000. This has changed the social context for reformist mobilization, as well as the political incentives to promote a conservative moral agenda. The increased inequalities and poverty throughout the 1980s, and more so during the 1990s, served to fragment the potential support base for a reformist movement on abortion among the Argentine population. Even though abortion is used as a method of birth control, lack of legal abortion has concretely affected only poor women, which has differentiated it so clearly from divorce. Feminists began to seriously mobilize on abortion after the legalization of divorce toward the end of the 1980s. By this time, the socio-economic and political climate was rapidly deteriorating. They were then hit, first, by President Carlos Menem’s anti-abortion agenda and the need to fight to retain the status quo and, second and


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more powerfully, by the increased economic hardship that reduced the active core of their movement and made the possibility of mobilizing more women and men extremely difficult. Drawing on solidarity as the gulf between the rich and the poor expanded became very difficult. The middle classes were focused on not becoming part of the lower classes rather than mobilizing on behalf of them. Given the weakness of reformist mobilization, political parties have been unwilling to seriously address the public health crisis and promote abortion reform or even prevention, despite stated Center-left agendas and pro-choice beliefs. Finally, reformist demands, given lack of friends in high places, are filtered through Argentina’s status quo-oriented political institutions, which have basically allowed conservatives to postpone or block bills altogether. In the next sections, I first discuss the social context of divorce and abortion in Argentina. I then outline the political system, and the party agendas and political process on divorce and abortion. In the following section, I explain what led to reform on divorce and lack of reform on abortion by discussing, first, political access, and then the social conditions and social mobilization of feminists and conservatives. I divide the discussion of abortion reform into two: the 1980s and the 1990s, given the distinct political context of the two decades.

SOCIAL CONTEXT OF DIVORCE AND ABORTION Many attempts were made to legalize divorce in Argentina throughout the late nineteenth and twentieth century. It had been debated in Congress several times, and passed in 1930, only to be vetoed at the time by the Catholic President Hipólito Irigoyen, despite the fact that he was from the secular Radical Party. President Juán Perón decreed legal divorce in 1954, for which he was ex-communicated by the Vatican. The military coup that ousted him in 1956 immediately re-prohibited it. In 1968, legislation to regulate marital separations was implemented under the military government of General Onganía (Htun 2003:67–71). It did not allow for re-marriage, and allowed for separations only when just cause was established. Given the need to prove irreparable damage to a relationship, the law was weakened by the theatrical performances necessary to get a separation (Grosman 1985). One of the authors of the divorce law, and an expert on marital separations, concluded in 1985 that “this research . . . has disclosed ineffective legal norms, that is, norms that are not accepted by the judiciary” (Grosman 1985: 243–48).


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Experts concur that the lack of legal divorce was, at the time of transition, a significant problem for the middle classes in Argentina. Annulments were complicated, lengthy and expensive processes, and a loophole in the Chilean style had not developed in Argentina. In the eyes of most Argentines, the lack of legal divorce and its impact on new relationships, often including children, and on inheritance rights, had made family law function in an irrational and unfair manner.1 Argentines wanted the ability to re-marry and to re-direct inheritance rights, which were the two issues at the heart of the divorce debate. Moreover, the law as it stood caused complications for both men and women (even if women as a group tended to suffer the consequences more acutely), and hence commanded a broader coalition of support. Very few public opinion surveys were done on divorce in Argentina. Newspapers reported majority support, and virtually everyone, including many conservatives, acknowledged that public opinion was supportive of a divorce law among the population. One survey found that 62 percent of Argentines supported legal divorce in 1984 (Htun 2003:97). Abortion in the case of threat to life or health of the woman has been legal since 1922 in Argentina. The World Health Organization has since 1986 defined health as a state of physical, mental and social well-being. If this definition of health were interpreted as grounds for a therapeutic abortion, as it is in Spain, Argentina would in fact already have a liberal abortion law on the books. However, health is not interpreted in this way, and the application of the law is very restrictive. Abortions are only carried out in public hospitals if the woman is literally about to die; that is, they are not carried out as preventive procedures when there are clear indications that there is a serious risk to life or health.2 Similarly, on the books abortion has been legal since 1922 if the woman is raped or mentally handicapped. This law was made more restrictive by a judicial interpretation in 1989, which stated that both factors had to be simultaneously present; that is, only mentally handicapped women who were raped had a legal right to an abortion. Legal abortions performed under this clause have been extremely rare. A court decision by the Buenos Aires Supreme Court in 2000 allowed for the “premature birth” of an anencephalic baby (without a brain, and destined to die within a few hours of birth) when the mother was mentally handicapped.3 The Court consciously avoided the issue of “abortion” per se, by allowing for early induced birth. Despite the law, abortion cases are rarely prosecuted in Argentina. Charges are seriously sought, against the practitioner, only when a woman— particularly a middle class woman—dies from an abortion. However, this


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does not prevent women who are hospitalized for abortion complications from being threatened with prosecution. Studies have disclosed a pattern of threats by doctors and nurses to elicit confessions from hospitalized women (Ramos and Romero 1998). One study found that police officers went to public hospitals at night to extort money from women in return for not processing denunciations for illegal abortions (Ramos and Viladrich 1993). At the same time, in cases where women have sought judicial authorizations for legal abortions (demanded by doctors in public hospitals who refuse to carry out the procedure without such an authorization), judges have often slowed down the procedures to the point that they in effect deny the woman an abortion. In this sense, the law works neither to implement cases that are non-criminal, nor to prosecute cases that are criminal. Those who bear the burden of the status quo are poor women, as well as the state, which pays for the treatment of costly postabortion complications. The prevalence of abortion as a practice is very high. The estimated number of clandestine abortions in Argentina is between 335,000 and 500,000 a year; that is, around one abortion for every two live births (Ramos et.al. 1997: 20–21). One study found that for 60 percent of the women interviewed, their last pregnancy had been unwanted (Checa et.al. 1993: 45). In 1990, there were 53,871 official hospitalizations for abortion complications (Checa and Rosenberg 1996: 32). As with any country where the practice is illegal, it is almost certainly an undercount of the real number of abortion-related hospitalizations (Center for Reproductive Law and Policy 1999). Virtually all women who are hospitalized are from the lower classes. In 1995, maternal mortality was 85 per 100,000 live births in 1995 (World Bank 2002). Around one third of these tend to be caused by abortion-related complications (Checa and Rosenberg 1996: 27,30). Studies have also indicated that poor women are much less likely to have access to and use contraceptives than nonpoor women (López and Tamargo 1996; Ramos et.al. 1997: 21–22). Historically, abortion-related hospitalizations became prevalent in Argentina (and across the region) as the public health sector expanded in the era after World War II. By the 1970s, there was growing public recognition of the social crisis of clandestine abortions and the consequent health effects,4 and clandestine abortions were estimated at around 300 000 annually during this decade. The media reported legalizations in Western Europe and the United States. Feminists also started to organize around the issue, although on a very small scale (Bellucci


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2000: 107). The initiation of public debate on abortion as a social, not a criminal problem, was still incipient in the mid-1970s, and the military coup in 1976 put an abrupt stop to any debate. In 1974, President Isabel Perón had prohibited family planning clinics (which closed down 60), and vetoed a law that legalized the sale of contraceptives and that had passed both houses of Congress. In 1977, the military regime banned the diffusion of any information on contraceptives. During the military regime, it was prohibited to mention the word abortion in the media, and newspapers simply referred to “illegal practices” when reporting cases of abortion-related activities. During this time, the problem of clandestine abortions probably remained the same or became worse given the military’s ban on contraception. Little has concretely been done to alleviate this problem since the transition: abortion was identified by a survey of doctors as the primary public health problem in Argentina as recently as May, 2001.5 As Table 5.1 indicates, public opinion at the time of transition was supportive of liberalization of abortion laws, and has continued to be so since then. It also seems that the attitudes have not changed much; in fact, the 1990 survey reports more conservative attitudes on the mother’s health and fetal deformity as acceptable grounds for an abortion than the 1981 survey, although pro-choice grounds remain the same. In the 1994 survey, the prolife position commands 18 percent support, while the pro-choice position commands 27 percent support.

Table 5.1 Support for Abortion in Argentina. Question: In which cases should abortion be permitted?6 When . . .

1981

1990

1994

The mother’s health is in danger

82%

77%

In no case

18%

Fetus is deformed

66%

59%

Yes, in some cases

54%

Woman or couple does not want more children

25%

25%

In all cases

27%

Sources: 1981 and 1990 surveys: World Values Survey. 1994 survey: Graciela Romers and Associates.7


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POLITICS IN ARGENTINA With the transition to democracy in 1983, the two main political parties in Argentina, Unión Cívica Radical (Radical Civic Union-UCR) and the Partido Peronista, which changed its name to Partido Justicialista (Justice Party—PJ), re-emerged. The transition to democracy in Argentina was abrupt. Unlike in Spain and Chile, it was not preceded by a period of political liberalization and negotiations between the outgoing and incoming regime. The aftermath of a failed war against the United Kingdom, an economic crisis, and international condemnation of state-sponsored terror during the military regime made staying in government both more difficult and less attractive to the military leaders, and they scheduled elections soon after the Falklands/Malvinas defeat in 1982. The nature of the transition disabled the military regime from imposing its own institutional constraints such as appointed senators or a stacked Supreme Court. With the transition, all Supreme Court judges resigned, giving the incoming elected president the capacity to name a new Supreme Court.8 This, and the inability of the military government to make institutional demands, allowed for a cleaner political break. With the transition Argentina returned to a constitutional regime dating back to 1853. Argentina has a presidential system with a bi-cameral chamber, with different methods of representation for each Chamber. The president has traditionally held wide executive powers. The Chamber is elected by closedlist proportional representation, while until 2001, two senators from each province were elected by regional legislatures. In addition, Argentina is a federal country. The system is formally status quo-oriented given the high number of veto points at which legislation can be changed or rejected. In 1994, the Argentine constitution was reformed. Key features of the reform included: the ability of the president to stand once for re-election while reducing the term from six to four years; a curbing of executive powers; reform in the methods of representation in the Senate; and the ratification of several international treaties. Since 2001, three senators from each province are elected directly by popular vote. Argentine political parties are not as ideologically coherent and programmatic as they are in Chile and Spain. The Peronist Party (later Justice Party) was created by General Juan Perón in 1943, and was the vehicle for his highly personalist pro-working class policies. He is credited with including the working classes in the benefits of development, and in forming a modern welfare state in Argentina. Historically the UCR has been


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identified as a secular, middle class Center or Centerleft party. On the other hand, while the PJ has traditionally been the party of the working class, it has shifted to the right on both economic as well as socio-moral issues during the democratic era. UCR formally joined the Socialist International in 1991, and PJ formally joined the International Christian Democrats in 1996. More broadly, the identities of the two parties have fluctuated over the past eighteen years of democracy. The PJ operates more as a vehicle for patronage than as an ideologically oriented mass party (see, for instance, Levitsky 2001a and 2001b).9 In the 1990s, a left-of-center, Social Democratic party was created, first under the name Frente Grande (Grand Front) in 1993, which was changed to Frente Para el País Solidario (Solidarity Front for the Country—FREPASO) in 1995. Because of the ambiguities in the ideological orientation of the parties, I find it more accurate to refer to reformist and conservative agendas, instead of left and right. Suffice it to say that the reformists tend to be dominated by politicians from the UCR and later FREPASO, and that the conservatives tend to be dominated by politicians from the PJ. The UCR won the first presidential elections, assumed power in December 1983 and governed until 1989. The winner of the 1983 presidential election, Raúl Alfonsín, campaigned as a democratic, secular modernizer. The Radicals also gained a majority in the Chamber, and maintained a slight minority in the Senate. A host of repressive civil codes—on patria potestad (husband and father’s authority over wife, children and property), marriage, prohibition on contraceptives—drew the attention of reformists, and immediately following the transition legislators began to introduce bills to reform legislation. The PJ held a slight majority in the Senate until 1986, when both major parties had twenty senators each. This gave the PJ a slight informal edge since the senators from minor provincial parties were more likely to vote with the PJ than with the Radicals. The late 1980s marked a turning point in Argentine politics. The PJ won the presidential elections in 1989, and governed until 1999. From 1989 on, we see the emergence of ‘delegative democracy’ (O’Donnell 1994) or ‘hyperpresidentialism’ (Niño 1996), in which the president concentrated power in his hands and, overall, reduced political accountability. The shift started with the surprising victory of Carlos Menem in the internal elections of the PJ party in 1988. Menem, campaigning on a traditional PJ platform of jobs, social justice and human rights, won the presidential elections the following year and, amid hyperinflation, President Alfonsín stepped down six months early.


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Right after his assumption of the presidency, President Menem made it clear he did not plan to follow the electoral platform that had brought him to power. He named many of his closest advisors from outside his party and with distinctly right-leaning preferences. Overall, given the economic conditions and the fragmented political opposition to this turn-about, dissidents in his party were unable to mount an effective rebellion. Under Menem, who governed the country from 1989 to 1999, the country veered strongly to the right in economics, social and religious issues. While he stabilized the economy, democratic politics seriously deteriorated. He weakened the already-fragile institutions in Argentina by a) governing by decree through his first term, b) stacking the Supreme Court, and c) institutionalizing corruption at the executive level.10 To further diffuse potential political opposition, Menem fostered strategic alliances with de facto powers. He amnestied military officials to gain the support of the armed forces, favored the business community with his economic policies (lucrative privatization deals, de-regulation of labor rights), and fostered close relations with the Catholic Church through his anti-abortion platform. Policies Menem prioritized bypassed Congress, while legislative policies he was unsupportive of he blocked through the numerous congressional veto points. The Center-left opposition Frente Grande emerged in response to Menem’s policies and governing style and the seeming immobilism of the Radicals. The new party identified most closely with European-style social democracy. The three central themes of the new party were: a critique of Menem’s economic policies, a critique of corruption, and an incorporation of women’s rights and environmental concerns to the party platform (Abal Medina 2000). Some minor Left parties joined the party and it was renamed FREPASO in 1995. The same year its candidate— José Octavio Bordón—did impressively well in the presidential elections, garnering with 29 percent more votes than the UCR candidate, and many of its legislators were elected to Congress. Although Menem won the presidential election, a credible political opposition had formed. In 1997 FREPASO formed an alliance with the UCR, called Alianza, in order to form a legislative and electoral block to defeat Menem and the Justice Party. In 1999, campaigning on a Center-left platform, the Alianza won the presidential elections, with UCR’s Fernando de la Rúa as the presidential candidate, and FREPASO’s leader Carlos (Chacho) Alvarez as the vice-presidential candidate. The President resigned two years later, in December 2001, after failing to decisively deal with an acute economic crisis.11


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The Politics of Divorce Reform 1983–1987 Neither of the two main parties in Argentina—unlike in Spain or Chile— had an explicit position in favor of or against the legalization of divorce. The UCR did not include it in its 1983 electoral platform. Prior to legalization, the Justice Party was split with a solid minority against divorce, a solid minority in favor of it, and a large group of undecided legislators. After the transition, there was widespread consensus in the Radical Party that divorce legislation was necessary, however, and there was a critical mass of legislators who were willing to force it onto the political agenda. The President agreed not to veto a legislative project on divorce, and to maintain a ‘hands-off’ approach by leaving the details up to legislators.12 Up to fourteen bills on divorce were introduced by legislators between 1984 and 1986, mostly from the UCR but some from the PJ as well. Committee and plenary discussion of divorce was slowed down by the fact that from 1983 to 1985, the General Legislation Commission was presided over by PJ Deputy Tomás Walter González Cabañas, who was against divorce.13 Given the quantity and diversity of the proposals, a committee was formed in early 1986 in the Chamber to study the bills and to produce draft legislation. In committee meetings, the opposition tried to appeal to the difficult economic situation in the country—the year 1986 was full of strikes, commanding virtually constant front-page coverage—to argue that spending time discussing divorce at a time of crisis was irresponsible and was diverting attention from the real problems of the country (Antecedentes Parlamentarios 1998). Despite such claims, they were unable to block legislative discussion in the committee, which eventually approved a liberal divorce bill and sent it to plenary debate. Arguments in favor of divorce during the plenary debates were similar to those in Spain and centered mostly on the need for laws to respond to social reality, individual rights, and the need to modernize legislation in accord with the rest of the Western world. The Church was not as prominent in the parliamentary debates of politicians as it was later in Chile.14 Most sought mutual consent as a clause, which was incorporated into the final bill (Antecedentes Parlamentarios 1998). Once divorce legislation gained momentum in the Chamber in 1986, the bulwark of the political opposition came from the conservative PJ senators, and from small provincial parties, in some cases associated with the military regime. Their support base in the provinces tended to be tightly linked to the Church. This division parallels a larger one that at the time split Justice Party legislators into “renovated” and “orthodox”


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sectors, with the former seeking to democratize the party organization. The orthodox sector had little social backing outside the Church hierarchy and a small group of Opus Dei professionals, and defended their opposition mainly on religious and nationalist grounds (“Argentine Catholic culture”), on the grounds that the country had more important priorities, and the importance of laws as guiding principles (Antecedentes Parlamentarios 1998). Key for legislative success on divorce in the Chamber was the split within the Justice Party. Around two-thirds came to actively support divorce, and one-third was against it altogether or preferred a more conservative version. The legislation in general passed with a strong majority in the Chamber on August 19, 1986, with 177 votes in favor, 35 against, and no abstentions.15 Only a few days later, the legislation in its particulars was approved by the Chamber.16 After the bill was sent to the Senate, highly placed Justice Party senators blocked debate by refusing to open discussion of the bill in relevant committees. The executive, on the other hand, was unwilling to give divorce urgency status to by-pass the Senate block in order to avoid tensions with the Catholic Church. Unlike in Chile, this block was unsuccessful in delaying the bill for more than eight months. In November 1986, in an individual case where two couples were seeking a divorce, the Supreme Court handed down—in a vote of three for, two against—a sentence in which the inability to break a marital contract was deemed unconstitutional.17 What the ruling did was to set up a system similar to the annulments system in Chile (although less fraud-based). Any couple could now simply seek a court ruling declaring their marriage over, and it was up to the individual judge whether to follow the ruling of the Supreme Court or not (not mandatory as it is in the United States, although generally expected in Argentina). With the decision, divorce became essentially available through the courts without regulatory standards set by the state. The ruling gave the reformists a boost. It created a legal vacuum, and while the senators continued to stall, executive and legislative pressure at this time, as well as pressure from the renovated wing of the Justice Party, forced it to plenary debate. The Senate narrowly approved the divorce law in late June 1987, with only 25 out of 46 senators present to vote. The low number of senators was due to the massive absence of the orthodox sector of the Justice Party that preferred to avoid the vote altogether.18 The President signed the legislation into law in July 1987, only a year after it was debated in the Chamber. The final legislation was modeled on the Spanish divorce law, which at the time had only been in effect


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five years, and allowed for no-fault divorce with a waiting period of two years. Since legalization, no serious debate has taken place over the nature of the law. In Chile, after the Chamber approval of the divorce bill, the executive allowed the conservative senators to stall the divorce bill for another seven years. Had the Argentine legislation not passed the Senate, something similar to the Chilean system of fraudulent annulments may have developed. The Politics of No Abortion Reform 1983– Abortion in the 1980s. On a political level abortion was not an issue during the 1980s, and no major political party outside small Left parties took a position on it. On the other hand, military era prohibitions on family planning were repealed. First, Argentina promulgated CEDAW (The Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women) in May 1985, which in effect legalized access to contraceptives. President Alfonsín also issued an executive decree in December 1986 that repealed the extant prohibitions on contraceptives.19 There was a clear anti-abortion sentiment among a sector of the Justice Party, although prior to the election of President Carlos Menem in 1989, the PJ party was more evenly divided between liberal and conservative sectors. The first attempts at legislative change on abortion came in 1989, after a court ruling that determined it was illegal for a woman who had been raped to have an abortion (detailed later in the chapter). Radical Deputy Florentina Gómez Miranda introduced a bill to legalize abortion in the case of rape. In reaction to Gómez Miranda’s bill, the Church resorted to the educational system to launch a massive, and successful, counter campaign by mobilizing Catholic school children against the legislator. Initial informal support within the Radical Party quickly cooled off given the lack of effective feminist mobilization beyond signed petitions (which were not coordinated with the legislative initiatives), and the quick reaction of the Church. Other legislators became uninterested in pursuing the bill.20 At the same time, reformist politicians quietly incorporated broader grounds for legal abortion into the draft of the criminal code reform in Congress at that time. A well-placed Opus Dei priest alerted a PJ Senator to the clause that broadened the grounds for legal abortion and she publicly demanded that her signature be removed because of it. The ensuing


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political reaction led to the removal of the clause altogether.21 The President indicated that he was unwilling to lend executive support for any abortion bills.22 Both this and Gomez-Miranda’s initiatives failed. President Carlos Menem and Abortion Politics in the 1990s. In 1990, soon after assuming power, President Carlos Menem created a National Advisory Council on Women (Consejo Nacional de la Mujer, without ministerial status) that was directly responsible to the executive. He appointed a member of the Justice Party and committed feminist, Virginia Franganillo, to head the Council. Franganillo came into conflict with Menem’s political strategies, however. Early in his presidency, Menem began to seek close relations with the Vatican by assuming a strong anti-abortion agenda. There were several reasons for cementing relations with the Vatican in addition to the domestic Church. First, the Vatican needed an ally for its anti-abortion crusade at international conferences, particularly after Bill Clinton rose to the U.S. presidency in 1992.23 Second, the Vatican had direct influence over the domestic Church, and could persuade domestic critics of Menem’s policies to tone down their opposition. The President recognized that religious-based critiques of the social effects of neo-liberalism (and later on, corruption) could be a potential source of organized opposition to his policies, particularly from the Catholic Church. He effectively neutralized it by his anti-abortion platform. Third, and more generally, a strong anti-abortion stance did not involve economic outlays or political costs given the socio-economic and political weakness of poor women. Menem’s anti-abortion crusade was heavily top-down. It came from highly-placed officials in his own administration who were members of Opus Dei, and their tight links with the Vatican. The key official in the executive was Rodolfo Barra, Menem’s first Minister of Justice until 1995, and member of Opus Dei. He resigned in 1995, after his teen-age membership to a neo-Nazi party came to light. In 1997, Menem reappointed him to a newly-created position as the executive’s ‘Personal Advisor on Matters of Children-to-be-born.’ Barra admits he had no contacts with domestic pro-life groups but maintained very close contacts with the Vatican. One of his key jobs in his latter post was to maintain the tight links he had developed with the Vatican.24 Other officials close to Menem were his ambassador to the Vatican, Esteban Caselli, the Vatican’s representative in Argentina, Ubaldo Calabresi, the Vatican’s Secretary of State, Angelo Sodano, and the Vatican’s representative at the United Nations, Renato Martino.25


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Menem publicly began his anti-abortion push in 1993 at Cartagena, Mexico, at the pre-Beijing regional conference on women’s rights.26 He called for an absolute prohibition of abortion, and sought a regional declaration of Latin American leaders in support of it. He did not achieve this. The second major push came in 1994, during the Argentine constitutional reform, another highly visible event. Unexpectedly, Menem announced his intention to include an explicit prohibition of abortion into the new constitution, the first of its kind in the world at the time.27 This prohibition would not only make therapeutic abortion unconstitutional, it would make public debate and efforts to liberalize abortion laws in the future extremely difficult. The staunchest promoter of the anti-abortion clause within Menem’s administration was Barra, who declared that abortion was one of the most important themes of the constitutional reform.28 The clause gained the immediate and unconditional support of the Church. The move went, however, explicitly against the political and popular mandate of the constitution. Earlier, Menem and former President Alfonsín had met in a historic meeting in which they agreed on the features of the constitutional reform, which was then subjected to a popular referendum, during which the constituents to oversee the reform had been elected as well. Abortion was not one of the features. The Head of the Advisory Council on Women, Franganillo, had not been included in the secret negotiations that led to Menem’s decision, and herself found out about it when she happened to overhear a conversation on the topic.29 She was angry about being excluded on a topic directly related to her mandate, and strongly disagreed with the manner the clause was introduced as well as its content. Her anger was reflected more broadly within the more reformist sectors of the Justice Party, and an internal opposition of feminists arose against Menem’s agenda. Franganillo’s disagreement with the constitutional clause, her personal preference for decriminalization, and her inability to support the orthodox position the government was planning to pursue in Beijing led to a public clash between her and Menem. She claims that it was Opus Dei officials in Menem’s administration who pushed for her resignation in 1994.30 Menem’s announcement also led to the first major break between Menem and former President Alfonsín, who was furious at the inclusion of a clause that had not been agreed upon earlier and hence was not part of the popular mandate. He vehemently opposed its inclusion. Civil society feminists, along with opposition delegates, organized a campaign against the inclusion of abortion (Dinardi et.el.1997). Menem and Barra had sought a clause that “protects life from conception until natural death,” outlawing not only any interruption of pregnancy


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but also assisted fertilization and certain types of contraceptives. Menem pushed it through all possible constitutional commissions, but ultimately failed to get a favorable vote. The final compromise clause mandated protection of the child “from pregnancy until the end of elementary education” and the “mother during the pregnancy and lactation.” 31 The clause was ambiguous enough to draw the support of those against the antiabortion clause, and it was voted into the constitution. It left the door open for future legalization of abortion under certain time limits and specific conditions. When opposition to the anti-abortion clause formed, the Catholic Church mobilized in support of it. Cardinal Quarracino, Archbishop of Buenos Aires, called delegates who did not vote for it “criminals.”32 The morning after the clause was defeated (and the compromise was passed) and the new constitution voted into effect, Cardinal Primatesta declared that “God did not enter into the constitution.”33 More broadly, Menem also succeeded in blocking projects on reproductive health in Congress. A reproductive health law designed to improve access to prevention of pregnancies passed the Chamber in 1995. Menem’s objections to the project were the same as those of the Church: sexual education was a responsibility of the family, not the schools; access to and education about contraceptives promotes promiscuity; and that certain birth control methods (such as the intrauterine device-IUD) are abortive. When it was sent to the Senate, Menem successfully pressured senators to stall the project in Senate committees for one year, after which it would lose effect and the process would have to begin anew. Later, during the presidency of Fernando de la Rúa, another bill that passed the Chamber in 2001 sought to regulate reproductive rights, although many of its clauses (such as requiring parental notification for under-age girls who seek contraceptives) were the result of conservative lobbying.34 President Menem also assigned in 1999 March 26th as the official Day for the Child-to-be-Born, a promise he had made to the Pope during one of his visits to the Vatican. During his final visit as Head of State to the Vatican in November 1999, Menem told reporters the Pope “thanked me for what I did for the Church, the country and the Argentine people.”35 Menem personally visited the Pope a record seven times during his ten years in office.36 A great deal of Menem’s pro-life efforts centered, in fact, on the international arena. Argentina proved to be the Vatican’s most reliable ally at international conferences throughout the 1990s, sometimes surpassing in its conservatism even the Vatican itself. Argentina was the leader of only seven out of 178 countries that consistently opposed family planning and


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reproductive health at the 1995 United Nations conference, and this won Menem the highest esteem in the Vatican.37 The Justice Party does not have an official declaration against abortion, although the majority of the public stands taken by PJ politicians— particularly since the constitutional reform debates—are against abortion. Five legislative initiatives to further penalize abortion or outlaw it altogether have been introduced to Congress since the late 1980s, mostly by PJ legislators.38 The initiatives did not make it out of commission, however; collective party backing for the proposals does not exist, and Menem was uninterested in promoting them. On the other hand, most PJ legislators respected executive wishes and either voted against the reproductive health bills or stalled debate on them. The Reformist Political Agenda under President Menem in the 1990s. It is widely acknowledged, by reformists and conservatives alike, that informal support among the Center and Center-left for more liberal abortion laws is widespread among politicians in Argentina. In a sincere preference vote among legislators in the Chamber, abortion would have a good chance of being decriminalized. However, very few politicians have been willing to assume public stances on abortion, and to stick to them. The lack of widespread political support is reflected in the fact that, between 1989 and 2001, while eleven initiatives to decriminalize abortion (liberalize the conditions or legalize abortion altogether) have been introduced, none of them has made it out of commission.39 Similarly, potentially reformist politicians have not sought to ensure adequate implementation of the actual law on the books either. When the Frente Grande (the precursor to FREPASO) was launched in 1993, a question that received the most applause at one of its first public meetings was whether the party was going to take a stance similar to the Socialists in Spain on abortion.40 The leading figures of the new party— Carlos (Chacho) Alvarez, Aníbal Ibarra, Graciela Fernandez Meijide, José Octavio Bordón—had all indicated they were pro-choice. Until 2001, when the economic crisis overrode all other concerns, feminists in the party consistently sought to bring abortion onto the party platform.41 However, with the political rise of the party, feminists and their demands, abortion in particular, were ignored, and feminists were relegated to less central posts.42 Their demands for a reformist stance on abortion have been unsuccessful. As the leaders of FREPASO became more politically prominent, they became less and less vocal about their position on abortion or, in the case of Fernandez Meijide, retracted it altogether (see for


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instance Borland 2005). Feminists in the party focused on lobbying for reproductive health bills. A major political victory for FREPASO was the election of Aníbal Ibarra as the Governor of the City of Buenos Aires in 2000. Yet Ibarra, a formerly vocal pro-choice advocate, declined to implement via administrative decree in public hospitals a court decision that allowed for abortions in the case of mentally handicapped women with unviable fetuses.43 This refusal came after months of consensus-building through an expert committee of twenty five individuals, including presidents of doctors’ associations, lawyers, sociologists, and officials from the Ministry of Health. This participatory process resulted in a unanimously agreed-upon document on how to implement non-criminal abortions in public hospitals. The Minister of Health of the City and Ibarra simply refused to endorse it by sending it to public hospitals.44 According to Diana Maffia, an official in the city government and one of the commission organizers, “[Ibarra] didn’t run the political risk because, simply put, the capacity of a group of poor women to make demands on the state is very small.”45 Politically, then, we see no serious attempts to liberalize abortion laws on the part of politicians; neither do we see an effective implementation of non-punishable abortions or prevention strategies.

POLITICAL ACCESS The Argentine political system is a quagmire if you do not have friends in very high places. The Church and conservatives have lacked clear legislative allies in Argentina, which has made it hard for them to either promote or to oppose legislative bills by drawing on a conservative legislative coalition. On the other hand, political access of elites to the executive and through non-formal channels has been instrumental. The executive has the potential to set the agenda as well as use executive pressure to promote or to block attempts at reform. President Alfonsín in the 1980s, while informally supportive of divorce reform, stayed out of legislative politics until the very end. President Menem on the other hand made full use of his resources. According to Diane Johnson, the tendency of interest groups to seek to form direct ties with the executive is a characteristic that is general to interest group-political party relations in Argentina as a whole (see Johnson 2000). Both economic and religious elites have used such networks to their advantage in the 1990s. Religious elites’ links to the executive in the 1990s were extremely helpful to them, and Menem’s concentration of power allowed him to dominate the agenda on abortion. His proactive stance forced feminists and


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reformist politicians to focus their energies on retaining the status quo. As FREPASO politicians gained prominence, they became less interested in pursuing abortion reform. The lack of political will among the Center-left has been exacerbated by institutional constraints. Bills introduced on abortion often get sent to several commissions (Criminal and General Legislation, the Women’s Commission, and Public Health), which must either all agree to send the bill for treatment in a plenary session, or to meet for joint committee sessions to vote on the issue.46 High levels of political will can overcome these hurdles (as happened with divorce, when a joint committee was created), but in cases of low or even moderate will, such constraints become an obstacle. They have allowed conservative actors, often responding to executive pressure, to block attempts at debate. These factors are partly the reason why, despite the lack of an organized conservative coalition, there has been no abortion reform. However, for a more comprehensive explanation, I turn again to a discussion of the social context. Income Inequality, the Media and Campaign Finance in Argentina These political trajectories are shaped by the social context. Until recently, Argentina had resembled more of a middle class society than the rest of Latin America, due to its higher levels of economic development, General Juan Perón’s policies in the 1940s and 1950s which had included the working class into the benefits of development, and the absence of a peasantry. Argentina, along with Uruguay, used to be considered one of Latin America’s few ‘middle class’ societies.47 However, the higher inequalities and unemployment since the most recent military coup has brought Argentina more in line with the rest of Latin America in its class composition. In Argentina, the brunt of the economic crises of the last quarter century have not been equally distributed. The wealthy increased their share of national income considerably, while the size of the middle class shrunk and poverty shot up. The data indicate that income inequalities increased consistently from the beginning of the military regime until 2000, the last year for which data is available. As measured by the Gini index, inequality increased from 0.37 in 1975, to 0.42 in 1981, to 0.5 in 1990 and, finally, up to 0.52 in 2000.48 The top quintile received 56.4% and the top decile 38.9% of national income in 2000 (United Nations 2004). This is a dramatic increase by any standards. It indicates that income distribution before the most recent military regime was, at least in urban areas, comparable to income distribution in much of Western Europe, including Spain. After 1975, however, the Argentine and Spanish paths


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radically diverged in this respect, as income distribution rapidly worsened in Argentina. Within two decades, even relative to other Latin American countries Argentina moved from low income inequality to high income inequality, according to CEPAL’s three-category classification on income inequality (Morley 2001: 80).49 In addition, official unemployment significantly increased during the democratic era, particularly during and after the neo-liberal shift in the 1990s. It increased from five percent in 1983 to twenty percent by the year 2002, the steepest increases (7.6% in 1989 to 17.5% in 1995) taking place in the early to mid-1990s (Indec Argentina 2003). Unemployment and the rise in inequality have contributed to what Guillermo O’Donnell refers to as the growth of a “dualist society in Argentina” (1998). Essentially, the income gap has increased to the extent that there now exist “dual worlds” in Argentine society, that of the rich and the middle classes and that of the poor. Media ownership has gradually concentrated in Argentina. The two main newspapers with national coverage are Clarín and La Nación. The latter is closer to the right. Página12 is a leftwing Buenos Aires daily and is widely read by the city’s middle classes. La Prensa is the traditionally conservative newspaper, but its circulation has dropped since democratization to the point of making it largely irrelevant. Newspapers that represent only the Catholic point of view (Cristo Hoy, Panorama Católico, Nueva Provincia) have very low circulation. Newspaper ownership was diverse in the 1980s, but has increasingly concentrated in the 1990s. The Grupo Clarín, which owns Clarín, recently acquired Página12 as well as part of La Nación. However, the increased concentration in ownership has not had a visible impact on the ideological diversity of the newspapers in Argentina. Television ownership was gradually deregulated during the 1980s, and at a faster pace under President Menem in the 1990s. The 1989 Law of State Reform mandated the privatization of all state-owned commercial television stations (Galperín 2002: 29). Also, in 1994 the media was completely opened up to foreign ownership, and now Argentina has one of the most internationalized TV markets in Latin America (ibid. 31). At the same time, businessmen close to Menem benefited from the privatizations. Despite this the visual media also represents distinct ideological points of view, and on moral issues has been reflective of public opinion rather than government policy during the 1990s.50 A central factor in maintaining diversity is that, unlike in Chile, the interests of the owners are not associated with a conservative moral agenda, as the discussion later in the chapter shows.


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In terms of campaign finance, Argentina has several laws and decrees that regulate political financing and contributions very strictly (Sabsay 1998: 5). However, these restrictions are simply not enforced (ibid.). Parties do receive public financing for both electoral campaigns (on the basis of the number of votes in the previous election) as well as for every-day activities (Sabsay 1998: 8–10). In this sense, parties are not wholly reliant on the private sector for funding as they are in Chile. The actual amount of money spent on sustaining politicians and the vast political structure in Argentina is in fact immensely high from a comparative perspective.51 Importantly for the purposes here, corruption has been an endemic problem in Argentina and reached particularly high levels in the 1990s under Menem (see Manzetti 2003). International rankings on corruption also place Argentina very high (Transparency International 2005:257). This of course distorts the impact of citizen preferences on politicians’ behavior and accountability, as politicians can be bought off. Corruption also clearly benefits the wealthy, who can buy off politicians, at the expense of the poor.

FEMINISTS AND CIVIL SOCIETY The military legacy had an impact on feminist mobilization. In the 1980s, the process of re-building civil society links and networks in Argentina was slower given the immediacy of the terror and the abruptness of the transition. As in Chile, many women and men returned from exile in Europe and Latin America and, in the former in particular, they had experienced significant feminist mobilization on abortion and on other feminist issues.52 Small groups of feminists did begin to mobilize immediately after the transition, although as a whole feminists remained disorganized and weak. Overall, Argentines have significant reserves of solidarity. As outlined in Figure 2.3, Argentines fall in between Spaniards and Chileans in terms of their attitudes toward the poor: in 1995, 26 percent of Argentine respondents considered the poor lazy, and 74 percent blamed society for their poverty. Over 80 percent of respondents in 1995 believed that the government was doing too little about poverty, and only 2.4 percent thought it was doing too much, while 16 percent thought government policies were about right. This overwhelming condemnation is unsurprising given the dramatic increase in poverty and unemployment in the early 1990s, right before the survey was taken. Overall, Argentines were more likely than Chileans to blame society and the state for the problems of the poor.


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The willingness of Argentines to engage in collective action, as Figure 2.4 indicated, has fluctuated. This solidarity and propensity has translated into behavior on some solidarity issues such as opposition to police violence, which is predominantly although not exclusively a problem of the poor (see Fuentes 2004). Women’s rights—particularly the rights of poor women and the issue of abortion—have not, on the other hand, figured prominently in any of the demonstrations. Social and political pressure for divorce reform did not abate despite church opposition. However, pushing for abortion reform is more difficult given both class and gender barriers. Legalization of abortion was and is not among the direct concerns of the middle classes, and this is reflected in the priorities of Argentine feminists and reformists who have not mobilized on a large scale to promote abortion reform. The concrete effects of illegal abortion are restricted to one particular social sector: poor women. The class divisions have grown deeper over the last two decades, making mobilization on solidarity increasingly difficult to draw on. Pro-divorce Movement Soon after the transition, lawyers, academics and politicians, not necessarily self-identified as feminist or members in feminist groups, began to actively push for legal divorce. Reformist coalitions of lawyers, feminists, and liberal legislators lobbied to expand social support for divorce (Htun 2003: 97), although feminists did not constitute key players.53 As in Spain, the Lawyers’ Association of Buenos Aires emitted a professional declaration in support of legal divorce.54 Professionals mobilized around public opinion, lobbied, expressed their opinions in the media, met with political officials, and politicians responded to social demands for legalization. This social pressure was cited as the key reason among Radical deputies when they demanded the formation of a joint committee in Congress to speedily produce draft divorce legislation in early 1986.55 Politicians’ responsiveness to public opinion and social pressure was implicitly acknowledged in a critique by anti-divorce activist Roberto Bosca, regarding public demand for a divorce law: “politicians are pragmatic instead of voting on principle”;56 they followed public opinion instead of Church doctrine. Pro-choice Movement in the 1980s Liberalization of abortion laws has, since the transition, been supported by public opinion and there is widespread acknowledgement that a social crisis around the issue exists. An analysis of all available newspaper articles


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on abortion from the 1980s until 2001 reveals balanced reporting that largely reflects public opinion on the issue. In the 1980s, in fact, the printed media, across the board, reported abortion mostly as a public health problem. It also reported any feminist mobilization as well as Church statements on the topic. Once President Menem forged his anti-abortion agenda in the 1990s, this was prominently reported as well. Right after the transition, a handful of doctors began to publicize “the abortion crisis” from a public health point of view, calling for increased attention to the prevention of unwanted pregnancies. Studies sponsored by the government indicated that a high percentage of beds in maternity wards were in fact occupied by women being treated for postabortion complications.57 Doctors claimed that a woman died every two days due to abortion.58 These reports identified poor women as the real victims of the current situation. A report in 1985 stated that a safe abortion cost more than the monthly minimum wage at the time.59 Small groups of feminists called for change to the abortion laws (Travesías 5). Overall, however, despite the identification of the parameters of the problem by government studies and media reports, calls for reform were limited to small groups of feminists and doctors and gained little social reaction. Unlike in Spain, feminists did not seriously begin to demand abortion reform until the late 1980s and early 1990s. While the political context in the 1980s was more favorable toward reformists, feminists were not ready to take advantage of it at this point. During the 1980s, Argentine feminists began to hold annual meetings, but it was not until the feminist meeting of 1989 that abortion was one of the themes.60 There was a general acknowledgement even at the time that the class nature of abortion (it was largely a problem of poor women) reduced its ability to mobilize middle class women.61 Similarly, pro-choice feminists did not form more stable organizations until toward the end of the decade; first, Catholics for the Right to Choose (Catolicas por el Derecho a Decidir) opened an office in Argentina in 1987; second, the Commission for the Right to Abortion (Comisión por el Derecho al Aborto) in 1988; then, the Reproductive Rights Forum (Foro de Derechos Reproductivos) in 1991, with a broader mandate. Nearly all feminist organizations were sustained by international funding.62 In 1989, a court case catalyzed feminists to action (and, as mentioned, resulted in the failed legislative bill to legalize abortion in the case of rape). The case involved a 21-year old woman from the provinces who had arrived in Buenos Aires with no money to look for work. She was approached by a man at the train station who promised her work. She went with him, he locked her up, and she suffered repeated gang rapes over


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the next days until she managed to escape. After she realized she was pregnant as a result of the rapes she sought an abortion in a public hospital. The hospital refused to carry one out without a court authorization, and when she sought it the judge ruled that an abortion in her case was illegal. He based his ruling on an interpretation of the intention of the 1922 abortion law, arguing that the writers had only meant to grant the right to a legal abortion to mentally handicapped women who were raped, not to all women who were raped. The events of 1989 revealed that while pro-choice feminists remained disorganized, there was potential for a stronger movement. In reaction to the court ruling, feminists initiated a signature-gathering campaign in solidarity of the woman. Over 1500 people, many of them prominent social leaders, and some of them political leaders, signed the petitions in solidarity of the woman and in favor of decriminalization, which were then published in newspapers. The campaign did not involve the more radical and more effective measure of personal admissions of abortion, but it was based on the notion of solidarity with a poor woman who was unable to resort to private solutions for her crisis and the need to reform laws accordingly. While this move was unaccompanied by other forms of mobilization and was unsuccessful in achieving much, if any, legislative resonance at a time when the country was in the midst of hyperinflation, there clearly existed a reserve of solidarity and a potential support base for future campaigns. While politicians in 1989 had been quick to shy away from the Gómez Miranda abortion bill (after the reaction of the Church), the debate in the media was diverse, with articles, opinions, editorials, and letters to the editor in favor of and against the bill. Gómez Miranda herself did not have much contact with feminist groups in civil society, and some feminists argue that her initiative created a more hostile climate by allowing the Church to show its ability to mobilize while the feminists were still disorganized. This critique may be related to the benefit of hindsight, as events soon after conspired to create a very different political climate in Argentina for the 1990s. In Spain, feminists had sought to publicize ‘catalyzing cases’ to elicit solidarity from a broader range of professionals. The Church reacted defensively in an attempt to silence debate, and reformists were forced to organize more consistently and to counter the discourse of the Church. A clause similar to the Argentine one in the rough draft of the penal code had in fact been vetoed by the then—Spanish Minister of Justice in 1979, but feminists continued to mobilize. In Argentina, it took feminists longer to regroup and organize after the transition than in Spain,


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but once they started to do so, the conditions changed. At this point the socio-economic and political climate in Argentina rapidly deteriorated. The economy plummeted and Menem rose to power, closing off virtually any political access for pro-choice feminists. Pro-choice Movement under Menem Feminists, as everyone else, were caught by surprise by Menem’s anti-abortion campaign. After his announcement to include an anti-abortion clause to the constitution during the 1994 reforms, feminist groups revealed a capacity to mobilize in opposition. They came together, and 108 organizations joined the umbrella group MADEL (Movimiento Autoconvocada para Decidir en Libertad/ Movement for Freedom of Choice) to protest against the clause (Dinardi et.al. 1997). MADEL organized demonstrations, arranged press conferences to attract media attention, and lobbied the constitutional representatives from the opposition parties, UCR and FREPASO. Sympathizers from the PJ were disinclined to form visible links with the feminists or the political opposition but, as mentioned, they formed an internal opposition in the PJ against the anti-abortion clause, which was a crucial help to the feminist cause. Consistent feminist mobilization, public visibility, and the undemocratic way the initiative was included in the constitutional reform process created enough momentum within the ranks of the opposition as well as among feminists in the Justice Party itself that the initiative was defeated. The constituents responded to feminist mobilization, without which it is highly probable the clause would have passed. At the same time, the feminist groups exhausted their energies in simply maintaining the status quo given executive agenda-setting. Despite a ready network and a success, feminists at this point largely de-mobilized. Instead of serving as a catalyst toward more organization, the mobilization against the constitutional clause exhausted the efforts of feminists. In 1996, Argentine feminists attempted to replicate the signature-gathering campaigns of the Spanish feminists, but they remained small-scale.63 Around one hundred people signed a document claiming they had had an abortion,64 which was higher than in Chile but was not enough to force the issue into political debate. It created no chain reaction of the sort that took off in Spain; it was largely ignored by the larger society. By 1997, very few of the 108 organizations that had formed Madel in 1994 still existed (Gutiérrez 2000: 100). In fact, the Director of the Reproductive Rights Forum, Silvina Ramos, acknowledged that in terms of framing the ideological battle had been won by the Right. According to


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her, most government officials and lawyers in the field—even sympathetic ones—believe, although mistakenly, that abortion has been outlawed by the constitution.65 The International Day for the Decriminalization of Abortion on September 28th, 2000, succeeded in attracting only twenty women to a demonstration. Six months later, in the most extensive study to date in Argentina, doctors identified abortion as the primary public health crisis in the country.66 Why such little attention? Most observers point to internal strategic errors of the feminist movement, the institutional constraints imposed by the Argentine political system combined with a pro-life President, and finally, issue salience. The Argentine feminist movement has been widely criticized—among feminists themselves—for strategic errors, such as splitting over a disagreement in 1995 over whether or not to lobby for and support a reproductive health project in Congress that does not include abortion. Some feminist groups felt they should not compromise their principles, while others argued that something was better than nothing, and that an enhancement of access to contraceptives may reduce the problem of clandestine abortions. The project passed the Chamber but then died in the Senate given executive pressure to table it. Another disagreement Argentine feminists have sustained is on the appropriateness of lobbying for legislative change. Several scholars argue that Argentine feminists have wasted valuable energy in focusing on legislative change—such as the reproductive health projects—when in fact a focus on implementation of extant laws could be just as, if not more, fruitful (Birgin 2000: 117–118). With the ratification of CEDAW in 1985, access to family planning was legally guaranteed and any obstacles to comprehensive access became for many lobbyists an issue of guaranteeing adequate resources, that is, of policy implementation.67 Similarly, some argue that feminist efforts should center on a) guaranteeing legally nonpunishable abortions, and b) widening the interpretation of “health” in the abortion law as it is currently written to equal the definition of the World Health Organization. Some also trace the decline of feminist influence after 1994 to a third factor, which is institutional. The extensive political contacts developed between feminists in civil society and reformist constituents overseeing the design of the new constitution during the mobilization in opposition to the anti-abortion clause were temporary. The constituents were not legislators but were simply elected to reform the constitution. Hence feminists did not form more permanent political ties with legislators, except in the few cases where constituents were also legislators.68


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Finally, issue salience is a factor. By their own admission, feminists recognize that since the deepening of the economic crisis in the late 1990s, trying to bring up the abortion crisis is pointless. For example, the same day that the abortion crisis was published as the cover story of Página12 in May, 2001, I met with a FREPASO politician. He asked why someone was analyzing such trivial issues as abortion when the country faced very serious economic problems.69 His reaction did not change when his aide pointed out the day’s cover story in the newspaper. While all of these factors have influenced the efficacy of the feminists, the deeper barrier to an effective, influential movement and political responsiveness to the abortion crisis in Argentina is structural. First, issue salience is also a product of the lack of successful politicization of abortion. Were a similar number of hospitalizations distributed equally across classes or sexes, it would certainly receive more political attention. Also, there are feminists who are fully committed to lobbying for legal access to non-punishable abortions in public hospitals, and none of the feminists I interviewed deny its importance. These strategic divisions significantly weaken the movement because of the lack of a mobilizable support base to begin with. A diverse movement with different emphases, while having the ability to unite for strategic objectives, is the sign of a strong movement. In all countries with a strong women’s movement, divisions exist about whether and how much to interact with political parties and government officials. It is only in conditions of scarce resources—where one side has much more of an edge than the other—that such diversity can become a serious weakness. The feminist movement in Argentina has been hampered by the class divisions that plague Latin American feminist groups or movements more generally. This is increasingly the case as inequalities deepen. A feminist who served as a constitutional representative claimed that the problem of abortion has never gained political momentum in Argentina because professional women do not suffer from it. Several feminists pointed out that since most feminist leaders in Argentina are white urban professionals from the middle class, they are less willing to prioritize class issues such as abortion.70 Moreover, the feminists who do prioritize abortion have not been able to gain a middle class support base. Since 1994, the committed core of feminists has shrunk as well. The deterioration of the socio-economic conditions through the 1990s made it extremely difficult for feminists to attract the attention of a broader group of sympathetic individuals, and feminists themselves were hard hit by the increase in unemployment, poverty, and social inequality. As in Chile, the burden of activism has come to rest on the shoulders of a small group of


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overworked and exhausted feminists. According to the President of the Reproductive Rights Forum, many feminists who in the early 1990s had one job by the year 2000 had to work two to three jobs in order to retain their standard of living.71 They simply did not have the time nor the resources to engage in much more than survival strategies even when the will was there. Most of the feminists’ funds come from their own resources, and virtually all external funding comes from abroad.72 Like foreign economic investment, it is better than nothing at all but often not as beneficial as domestic investment. Sources of domestic funding reflect a domestic support base, and engage a broader group of people in the causes of the organization. Given these conditions, the resources the Church commands have given it a marked advantage during the 1990s. For every one declaration feminists publish—with much effort—in a newspaper, the Church has the resources to publish at least ten. Through the 1990s, the imbalance in resources between civil society on the one hand and the Church and elites on the other hand became more acute. Through the 1990s, it became increasingly difficult for feminists to organize, mobilize people, make demands, and have politicians respond to them. Some initial signs of hope for the feminists—the 1994 success and FREPASO’s initial willingness to deal with abortion and make it part of the party agenda—soon faded as the economic situation worsened and FREPASO became less and less responsive to the demands of pro-choice feminists, even on issues that seemed clear-cut such as implementing nonpunishable abortions. The low levels of political will among reformist politicians combined with status quo-oriented institutions made legislative reform even on issues such as family planning exceedingly difficult. General perceptions among politicians of the feminists as ineffective and irrelevant, whether based in reality or not, have impeded stronger links among like-minded politicians. Even politicians who initiate bills to liberalize abortion have few contacts with feminists. For instance, it did not occur to UCR Senator Alberto Maglietti, an initiator of two bills to legalize abortion (one in 1997 and an identical one in 2001, given that the earlier one had expired), to form contacts with feminists in civil society to generate social pressure for reform, given his perception of feminists as utterly irrelevant.73 Similarly, potentially reformist politicians have not sought to ensure adequate implementation of the actual law on the books either. The lack of political will is not that surprising given that poor women are powerless, and aside from 1994, feminists have been unable to mount an effective movement, while the political presence of the Church has increased.


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THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND CONSERVATIVES IN THE 1980s AND 1990s As in Chile and Spain, landownership and control over a significant sector of the educational system make the Catholic Church powerful in Argentina. However, historically the social reach of the Argentine Church has been considered less strong than in other Latin American countries (see Vallier 1970: 126–129). In addition, unlike in Chile, the Catholic Church emerged from the most recent military regime with its public image scarred due to its ambiguous stance on the military regime’s human rights abuses (Mignone 1988). It has also maintained lower social reach than in Chile after the transition (Borland 2005). As in all Catholic countries, the Church is advantaged with easy access to the media. Public statements by prominent clergy tend to be automatically reported and church-based mobilization receives coverage. However, the media has also reported feminist mobilization and both sides of divorce and abortion debates, hence equalizing the playing field to a greater extent. On the other hand, neither the Church hierarchy nor Opus Dei and the Legionaries have been very successful in penetrating Argentine economic elites during the democratic era. They have instead focused on direct links to the executive. While they were unsuccessful in preventing legalization of divorce in the 1980s, they have been successful in preventing liberalizing reforms on abortion or reproductive health in the 1990s, although they have been unsuccessful in prohibiting therapeutic abortion altogether. The political influence of the Church and Opus Dei markedly increased in the 1990s, when Menem reached out to them through his anti-abortion agenda. The Vatican and Domestic Leadership Ivan Vallier, writing in 1970, notes that compared to other Latin American countries, the Argentine Church has a reputation for “conservatism,” and that “[m]ost pastors and bishops are oriented to the values of social elites rather than to the workers, the agricultural laborers, or the urban poor” (Vallier 1970: 126). The Argentine hierarchy in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s had not been as strongly influenced by Liberation Theology as had been the hierarchy in both Spain and Chile.74 José María Ghio, an expert on the Argentine Church, finds the conservative strain dominant among the Argentine hierarchy and the more progressive priests marginalized (Ghio 1995, 1996). Through the 1980s, the Catholic Church assumed a conservative, defensive posture toward democratization and liberalization of public


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debate. In 1981—during the military regime—the Episcopal Conference of Argentina emitted a document called The Church and the National Community, in which it stated that “the way the deepest values of our national cultural identity, sometimes through mass communications media, are questioned (family, respect for life, honesty and responsibility in work, etc. .) is worrisome . . .” (Conferencia Episcopal Argentina 1981). The deterioration of family and sexual relations is given priority in the document, which accepts the idea of democracy only cautiously and ambiguously. Overall, Church documents reflect a thinking that links democratization with moral corruption, and less attention seems to have been placed on socio-economic factors, as appears from the official weekly newsletter of the Argentine Catholic Church, Agencia de Información Católica Argentina (AICA). Church critiques regarding the mounting Argentine debt burden and increasing poverty were less prominent.75 Along with the Vatican shift to the prioritization of family and sexual morality, the Argentine Church institutionalized its increased focus on family and sexual morality by creating a Family Secretariat in 1990. In 1995, the Church founded the “Alliance for Life” (Alianza por la Vida), an organization whose specific purpose was to lobby legislators on pro-life themes.76 The Episcopal Conference also formed a commission to study all the congressional legislative projects that touch on anything related to the family and sexuality.77 Hence, the influence of the Vatican shift in the Argentine Church is clearer in terms of organizational re-orientation and a shift in style and delivery rather than a shift in substantive emphasis per se. The Church, Political Parties and Conservatives in Civil Society The Church’s stance on human rights (or lack thereof) during the military regime and the election of a secular modernizer to the presidency decreased the political influence of the Church in the 1980s (Mignone 1988; Ghio 1996; Gill 1998; Htun 2003; Borland 2005). After democratization, the Church hierarchy in Argentina, as in Chile, focused on issues of personal morality and re-iterated very conservative stances on liberty of speech, sexuality, education, and marriage and the family. Unlike in Chile, this discourse was unable to achieve much sociopolitical resonance. The only political allies the Church could command in the 1980s were orthodox PJ senators and a small contingent of morally conservative deputies. The elite and the middle classes were uninterested or supportive of liberal reforms, as in the case of divorce reform. Opus Dei came to Argentina in 1952, and has since grown significantly, particularly during the most recent democratic era and among the


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middle and upper classes.78 Opus Dei played a central role in the unsuccessful anti-divorce movement of the 1980s. The influence of Opus Dei increased during the 1990s, with the ties many of its members maintained with President Menem, and it was an active force behind Menem’s antiabortion agenda in the 1990s. The Austral University was founded by Opus Dei in 1991, and has grown in prestige and resources, moving its campus in 2000 to one of the more exclusive sectors of Buenos Aires province. Several ministers under President Menem were members of Opus Dei, most visibly former Minister of Justice, Rodolfo Barra. Opus Dei also had, as of 2001, highly-placed doctors and judges: the Vice President of the National Academy of Medicine, and two Supreme Court judges appointed by Menem, were members of Opus Dei. The Legionaries, on the other hand, are virtually unknown in Argentina, even among conservative Catholics and the Church hierarchy itself.79 They came to Argentina in the last ten years and have founded a school; however, so far they have virtually no influence among economic or political elites. Despite these inroads by Opus Dei, the upper classes as a whole show no particular sympathy toward Opus Dei and its causes. Law Professor and Opus Dei member Roberto Bosca at Austral University feels that the Argentine middle and upper classes “have abandoned Catholic values.”80 In addition, higher education in Argentina has largely been liberal and secular, and the Argentine Catholic University has not been as prestigious among elites in Argentina as its counterpart is in Chile.81 There are also no influential conservative think tanks with close links to parties and politicians. The elites have simply not been interested in funding conservative intellectual production in Argentina, which has frustrated Argentine conservatives. Correspondingly, a great deal of the literature used by Argentine moral conservatives comes from publishers in Spain. Links between business elites and conservative Catholic groups hardly exist; according to a Professor at the Catholic University and leader of a pro-life network founded in 1986, pro-life groups have a “conservative, negative” image among the economic elites.82 While there are up to 50 civil society organizations in Buenos Aires alone dedicated to promoting orthodox Catholic morality (although not permanently active), the relationship of these organizations with the media is similarly not privileged, and the groups have, according to Bosca, little effective influence in society.83 On this level, they have to resort to the same channels as the feminists. The lack of elite interest in funding moral conservatives is illustrated by the story of a well-connected Argentine businessman with political experience, who felt that Argentina was lacking not only a conservative


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party but also a conservative newspaper. He felt that the newspaper La Nación had moved to the center and while it tended to support economic neo-liberalism, it had become too liberal on moral issues. As a member of the elite himself, he was able to receive audiences with the prominent businessmen who had the ability to finance his vision. There was no interest in financing a newspaper, and he faulted the elite for lacking a “vision” beyond their immediate individual interests.84 Such a businessman would have had a very different experience with the cohesive, visionary upper classes in Chile. Perhaps the lack of interest stems simply from the fact that moral conservatives have been unable to convince the economic elites that they have anything useful to offer them. The elite in Argentina do not (bother to) promote their interests through formal political channels, and hence do not need a legitimating discourse for electoral purposes, as they do in Chile. When Argentina emerged from the most recent military regime in 1983, the elites were either unable to or uninterested in placing institutional or legal safeguards to protect their interests. Nor have their interests been represented by a strong Conservative party (as they have been in Chile and Spain). Instead, they have focused on fostering individual ties with influential politicians, preferably the executive, willing to defend their specific interests through exchange of favors or corruption. This has shifted their emphasis from legal and institutional channels to informal, at times illegal, channels of influence. Anti-divorce Movement The impending threat of legal divorce in the mid-1980s mobilized the Church hierarchy in a way that nothing else had. The Church was able to form links with politicians, particularly senators, whose provincial support base included the Church. While these individuals often occupied key places—for instance, the Presidency of the Joint Commission set up for divorce in the Chamber and the Presidency of the Senate—they were able to only postpone the political debate on divorce but not influence the content of the law or its ultimate passage. The Church organized a march against divorce attended by tens of thousands of people right before the parliamentary debates on the issue. The march drew a lot of families. However, a government official I interviewed indicated that thousands of Catholic school children were taken to the march and pressured to participate by the Church by penalizing those who did not with “double absences.”85 If this was widespread, the high numbers were at least partly an indication of the Church’s control over a key resource—the educational system—more than spontaneous social


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support, and also indicates the desperation of the Church at this point. The march seems to have had little political impact. Moreover, the lack of Church control over higher education also deprived the Church of a potentially effective support base. The hierarchy also lacked elite support. Unlike in Chile, where the critiques made by the Church hierarchy have centered on the politicians, in Argentina the President of the Pastoral Commission for the Family, and the force behind the march, also blamed “the upper classes and the ‘new rich’ for the interest in a divorce law.”86 Lay civil society mobilization against divorce was virtually exclusively organized by a group of Opus Dei professionals who later founded the Austral University. They knew public opinion was not in their favor, and sought to counter liberal arguments on empirical, not religious grounds, and to produce a more positive countermovement than what they perceived to be an overly negative, defensive one led by the Church.87 They were relatively successful in getting their voice heard in the media in terms of their size and organizational reach, and the low levels of support they had in society. However, given their inability to access the economic elites, the media or politicians, they did not have much influence in the debates, and no influence on the outcome. Pro-life Movement in the 1980s During the 1980s, there was not much of a pro-life movement per se, partly since there was no strong pro-choice movement to contend with. The most vehement anti-abortion discourse in the media and within the Church came from the anti-divorce groups, who also tended to be hostile toward democracy overall. These groups objected to the Presidential decree of 1986, which repealed the military-era prohibition on contraceptives. In 1989, the court decision barring a rape-related abortion politicized the issue more broadly for the first time since the transition. After UCR Deputy Gómez Miranda introduced the abortion bill, the Church hierarchy mobilized an impressive opposition by attacking the morals of the legislator herself. Children from Catholic schools were immediately brought in by bus for the day to chant in front of Congress: “Florentina, Florentina, is an assassin.”88 Given the lack of feminist counter-demonstrations, this succeeded in politically isolating the deputy. Pro-life Movement under Menem While the Catholic Church remained more marginalized from politics in the 1980s, two factors conspired to increase its political influence in the 1990s. First, as income inequalities increased and social conditions and


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civil society deteriorated, the Church gained a relative economic and organizational advantage over other social organizations. Second, and related, the fact that President Menem sought the support of the Vatican and the domestic Church through his anti-abortion agenda increased the political access of the Church. The political influence of the Church markedly increased during the 1990s. President Menem’s abortion agenda was driven by strategic motives: to gain the support of the Church through a moral agenda which did not require redistributive outlays. Rather, it served to divert attention from socio-economic issues. This agenda served a similar purpose to what it serves in Chile; to divert attention from potential political demands for more equal distribution of wealth and more effective policies to fight poverty, particularly from the Church.89 In Argentina, unlike in Chile, it has been driven by the executive, not a more solid coalition of economic elites with political representatives. After the initial success of Menem’s stabilization program, inequalities, unemployment and poverty increased, and pervasive corruption in the Menem administration became increasingly blatant. The Church had a trade-off: look good with the Vatican and gain access to the executive by supporting Menem, or address the social needs of its increasingly poor constituents. Given the distribution of power in Argentina, and the internal distribution of power within the Church, it was easier to do the former.90 The Church decided to pursue a more accommodating line on Menem’s social policies, calling for “an opening of dialogue” on the social effects of neo-liberalism in Argentina.91 In the words of Opus Dei academic Bosca, Menem “bought” the silence of the bishops on poverty and corruption with his anti-abortion stance.92 The stance of the Vatican and its influence over the domestic Church is reflected in the following example. Before the 2000 elections, some Bishops were reluctant to tell Catholics to vote according to candidates’ stances on abortion, given that such a statement would indicate direct support for the Justice Party and, implicitly, for Menem (although he was no longer in the running). The Vatican stepped up pressure and sent a written request to the Bishops demanding they take a political stance on abortion and the elections. As a response, the Episcopal Conference published a strong declaration in support of candidates with explicit anti-abortion positions.93 In this case, the principle of abortion overrode concerns related to corruption and poverty for the Vatican as well. Lobbies by domestic pro-life groups in the 1990s have been less successful, indicating that the pro-life policies of Menem were not a result of grass roots pressure. After the failure of the anti-abortion initiative during


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the constitutional reform, a group of pro-life groups sought an executive decree to prohibit therapeutic abortion in order to side-step Congress; Menem rejected the request.94 Pro-life groups in Argentina outside Opus Dei networks are, overall, weak and disorganized, and lack funding. For instance, one of the major pro-life organizations, Pro-Familia, could not even afford to clean up spray-paint on their office building calling them fascists.95 There is little interest among legislators in forging more sustained links with conservative Church and social organizations. A small sector of PJ legislators have some ties with pro-life organizations. Overall, however, the anti-abortion platform of the administration in the 1990s was a result of the heavy top-down lobbying of the executive, not interest group-party links, as in Chile.

CONCLUSION Policy-making on contentious social issues in Argentina can best be understood by analyzing the interaction between deepening income inequalities and their socio-political effects on one hand and political access (the party system, institutional constraints and executive dominance) on the other hand. The external context, namely the Vatican shift, had less of an impact on the Church hierarchy given its conservative composition to begin with. During the 1980s, soon after the transition and in the context of moderately high income inequalities, a less politically powerful Catholic Church, strong social pressure and a reformist Center-left executive, divorce was legalized. Social pressure was easier to mobilize given that an adequate divorce law was in the interests of middle class professionals. As feminists began to mobilize around abortion by the end of the decade, the socio-economic and political climate rapidly deteriorated in Argentina. Income inequalities significantly increased in the 1990s, making reformist mobilization, particularly on the basis of solidarity, much more difficult. At the same time, President Menem governed through an authoritarian, unaccountable style, a component of which was to forge a close relationship with the Vatican and through the Vatican with the domestic Catholic Church. His motives can be understood within the socio-economic context: he sought to sidestep Church-based critiques of his economic policies and social exclusion. The inefficacy of the feminists can be understood in this context as well: the social and human capital that feminists had went into fighting to retain the status quo on abortion during the 1994 constitutional reforms. After this, the economic situation deteriorated. Income inequalities and


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unemployment rapidly increased. The feminist movement defused and was unable to increase or even retain social support for broader demands to deal with the abortion crisis played out in public hospitals. The lack of sustained social pressure has allowed even reformist politicians to ignore this public health crisis.


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Chapter Six

Abortion Reform across Catholic Western Europe and Latin America

When powerful rightwing media-magnate turn-politician Silvio Berlusconi became (for the second time) Prime Minister of Italy in 2001, the Pope called on him personally to outlaw abortion. Berlusconi replied: Father, despite ideals, we also have to accept social reality.

The interesting question here is: why in a country like Italy is ‘social reality’ accepted even by a conservative politician, when in other countries such a statement would not be publicly uttered even by a leftwing leader? As non-economic, regulatory issues, debates over legalization of divorce and abortion in Catholic countries have avoided controversies over budgetary outlays. They have, however, sparked heated controversy over worldviews. This values conflict between the Church and the feminists needs to be understood within the socio-economic and political context of each country. In more equal societies, I have shown, it is easier for feminists to mobilize social support for reform, and Left parties are more responsive to their demands. Similarly, it is harder for economic elites and their political representatives to dominate framing and agenda-setting, and to block reform. In highly unequal societies, on the other hand, it is very hard for feminists to mobilize a support base on the basis of solidarity, particularly on controversial issues, and Left parties are unresponsive to weak feminist mobilization even in the face of a public health crisis. The economic elites and their political representatives, on the other hand, have much more power over framing and agenda-setting, and find it easier to block reform. This chapter applies my framework to other Catholic countries in Western Europe as well as Latin America. I include (when data exists) the 157


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eight most economically developed Latin American countries, and the ten West European countries that are either majority Catholic or have a significant Catholic minority. Within this group of countries we can also separate out the ‘subgroup’ of “late female mobilization welfare states” (Siaroff 1994), in which I include Italy, Spain, Portugal, Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay. These majority-Catholic countries have a more comparable democratic history (although Italy has been democratic since the end of World War II), per capita GDP, and levels of institutionalization and state capacity. Several authors have also identified a ‘Mediterranean path’ regarding development of the welfare state: the countries in this group—Italy, Spain, Portugal—are characterized by low rates of female labor force participation, weak welfare states, and a high reliance on family networks for social insurance (Bettio and Villa 1998, Ruspini 2000, Matsaganis et.al. 2003). Uruguay, Argentina and Chile are comparable; they are the most advanced countries of less developed Latin America. While Argentina’s politics are characterized by high levels of volatility and instability throughout the postwar era, both Chile and Uruguay have maintained—despite military regimes in the 1970s and 1980s—two of the most stable political systems in South America. With democratization, both countries have managed to maintain stable and ideologically oriented party systems and governments, in contrast to their much more volatile neighbors. Hence, this set of countries is institutionally relatively comparable as well. I restrict my analysis here to the politics and legal reform of abortion, after a brief descriptive summary of divorce reform across the two regions. This is because divorce reform is—in virtually all cases—in the collective interests of the middle classes. On abortion, however, it can be quite easy for women with resources to simply pay for a safe illegal abortion. The practical consequences of illegality are thus restricted to a particularly vulnerable and powerless group: poor women. In addition, as Table 6.1 shows, divorce reform often took place under restricted or non-democratic regimes in Latin America. The politics of abortion reform most clearly exemplifies the impact of inequality on interests and on solidarity, and this is why I focus on abortion reform here. After a summary on divorce, I provide a cross-national, quantitative comparison addressing alternative hypotheses: timing, level of economic development and urbanization, women’s labor force participation, public opinion and political parties. I then show that differences in inequality are striking between the two regions, and provide summaries of the politics of abortion reform in Italy, Portugal and Uruguay.


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DIVORCE REFORM Divorce reform (in the cases where reform has taken place under a democratic regime) has also required significant mobilization on the part of reformists and feminists given the steadfast opposition of the Catholic Church. It has tended to secure more political support than abortion reform and, with the exception of Austria (where both were legalized the same year), in all Catholic countries legalization of divorce has preceded liberalization of abortion laws. Eliciting coalitional support for abortion reform has been tougher, and in most cases feminists have struggled to bring abortion onto the political agenda virtually alone. Table 6.1 outlines (the key instance of) legal reform on divorce across Catholic West European (CWE) countries and the selected Latin American countries.1 Table 6.1 Divorce Reform across Catholic Western Europe (CWE) and Selected Latin American Countries Divorce reform

Divorce reform

Austria

1978

Argentina

1987

Belgium

1974–82

Brazil

1977

France

1975

Chile

2004

WGermany

1976

Uruguay

1914

Ireland

1996

Colombia

1991*

Italy

1974

Costa Rica

1888

Netherlands

1971

Mexico

1917

Portugal

1975–77

Venezuela

1904

Spain

1981

Switzerland

1907

Source for European countries: Glendon 1987: 68. Latin America: research by the author. * Divorce had been available for non-Catholic marriages since the 1970s; with the 1991 constitutional reform divorce also became available for couples who had married in the Catholic Church.


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Table 6.1 indicates that in Catholic Western Europe divorce laws were instituted or expanded in the 1970s with the exception of Switzerland, where divorce was legalized in 1907; Spain, where it was legalized in 1981; and Ireland, where it was legalized in 1996. Given this, legalization mostly took place in a democratic context. In Latin America, there has been greater variance in the timing of divorce laws from Costa Rica in 1888 to Chile in 2004. In several cases legalization took place under undemocratic regimes (for instance, see Htun 2003 for Brazil).

ABORTION REFORM In Catholic Western Europe, aside from Ireland, abortion has been to varying extents legalized. While laws in Europe vary, implementation has been such that, aside from Portugal, abortion is roughly available on demand across these countries. It has tended to correlate with extensive public health programs to promote sexual education and contraceptive access, and the abortion rate in these countries is quite low.2 Given this, abortion has essentially ceased to be a public health problem. On the other hand, abortion is illegal in all Latin American countries outside of Cuba and Belize. Abortion to save the life of the woman is permitted outside of Chile and El Salvador, and some countries allow for it under some other conditions such as physical health or rape. However, as discussed in Chapter Five on Argentina, the implementation of these laws in Latin America is such that rarely are even legal abortions performed on women on these grounds. For instance, Capozza (1999) illustrates how the medical and legal system in Bolivia have acted in ways to obstruct poor women from obtaining legal abortions in cases such as rape and incest. As it stands, however, an estimated four million abortions are performed annually in Latin America (AGI 1996: 2), virtually all of them underground. Given this, abortion complications are one of the leading public health crises in every country across the continent, and the leading cause of maternal mortality across the continent (AGI 1994). The rate for abortion-related deaths is 119 per 100,000 abortions in Latin America, whereas in the developed world, where it is legal, it ranges from 0.2 to 1.2 per 100 000 abortions (AGI 1999: 35). The social consequences of illegal abortions across the continent, then, parallel those of Chile and Argentina, although they tend to be even worse in the poorer countries where the public health system is less developed (see Rousseau 2005 on reproductive health in Bolivia and Peru).


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ALTERNATIVE HYPOTHESES In the next section I replicate the comparisons from Chapter One, but with a larger group of countries. I provide data on the timing of reform, level of development, women’s labor force participation, religiosity, public opinion, and Left and religious party strength. Region and Timing Region as such is a clear predictor of whether abortion laws have been reformed: West European countries aside from Ireland have legalized abortion, and Latin American countries, with the exception of Cuba and Belize, have not. However, it does not address the more interesting question of why one region has undergone reform and the other has not. Htun (2003) argues that one of the central factors in why abortion laws have not been liberalized in Latin America is because of the timing of democratization. As discussed in previous chapters, since John Paul II’s assumption of the papacy in 1978, the Vatican has made adherence to Catholic sexual and family morality agenda priorities of the Church, and the stance of domestic church hierarchies has been strongly influenced by these priorities. Hence, timing has certainly influenced the terms of the abortion debate, by making conservatives in some countries more organized and proactive and by making more extensive reformist mobilization necessary to achieve liberal reforms. Table 6.2 outlines abortion reform in Catholic Western Europe. As Table 6.2 indicates, however, only three Catholic countries— Austria, France and Italy—reformed their laws in the 1970s, although three more—the Netherlands, Portugal, and Spain—reformed their laws in the early- to mid- 1980s. Belgium did not reform its abortion laws until 1990, although the issue had been politicized since the early 1970s and illegal abortion clinics were to all practical purposes left alone (Celis 2001). In West Germany, several reforms—and repeals—finally resulted in compromise legislation in 1995, which places restrictions such as mandatory, pro-life counseling and waiting periods on access to abortion, but leaves the final decision of whether to obtain one to the woman (Kamenitsa 2001). Switzerland legalized abortion on demand in the year 2002, although abortion had been available under certain conditions before this. Ireland continues to allow abortion only to save the life of the woman but does not prohibit women or girls from receiving information about and traveling to England for an abortion (Mahon 2001). Clearly, timing on its own is not a good predictor of abortion reform.


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Table 6.2 Abortion Reform in Catholic West European Countries Abortion reform 1970–1979 70–74 Austria

75–79

1980–1989 80–84

85–89

(1974)

(1992)

1995 None

1978

Netherlands

1981

Portugal

1984

Switzerland

00–04

1975

Ireland

Spain

95–99

1990

France

Italy

90–94

2000→

1974

Belgium

WGermany*

1990–2000

1985 2002

* The West German Parliament reformed abortion laws three times: in 1974, 1992 and 1995. The first two were struck down by the German Supreme Court. The third, ‘compromise’ legislation, is currently in force. In East Germany abortions were legal and free; now the more restrictive law of 1995 also applies to the former East German territory. See Kamenitsa 2001.

Table 6.3 outlines democratic transitions in the eight most economically developed countries in Latin America. Costa Rica has the oldest continuous democracy in Latin America. Venezuela and Colombia technically became democracies in the late 1950s, although one can question how well the term actually applies (see Levine and Crisp 1999 on Venezuela, and Hartlyn and Dugas 1999 on Colombia). Mexico began a process of democratization in the mid-1980s, through the 1990s, and which culminated in the election of the opposition party candidate Vicente Fox to the presidency in the year 2000. The transitions to democracy in the Southern Cone began in the early 1980s. Chile was the latest country to democratize, with an elected president assuming power in March, 1990.


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Table 6.3 Year of (most recent) Democratic Transition in Selected Latin American Countries 1940s

1950s

1960s, 70s

1980s

Argentina

1983

Brazil

1985

Chile

1990

Colombia Costa Rica

1958 1949

Mexico

1980s

Uruguay

1984

Venezuela

1990s

1990s

1959

Given the variance in democratic transitions, as well as the fact that abortion reform took place in several CWE countries after the last transition in the Latin American countries listed above—that of Chile—in 1990, it is unclear that timing of democratization is a determining factor, particularly on its own. Rather, as I have shown in previous chapters, we must look at the socio-economic and political balance of power at democratization, how the Vatican shift influences domestic elites, politicians and prolife organizations within this context, and how strong feminists and reformist politicians are domestically. Level of Development and Women’s Labor Force Participation Tables 6.4 and 6.5 outline comparative data on per capita GDP and urbanization. For West European countries, I list per capita GDP in 1996 US dollars for the year of abortion reform in order to make the numbers directly comparable. Urbanization is for the year 1980. 3 For the Latin American countries in Table 6.5, the 1996 US dollars are for the year 2000, and urbanization is for 1999. As Tables 6.4 and 6.5 unsurprisingly indicate, West European countries, aside from Portugal, were wealthier when they reformed abortion laws compared to Latin American countries in the year 2000. However, if we look at late female mobilization states, the differences are significantly smaller. Spain was only slightly wealthier in 1985 than Argentina in 2000


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Table 6.4 Selected Indicators on CWE Countries Abortion Reform

Real GDP/pc, year of abortion reform 1996 international prices

%urban 1980

Austria

1974

13 329

65

Belgium

1990

19 865

95

France

1975

13 925

73

(1974)/ 1995

(13 553)/ 21 028

83

—

26 379 (2000)

55

Netherlands

1981

15 932

88

Switzerland

2002

26 422 (2000)

57

Italy

1978

13 901

67

Portugal

1984

9 002

29

Spain

1985

11 800

73

Germany Ireland

Table 6.5 Selected Indicators on Latin American Countries Real GDP/ pc, 2000 1996 inter-national prices

% urban 1999

Argentina

10 995

90

Brazil

7 185

81

Chile

9 920

85

Uruguay

9 613

91

Colombia

5 380

73

Costa Rica

5 863

48

Mexico

8 766

74

Venezuela

6 420

87

Sources: GDP/pc: Heston et.al. 2002. % urban: World Bank, World Development Report, selected years.


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($11 800 compared to $10 995), and Portugal in 1984 was poorer than either Argentina, Chile, or Uruguay in 2000. Finally, level of urbanization has no predictive power. Second, women’s labor force participation rate has influenced women-friendly policy reforms in advanced countries (Huber and Stephens 2000). Figure 6.1 compares levels of female labor force participation in Western Europe in 1980 to Latin America in the 1990s. Interestingly, Figure 6.1 shows that there is no visible or statistical difference between the two regions on women’s labor force participation rates. The CWE average for labor force female was 35.2 percent in 1980, and the Latin American average in the 1990s is 34.9 percent, a statistically insignificant difference. Uruguay in fact has the highest female labor force participation rate, while Spain in 1980 has the lowest.

Figure 6.1 Percent Labor Force Female. CWE in 1980 and Latin America in the 1990s. Source: World Bank, World Development Report, selected years.


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Religiosity The next two sets of factors—percent Catholic and church attendance— deal with levels of Catholicism across the two regions. (See Chapter One for a discussion of the significance of religion.) Figure 6.2 compares Catholics as percentage of the total population across regions. The average percent Catholic in CWE countries is 70.6 percent, while for the Latin American countries it is 83.2 percent. However, if the three minority-Catholic countries of Western Europe (Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland) are excluded, the average for CWE countries is 84.8 percent.

Figure 6.2 Percent Catholic in CWE and Latin America, 2003. Source: www.catholic-hierarchy.org/country/sc3.html


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In Chile only 75 percent of the population professes to be Catholic, while in Spain and Italy the percentage is significantly over 90 percent. Similarly, in Ireland only 78 percent of the population is Catholic. It is clear that within the group of majority-Catholic countries percentage Catholic is not a significant factor in explaining abortion reform. Figures 6.3 and 6.4 measure church attendance. The two figures measure the two extremes: people who go to church once a week or more (Figure 6.3), and people who never go to church (Figure 6.4). The latter

Figure 6.3 Percentage of Respondents Who Go to Church Once a Week or More. CWE and Latin America. Source: World Values Survey. The data is from the following years: Western Europe: 1981, except for Austria, Portugal, and Switzerland, for which data only exists for 1990. Latin America: 1991, except for Uruguay, Venezuela and Colombia, for which data exists only for 1995


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includes atheists as well as agnostics who never go to church, but not agnostics who may go to Church on special days such as Christmas. The categories in between have been eliminated. When available, I draw on church attendance data closest to the year of abortion reform in Europe. On average, 33 percent of the respondents in the CWE countries go to church once a week or more. This disguises a lot of variance. When Ireland is excluded, average church attendance in the CWE countries declines to 27.5 percent. In the Latin American countries, an average of 32.4 percent of respondents go to church once a week or more. Again, the late female mobilization states of Italy, Portugal and Spain have higher church attendance rates than the rest of the CWE countries

Figure 6.4 Percentage of Respondents Who Never Go to Church. CWE and Latin America. Source: World Values Survey.


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aside from Ireland. Church attendance in Spain and Portugal is in fact higher than it is in the Latin American countries except for Mexico and Colombia. Only 13 percent of the Uruguayan respondents go to church once a week or more, the lowest level of all countries included here except for France. Figure 6.4 outlines the percentage of respondents across the countries who never go to church, drawing again on the year closest to abortion reform in Europe. The average percentage of respondents in CWE countries who never go to church is 26.3 percent. If we eliminate Ireland, it rises to 28.7 percent. For the Latin American countries, the average is 21.7 percent. If we eliminate Uruguay, the average declines to 16.3 percent. Aside from per capita GDP, this is the first significant difference found between the Latin American and CWE countries. While the number of frequent churchgoers is not that different across the two regions, the percentage of people who never go to Church is higher in the CWE countries. This also indicates that many people who identify themselves as Catholic never go to Church. Again, however, it may be more useful to compare the “late female mobilization states” to each other. The percentage of the respondents in Italy, Spain and Portugal who never go to church runs from 17 percent (Portugal) to 26 percent (Spain), while the corresponding figures for Chile, Argentina and Uruguay are 20, 34, and 54 percent respectively. Within this group of countries, it is the Argentines and the Uruguayans who stand out as the most secular respondents. Public Opinion Toward Abortion A key factor that may separate the two regions is, of course, public opinion toward abortion (Barreiro 2000, Htun 2003). If public opinion is liberal in CWE countries and conservative in Latin American countries, we have a simple explanation for inter-regional variance in laws, and our attention needs to shift to explaining the determinants of public opinion across the two regions. Figures 6.5, 6.6, and 6.7 compare public opinion toward abortion across countries, drawing mostly from the World Values Survey. Unfortunately, these questions were not asked in the two latest waves (1995–1996, and 1999–2001) of World Values Surveys. Switzerland does not have available data for the necessary years, and Austria is not included because of apparent coding problems. Only four Latin American countries—Mexico, Argentina, Brazil and Chile—were included in the World Values Surveys prior to the mid-1990s. For Chile and Brazil, data is available only for the early 1990s.


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For the countries that liberalized or legalized abortion in the 1970s and the 1980s, public opinion on abortion is included only from the earliest WVS survey, in 1981. For Italy data is included from a 1975 survey (prior to legalization), and for Portugal, from a 1982 survey. For the countries that reformed abortion laws in the 1990s, or have not done so to date, data is included from both the 1981 and 1990 surveys, if available.4 Figure 6.5 outlines approval of abortion across countries in 1981, except for Italy and Portugal, where I draw from a survey in 1982. Figure 6.5 indicates that in 1981, overwhelming approval of abortion to protect the mother’s health exists across the countries, except in the case

Figure 6.5 Percentage Approval of Abortion across Countries, 1981 (Italy 1975*/ Portugal 1982**). Source: The World Values Survey. * Italy 1975: representative sample, 1070 cases (Bolletino della Doxa, cited in Barreiro 2000:151-152). ** Portugal 1982: survey unknown, cited in Tavares 2000:50.


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of Ireland, where less than half of the respondents support abortion under this circumstance. In the other European countries except Spain, approval levels are ninety percent or over. In Spain, 75 percent of the population support abortion under this circumstance. Support levels in Argentina and Mexico are somewhat higher than in Spain, at 82 and 79 percent, respectively. It should also be kept in mind, however, that in France the survey was taken six years after the legalization of abortion, which undoubtedly had an impact on attitudes toward abortion.5 Majority approval of abortion in cases of fetal deformity exists in all countries except, again, in Ireland. There is more variance in this support, however, ranging from a high of ninety percent in France to a low of 54 percent in Spain. Argentina and Mexico lie between 60 and 70 percent. Finally, for what we can consider the ‘proxy’ variable for abortion on demand—whether a couple wants more children or not—only in France does it reach 50 percent. In the rest of the countries, approval ranges from a low of five percent in Ireland to 38 percent in Germany. In Spain, 18 percent of the respondents approve of abortion under these circumstances, while the figure for Argentina and Mexico is 25 and 24 percent, respectively. Overall, attitudes in Spain are more closely aligned with attitudes in Mexico and in Argentina than they are with the rest of continental Europe. Figure 6.6 outlines approval of abortion in 1990 across countries that have not by 1990 liberalized abortion laws. Figure 6.6 includes Belgium, Germany and Ireland from Europe, along with the four Latin American countries for which World Values Survey data for this time period exists. Strong majority approval of abortion to protect the mother’s health exists across the countries, even in Ireland where approval has now increased to 65 percent. In Belgium and Germany, approval remains high at over 95 percent, while for the Latin American countries it ranges from 75 percent in Chile to 87 percent in Brazil. The variance is highest on the question on fetal deformity, where approval runs from a low of 31 percent in Ireland to a high of 81 percent in Germany. In the other countries, approval is over fifty percent except in Chile, where it is 41 percent. In none of these countries, however, is there a clear social consensus against approval of abortion under these circumstances. Finally, approval of abortion ‘on demand’ ranges from a low of eight percent in Ireland to 31 percent in Germany. Overall, levels of approval under this condition are quite low. In Germany and Belgium, where abortion was already politicized and soon to be reformed, public opinion is only slightly more liberal than in the other countries. Clearly, other factors are also at work.


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Figure 6.6. Percentage Approval of Abortion Across Countries, 1990. Source: World Values Survey.

Figure 6.7 compares Italy in 1975 and Spain in 1981 with all four Latin American countries at both time periods, when data exists. Data from Chile in 2002 and from Uruguay in 2000 has also been included, and differences in questions are outlined under Figure 6.7. While in Italy support for abortion when a mother’s health is in danger or in the case of fetal deformity in 1975 was higher than in the other countries in Figure 6.7, Italians were no more likely to be pro-choice than Latin American respondents. Public opinion in Spain does not markedly differ from the Latin American countries; neither does Portuguese opinion. Moreover, given that Uruguay is the only Latin American country where Congress has passed a bill legalizing abortion (although it was voted down in the Senate) and public opinion in Uruguay differs only slightly from the other Latin American countries, it is clear that factors other than public opinion are important. Overall, the data on public opinion indicates that none of the CWE countries were overwhelmingly pro-choice preceding abortion reform.


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Figure 6.7. Percentage Approval of Abortion. Italy and Spain Compared with Latin American Countries over Time. Sources: other than the World Values Survey: Italy 1975 and Portugal 1982: see Figure 6.5. Chile 2002: Flacso-Chile, 2002. (Health=life; want no more children=cannot maintain more children.) Uruguay 2000: Cifra. (Health = life; want no more children = the woman wants to have an abortion.)

France comes closest with half of the respondents supporting abortion when the couple does not want more children, but again the data is taken after abortion reform. Hence, legal reform in CWE countries appears to have been congruent with public opinion, although in some cases legal reform probably preceded liberalization of public opinion. For instance, Belgium legalized abortion on demand in 1990, although only 24 percent of respondents in the 1990 World Values Survey approved of abortion when a couple does not want more children. Second, the differences in public opinion cannot be explained by region; they need to be sub-categorized. Spanish and Portuguese public opinion is more aligned with the Latin American countries than with the rest of continental Europe.


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Third, the levels of support that do exist in the four Latin American countries included in the World Values Survey are much higher than the political debates and laws on abortion would indicate. That is, strong social support for the status quo does not exist in these countries. It is only in Uruguay where current political debates are more in tune with public opinion. My final point is not linked to a direct interpretation of this data. Public opinion on abortion tends to be not just a cause of the political processes around abortion, but is also significantly influenced by these processes. Support for abortion in Spain increased as feminists politicized the issue, and a strong social consensus emerged for the law that was passed in 1983 in parliament in the following years (see Figure 3.1). Hence, feminist mobilization, media representation, and party platforms have a significant effect on public opinion, as well as vice versa. Political Parties Another important factor is the nature of the party system, specifically the strength of Left parties as well as parties with religious roots. (See Chapter Two for a theoretical discussion of these factors.) Table 6.6 indicates the Table 6.6. Party or Coalition in Power and Political Party Seats in Lower Chamber at the Time of Abortion Reform in CWE Countries

Government

Percent Left in Congress

Percent Christian Democratic in Congress

Austria 1974

Left

51%

44%

Belgium 1990

Left-Center Catholic

38%

29%

France 1975

Right (secular)

34%

5%

Germany (1974)/ 1995

(Left)/Christian Democratic

(46%)/ 49%

(45%)/ 44%

Italy 1978

Christian Democratic

45%

42%

Netherlands 1981

Christian Democratic

37%

32%

Portugal 1984

Left

55.6%

12%

Spain 1984

Left

59.7%

Source: Swank 2002.

7.4%


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party or coalition in government at the time of abortion reform in the countries where laws have been liberalized as well as share of legislative seats occupied by Left and religious parties. Switzerland is not included due to lack of comparable data. Interestingly, Table 6.6 indicates that it is not necessary to have a Left party in government for abortion reform. Several countries reformed abortion laws with Left parties as part of a larger coalition or even in opposition, as was the case in Italy, the Netherlands and Germany. However, in each case there was strong Left party representation in parliament. In fact, all countries included here had strong Left party representation; most also had strong Christian Democratic representation as well. On the other hand, virtually all parties on the Left, Center and Right in these countries were uninterested in abortion reform until feminists mobilized around the issue and politicized it (see Stetson 2001). After feminist mobilization, Left parties were more receptive to the demands of feminists than were Center and particularly Right parties. It appears that strong Left parties are a necessary but not sufficient condition for abortion reform. Table 6.7 outlines the average share of political party seats for Centerleft and Left parties and parties with religious roots in the lower chamber for the decade of the 1990s in Latin America. Table 6.7. Average Share of Center-left/Left Party Seats and Religious Party Seats in the Chamber, Latin American Countries, 1990s % Center-left and Left party seats in Chamber

% Religious party seats in Chamber

3.5%

0%

Brazil

32.6%

1%

Chile

27.5%

31.3%

Colombia

3.8%

1.3%

Costa Rica

48.4%

0%

Mexico

12.8%

14.4%

Uruguay

34.7%

0%

Venezuela

58.8%

26.3%

Argentina

Source: Huber et.al. 2006.


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As Table 6.7 indicates, many Latin American countries also have large Left or Center-left parties (these parties are classified together in the data set I draw from), and aside from Chile and Venezuela, representation of parties with religious roots is low. All else equal, we should expect more prioritization of abortion reform in these countries, given its effect on the health of poor women. Yet, aside from Uruguay (discussed later in this chapter) we do not see this. Rather, abortion politics tends to be dominated by the Church and conservative politicians. Left party programs and agendas in fact avoid the issue of abortion, given a different socio-economic and political context in which they operate. Most Latin American countries do not have the kind of labor-backed mass-based parties of the West European style. While in some cases they may have had such parties in the past, Roberts argues that “the dramatic weakening of labor movements and the shift away from mass-based party organizations have caused party systems to converge on elitist organizational models during the neoliberal era” (Roberts 2002: 3). This is also related to the changing class structure in Latin America and the larger informal sector which is harder to organize (Portes and Hoffmann 2003). In addition, military regimes weakened Left party organizations through repressive tactics. Hence, even parties that claim a leftist orientation are not necessarily as ideologically coherent and accountable to the electorate when in office compared to their European counterparts. This is a serious problem for reformist movements.

INCOME INEQUALITY AND ITS SOCIO-POLITICAL EFFECTS To understand the variance in abortion reform in Catholic countries across the two regions, we must include an analysis of level of income inequality and its socio-political effects. The higher levels of inequality in Latin American countries hinder more equitable social policy reform by, first, concentrating wealth and power in the upper classes. For our purposes, whether or not the elites in these circumstances have a particular moral agenda becomes crucial. Second, inequalities affect feminist mobilization and the responsiveness of Left parties. The higher the levels of inequality, the harder it is to mobilize a support base for reformist causes, particularly among the middle classes, and to have strong, responsive Left parties. It is these processes rather than the timing of reform or other factors that have been the most significant barriers to abortion reform in Latin America. Portes and Hoffman (2003) outline the contemporary Latin American class structure. Capitalists, executives, and elite workers (such as high-level professionals) make up the top echelons in the class structure and in income


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distribution. The top three classes together account for only 6.2 percent of the labor force across the eight largest Latin American countries (Portes and Hoffman 2003: 47). Then come the petty bourgeoisie, the non-manual formal proletariat, the manual formal proletariat, and finally the informal proletariat. They estimate that in this group of countries, the informal proletariat accounts for 45.9 percent of the labor force (Portes and Hoffman 2003: 49). In essence, half of the population is unorganized, its interests mostly unrepresented, and largely out of reach of state regulation. It is also this informal sector that neo-populists can then seek to reach through the media (Weyland 1998). Figure 6.8 displays the income share received by the top twenty percent of the population across the two regions. For European countries, the data is from the year closest to abortion reform; for Latin America, it is the most recent available data. Figure 6.8 reveals a stark difference between levels of income inequality across the two regions. The West European average income share for the top quintile is 37.9 percent, while for Latin America it is much higher at 57.4 percent. The difference is significant in substantive terms; the income share of the top quintile in Latin America is over fifty percent higher than the share of the top quintile in the Catholic countries of Western Europe. This type of income distribution signifies that a large gap in living standards and lifestyles exists between the upper and upper middle classes and the rest of society in Latin American countries. Portes and Hoffman show that the income of the top quintile has in fact increased in the 1990s across most of Latin America, most dramatically in Chile and Argentina, with an annual income growth rate among this quintile of 6.4 percent in Argentina and 5.9 percent in Chile (2003: 65). In Uruguay, on the other hand, it may have actually declined (Portes and Hoffman: 63). According to Portes and Hoffman, the increase in the top quintile is due in fact exclusively to gains accruing to those at the very top. It is in the top decile in the class structure and in income distribution—the owners, the executives and elite workers—that the power to influence politicians and the political agenda and to veto undesirable policies most powerfully resides. Figure 6.9 outlines the share of national income received by the top decile of the population in CWE and Latin American countries. The data is available for the 1990s for both regions. Figure 6.9 reveals an even more visible difference between the two regions in the income share of the top decile of the population. The average share of income this group of elites receives in the CWE countries is 25.3 percent. The average share they receive in the Latin American countries, on


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100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Au Be Fr Gr

Ir

It

Ne Po Sw Sp Ar Br Ch Co Cr Me Ur Ve

Au

Austria

It

Italy

Ar

Argentina

Me

Mexico

Be

Belgium

Ne

Netherlands

Br

Brazil

Ur

Uruguay

Fr

France

Po

Portugal

Ch

Chile

Ve

Venezuela

Gr

Germany

Sp

Spain

Co

Colombia

Ir

Ireland

Sw

Switzerland

Cr

Costa Rica

Figure 6.8. Income Share Received by the Top Quintile of the Population. CWE and Latin America. Europe: data from year closest to abortion reform—Latin America, Ireland and Portugal in the 1990s. Sources: Latin America, Ireland and Portugal: United Nations Human Development Report 2004. The rest of Europe: Luxembourg Income Study, except for Spain (Deininger and Squire 2005).

the other hand, is 40.9 percent. In some countries—Chile, Brazil and Colombia—the share comes to nearly half the national income. The average is brought down by Uruguay, where the share is only 33.5 percent, and Costa Rica, where it is 34.8 percent. In addition, as mentioned earlier, over the last two decades the informal sector in Latin America has grown in proportion while the formal manual labor sector has decreased (Portes and Hoffman: 55). The informal sector engulfs the lower classes in Latin America. This sector of society is much more difficult to reach and to organize than the formal manual labor sector, which is what most of the Left parties of Western Europe were


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Figure 6.9 Income Share Received by the Top 10 Percent of the Population. CWE and Latin America, most recent data. Source: United Nations Human Development Report 2004.

originally based on. The informal sector by definition largely operates outside state regulation and in many cases outside state protection as well. Social citizenship simply does not extend to people living in this sector. Comparing Abortion Reform across Regions In the Catholic countries of Western Europe (aside from Ireland where it remains illegal, and Portugal where implementation remains restrictive) abortion reform took place in conditions of relatively equal distribution of resources, strong feminist movements, and responsive political parties.6 Abortion reform was successful even in countries where the timing of parliamentary debates coincided with a much more conservative Catholic Church and a more organized pro-life movement, such as in Belgium, Germany and Switzerland, where abortion laws were liberalized in 1990, 1995


180

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and 2002, respectively. In none of these countries have the two conditions that have prevailed in Chile and to a lesser extent in Argentina—high concentration of resources and penetration of elites by orthodox Catholic networks—been in place. Given this, the Vatican shift and pro-life movements have had at most a limited political impact by postponing legal reform in Belgium and in the German case influencing the final legislation. They have not, however, been able to outweigh reformist forces. In Germany, women must listen to mandatory pro-life counseling but ultimately do maintain the choice of whether to have an abortion themselves (Kamenitsa 2001). In Belgium, feminists had the momentum to keep abortion reform on the political agenda of the Left for fifteen years (1975 to 1990) until it was finally legalized (Celis 2001). In Switzerland, abortion was fully legalized via referendum in 2002. Ireland here is the exception. While levels of inequality in Ireland are comparable to the rest of CWE, public opinion is more conservative in Ireland than in any of the other countries examined here. Two factors may explain, at least partly, why there has been no reform in Ireland. First, there is no public health crisis around abortion in the country, since it is quite affordable to go on a ferry to England to get an abortion, which is what tens of thousands of Irish women do annually (and most are able to do so given higher per capita incomes and lower levels of inequality). This has helped alleviate social pressure for reform. Second, Ireland lacks a strong pro-choice movement and Left party (Mahon 2001: 157–179). Why this is the case requires further investigation beyond the scope of this study. In the following I trace abortion politics in Italy, Portugal and Uruguay. Italy In Italy, the Fascist government of Benito Mussolini was defeated at the end of World War II, instituting a democratic political system. Levels of inequality in the 1970s in Italy were comparable to Spain: the top quintile received 38.6 percent of national income (see Figure 6.8). The feminist movement in Italy gained strength in the early 1970s, and brought attention to the high number of clandestine abortions in Italy and demanded control over their own bodies.7 Mass feminist demonstrations in the mid1970s, including a referendum threat, forced abortion onto the agendas of reluctant Left parties (Barreiro 2000; Beckwith 1987; Pocar and Ronfani 1978:623; Calloni 2001:186–190). The Socialist party was more committed to liberal reform, while the Communist Party was concerned with not alienating the governing Christian Democratic Party (Barreiro 2000:164–177). Given this, the country’s largest feminist organization, the Women’s Union (UDI—Unione delle Donne Italiani), threatened to


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withdraw its support for the Communist Party. This threat, and the Communist Party’s strong electoral showing (45 percent of seats) in the 1976 elections which gave pro-choice parties in Congress a majority,8 changed the position of the Communist Party as well as gave it the political power to push for legalization (Beckwith 1987; Barreiro 2000: 178–229; Calloni 2001:185–186). The Catholic Church exerted pressure on those Christian Democratic legislators who were willing to negotiate with the Left on abortion (Barreiro 2000: 193), but its opposition was not as mobilized and vehement as it came to be later in South America, during the papacy of John Paul II. The Christian Democratic Party, despite its plurality in both houses of Parliament, was numerically unable to block reform. Abortion upon a woman’s request (with a seven-day waiting period) was legalized in 1978, and a referendum sponsored by the Catholic Church and conservatives to repeal it in 1981 was unsuccessful. Given universal healthcare, abortion became available for free in the public sector and women switched en masse over to legal abortions (Cazzola 1996:66). While it is highly probable that some clandestine abortions did continue, legalization had the effect of making them both cheaper and safer, since the practitioner did not have to worry about criminal prosecution (Sanna 1989:36–38). Over time the number of illegal abortions declined rapidly, as did the abortion rate itself (Buratta et.al. 2001). Portugal In Portugal, the top quintile commanded 45.9 percent of national income in the 1980s, somewhat higher than in Spain or Italy. To analyze the exact effect of this would, of course, require further qualitative research. Interestingly, though, the dynamics leading to abortion reform in 1984 were strikingly similar to those in Spain. Feminists began to politicize abortion immediately after the transition, promoting public debates and demanding free and legal abortion (Tavares 2000). One organization presented 3000 signatures of women admitting to abortions, and forced leftwing parliamentarians to take a stand on the issue (Vilar 1994: 219). In 1983, a newly elected Socialist and Liberal coalition government, following the Spanish experience, proposed an abortion bill to include health, fetal deformation and rape as acceptable causes. This law passed and, like in Spain, was a disappointment to feminists. Unlike in Spain, though, it was implemented in the most restrictive way. The Women’s Commission (established in 1979 and without ministerial status) was divided on the issue of abortion reform, and played little role in legal reform and no role in implementation (Tavares 2000: 47, 79). The


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Socialist Health Minister responsible for implementation was against legalization (Vilar 1994: 225). No proactive measures were made to ensure access to or information about legal abortions. In the 1990s, legal abortions appeared to be performed only in some of the main hospitals in Portugal and then had to first be approved by ethical and technical commissions set up for this purpose (Vilar 1994: 224; Magalhaes 1998:27–29). The case of Portugal reveals the important role of the executive, and its links to feminists, in implementation. Very few abortions—under 300—were performed legally in Portugal in 1995 (Magalhaes 1998:56). Hospitalizations from complications as well as frequent prosecutions remain a serious problem, and the issue continues to be politicized.9 Feminists pushed for a national referendum on abortion in 1998, and lost with 49.1 percent in favor of legal abortion and 50.9 percent against with a low 30 percent turn-out. The Catholic Church in Portugal played a successful role in mobilizing the opposition by getting the pro-life vote out while moderates stayed at home. While a referendum with less than 50 percent turn-out is not binding, the government at the time decided to shelve any proposals to liberalize abortion. Feminists have since 1998 lobbied for another referendum. A signature-gathering campaign yielded by March 2004 120,000 signatures in favor of another referendum, easily surpassing the 75,000 signatures that were required. The Catholic Center-right Prime Minister declined to hold a referendum during his term in office, but the Socialist government elected with an absolute majority in February 2005 has publicly promised to push for abortion reform (Programa do XVII Governo Constitucional:12). Uruguay In Uruguay, no abortion reform has taken place since democratization in 1984 and it remains a public health crisis (Sanseviero 2003). However, Uruguay also has the lowest levels of inequality in Latin America, and recently feminist organizations have mounted a successful campaign to politicize the issue and force it onto the political agenda (see Campaña 2004). A committed cadre of feminist politicians in Congress, most but not all from the Left, was able to get it on the legislative agenda despite a Center-right government. Across party lines, these women, supported by pressure from civil society, forced mostly indifferent male representatives to include abortion reform on the political agenda, and lobbied for enough votes to get it passed in the Chamber (Campaña 2004). The relatively weak Catholic Church in the country, despite opposing the bill, has been unable to remove


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the issue from the political agenda. The Archbishop of Montevideo compared legal abortion to the Nazi holocaust, and opponents gathered almost 150 000 signatures against the bill.10 Still, the Chamber voted to approve a reproductive health bill—which included abortion on socio-economic grounds—in October 2002. The Center-right Catholic president threatened to veto it and the Episcopal Conference recommended that Catholics not vote for legislators favorable to decriminalization.11 In April 2004 the bill was voted down by only three votes in the Senate. However, the election of a new Left majority in November 2004 (52.5 percent of seats) provided another opportunity for feminists; the new Leftwing legislative majority promised to push for abortion reform again. In April 2005, after meeting with the Archbishop of Montevideo, leftwing President Tabaré Vázquez, on the other hand, announced he would veto any abortion law. Women’s groups reacted very strongly, claiming he was acting against his mandate and in a non-democratic way.12 Legislators plan to re-introduce the bill and to demand a plebiscite if the veto threat is not removed.13 In both Uruguay and Portugal, then, the restrictive status quo may well change in the near future. Feminists have succeeded in politicizing the issue and forcing it onto the political agenda. It also appears that, given strong and persistent feminist mobilization, Left or Center-left majority governments may be the crucial factor in enabling legal reform in these two countries. If something less than abortion on demand is legalized, it remains to be seen how it will be implemented in the two countries, especially in Uruguay where there is no Women’s Ministry. In the rest of Latin America, on the other hand, liberalization does not appear imminent despite high abortion rates, mortalities and hospitalizations. In Brazil, for instance, the elites as a whole are not morally conservative. In addition, feminists have campaigned for years for an equitable implementation of the current abortion law, most importantly, for access to abortion as a result of rape in public hospitals (Center for Reproductive Rights 2000; Htun 2003: 157–158). They have found limited allies in the very organized Workers’ Party in Brazil (Haas 2001). A ruling by the Minister of Health in 1998 has sought to guarantee access to legal abortion in public hospitals (Htun 2003: 159) although even then access is varied (Center for Reproductive Rights 2000). However, broader political will to more comprehensively address the abortion crisis has not existed. El Salvador, although not included in the macro-comparative analysis, is worth mentioning here as well because it is the only country aside from Chile that has recently further restricted abortion laws. In addition, it has done so while formally democratic. In 1997, after extensive lobbying by the


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Catholic Church and conservative Catholic groups, Congress passed a law that criminalized abortion without exception. Feminists, although vehemently opposed and in support of another bill to liberalize abortion, were weaker and did not have similar access to politicians (Center for Reproductive Rights 2000). In addition, the law increased prison terms to up to twelve years for abortion providers and women obtaining abortions. Legislators also amended El Salvador’s Constitution in January 1999 to protect the right to life from the moment of conception. Within 16 months of the new law, 69 women were being processed for the crime of abortion, the vast majority of them poor (ibid.).

CONCLUSION The clearest difference between the two regions, aside from level of economic development, is level of inequality. Correlation does not, of course, prove causation. In addition, inequality is a variable that is relatively constant and, as such, does not explain the variance in timing of reform in Catholic West European countries. Inequality is therefore best understood as providing a context that conditions feminist mobilization and Left party agendas and allows elites disproportionate control over framing and agenda-setting. Among the late female mobilization states, economic development as well as public opinion toward abortion is quite similar and it is income inequality that is radically different. Through summaries of abortion politics in Italy, Portugal and Uruguay, I have shown the key role that feminists played in both framing and agenda-setting on abortion, and how they forced the issue onto the agendas of Left and Center parties. In Italy, abortion was legalized, and in Portugal and Uruguay liberal change is highly likely in the near future. In Italy, inequalities were and are at par with the West European average, while in Portugal and Uruguay income inequalities are quite similar, and less extreme than in other Latin American countries. In the rest of Latin America, abortion remains a public health crisis and, despite limited feminist mobilization, no national laws have been seriously contested as of yet in a liberal direction. The Church and conservatives have been successful in attracting the lion’s share of attention among the media and politicians. Interestingly, and somewhat ironically, while the right to legal abortion has often been framed as the epitome of liberal feminism and the rallying point for middle class feminists, in fact lack of legal abortion in Latin America (as elsewhere) is primarily the practical concern of lower class women. In this sense, abortion is not


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much different from other problems that plague poor women and men in Latin America. The bulk of the middle classes and elites, whether out of fear, indifference, or self-interest, are reticent to act on behalf of the poor. What makes abortion unique is that reforming laws and allowing for access to safe legal abortions would not involve costly redistribution, as would most measures designed to improve the lives of the poor. In fact, it would save scarce public health resources. Chile exemplifies the coincidence of elite interests and moral orthodoxy, a case where democratization has in fact led to a more conservative dynamic on moral politics. In other Latin American countries, the elites are less cohesive and have less institutionalized representation in politics (often relying on informal channels of influence) and the influence of Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ has not to date been as extensive during democratic years. This may change in the future.


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Conclusion

Intuitively, it makes sense to expect that in the context of democratic politics, conflicts related to moral values and worldviews would be resolved with particular attention to public opinion, especially on non-economic, regulatory issues such as abortion and divorce. I have examined this process in three recently democratized Catholic countries—Chile, Argentina and Spain—and shown that this process can be muted by other forces. These forces are economic inequality and political access, within a global context where the Vatican has become more active; the opposing demands of the Catholic Church and feminists are filtered through these factors. In Spain, lower inequalities fostered feminist mobilization that politicized both the necessity of divorce and abortion reform, and responsive political parties did not allow religious conservatives to veto reform. In Chile and Argentina, the higher inequalities have had a debilitating effect on feminist and reformist movements; it has been much harder for them to mount an effective movement to demand abortion reform in particular. Unlike in Spain, the Left and Center-left in these countries have remained silent on the abortion crisis. The problem is the wall of indifference among the potentially reformist social sectors that, under different social conditions, would form the support base for a feminist movement. This wall of indifference is, I have argued, a product of the deep inequalities that impede cross-class solidarity toward the poor. Yet collective action to promote abortion reform in particular requires solidarity, as access to abortion as a practical problem affects poor women. They cannot afford the safe but very expensive clandestine abortions performed by qualified practitioners, and hence resort to highly unsafe backstreet abortions. The poor on their own, on the other hand, have a low capacity to organize, which is structurally reinforced by the fact that most of the poor 187


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live in the informal sector and are much harder to reach and to organize than they would be were they part of the formal manual labor sector, as they were in postwar Europe. Moreover, the deeper the inequalities, the lower their relative skills are compared to the middle and upper classes, and the harder it is for them to seek to influence democratic politics. On divorce, inequalities have not been as central a factor in hindering reform given the key role that interests play in middle class mobilization. Lack of legal divorce affects middle class interests due to the inability to remarry and re-direct inheritance rights, and hence it has been easier to garner broader support for reform. In fact, the exceptional political dynamics on divorce in Chile ‘prove the rule,’ so to speak. In Chile, the middle classes have not pushed for legal divorce with the same vigor as did the Spanish and Argentine middle classes. Instead, they have resorted to the escape valve of fraudulent annulments, obtainable on the basis of mutual consent and ability to hire a lawyer. Hence, lack of legal divorce in Chile remained mainly (although not exclusively) the problem of the lower classes, until the leftwing executive forced through the legalization of a relatively conservative bill in 2004. Income inequalities also affect elite influence in politics. If elites receive a very high share of national income, they can use their disproportionate economic wealth to influence politics, particularly through access to media and campaign financing of politicians. Given this, they will have significant influence over agenda-setting as well as the ability to veto undesirable policies. If this kind of inequality is combined with significant influence by orthodox Catholic networks and the institutional Church, the elites are likely to use their influence to promote an orthodox moral agenda. Indeed, in Chile these groups, the Church, and economic elites have formed a mutually beneficial alliance in which a legitimating moral discourse is traded for significant religious influence through the extensive economic resources of the political Right. In such a case, democratization can in fact coincide with little or no liberalization or even an increased conservatism on moral politics. In Argentina, economic elites are not particularly morally conservative and do not fund social and political causes. However, President Menem’s promotion of a morally orthodox agenda on abortion in the context of higher inequalities, poverty and unemployment in the 1990s was designed to buy the silence of the Church on these problems. In both Chile and Argentina, this moral agenda has served a political purpose for its promoters in the context of high inequalities: the goal of keeping discussion of these inequalities off the agenda.


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Income and resource distribution interact with political-level and institutional factors, influencing the environment in which actors operate, and their strategic calculations. This framework is embedded in an international context in which conservative global actors have become increasingly organized and active; their ability to penetrate economic and political elites in highly unequal countries has given them significant political leverage over the domestic policy spectrum. Timing matters in that in today’s climate a strong reformist movement is even more necessary for liberal reform than before. Spain had propitious political conditions for reform as well: dominant Center and Left parties, few veto points, and a decidedly moderate Church hierarchy. Institutional veto points in Chile and Argentina, combined with a decidedly conservative Church hierarchy willing to intervene in both countries, exacerbate the difficulties reformists in these countries face. However, even though reform may take longer and require more pressure, institutional and political obstacles can often be overcome with enough political will. Executive pressure, with help from the Supreme Court, forced the Senate to open up debate on divorce in 1987 in Argentina; the executive in Chile finally broke the Senate deadlock in 2003, and divorce was legalized in 2004. Similar political will has not existed on abortion. Does this mean that highly unequal societies are in a vicious cycle in which the very same structural conditions leftists may be seeking to reform in fact impede them from gaining success? If this were the case, it would be hard to explain how any reforms take place in highly unequal democracies, or how previously unequal democracies have become more equal. What I have sought to do is to provide a framework of the kinds of barriers reformist movements face, and of the kinds of advantages the elites maintain, despite formal democratization. In doing so, I have also addressed how interests shift depending on the nature of wealth distribution and class position. Here, the case of Uruguay may be instructive. As discussed in Chapter Six, Uruguay is distinct from Chile and Argentina in that the levels of inequality there are quite a bit lower, the lowest in Latin America, and comparable to the United States. In addition, the Church, Opus Dei and the Legionaries have little influence among the economic elites. Feminists have mobilized around the abortion crisis and have forced mostly indifferent representatives in the Chamber to include abortion reform on the political agenda, and lobbied for enough votes to get it passed. The bill was passed in October 2002 even though Uruguay was going through its worst economic crisis in recent history. After Senate rejection of the bill in 2004, a


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new Left majority in Congress (since November 2004) plans to pursue abortion reform again. A theoretical critique of my framework may be that it is static and that it explains cross-national variance more than timing and domestic change. This is a misinterpretation, however; I argue that in conditions of high economic inequalities, change is simply more difficult, and reformist groups have to work harder to overcome the barriers. An analysis of the political process and change—or lack thereof—has been the purpose of the qualitative analyses in Chapters Three, Four, and Five. Any reformist movement that struggles to elicit cross-class solidarity and influence issue framing in highly unequal societies faces many of the same problems as I have outlined in the cases of Chile and Argentina. As discussed in previous chapters, it would be easy to blame feminists’ failures on the lack of effective strategic choices on their part. Such an analysis would also grant feminists more agency: were they to change their tactics, their chances of success would increase. This may be partly true, but if feminist networks in Spain—and many other countries—had been as ineffective as they have been in Chile and Argentina, very probably others would have risen to replace them (and probably did). The deeper problem is that for each reformist-minded individual willing to write a letter to an editor in Chile there were at least ten individuals willing to do the same in Spain, allowing for some of those ten to be less strategically effective than others. The feminists operate in very different environments. Hence, we need to further analyze mobilization and the role of feminist leadership in distinct socio-economic contexts. How much did socio-economic factors play into the relative success of feminists in Uruguay, when compared to their neighbors? Does Uruguay have a more solidaristic society? On the other hand, we also need to investigate elite strategies in democratic contexts in more detail. From an understanding of the structural barriers that deep inequalities create or maintain we can also develop more insightful individual-level frameworks for understanding and analyzing political behavior. For instance, many scholars in Chile have simply identified the political Right as particularly conservative and/or hypocritical, tracing it to specifically Chilean cultural characteristics such as a ‘double discourse’; however, this analysis indicates that strategic behavior may be underlying the moral fundamentalism on the Right. In other countries where the economic stakes for the wealthy are high (preservation of a highly inegalitarian status quo) and the political Right is a serious player in democratic politics, we may see the development and strategic use of this kind of moral discourse in those contexts as well.


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In other Latin American countries, the elites do not tend to have such well-organized political parties representing their interests, and the influence of Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ has not to date been as extensive during democratic years as it has been in Chile. However, both groups have recently gained increased prominence and influence. The current rightwing president of Colombia, Alvaro Uribe, is a member of Opus Dei, as are many other highly placed Colombian businessmen and political leaders. Pedro Carmona, the leader of the failed coup against President Hugo Chávez in Venezuela in April, 2002, is also reputed to be a member of Opus Dei.1 A further avenue of research could be to analyze whether other conservative political parties are using a similar moral discourse in other Latin American countries. The increased fundamentalism surrounding moral politics is not a phenomenon unique to Catholic countries. In fact, the United States provides a—somewhat distinct—but compelling example. The largely Protestant Christian Right has provided an analysis of social and economic problems in the United States by attributing the problems to individual moral degradation, and the Republican Party has been very receptive to this. My analysis also points to the power economic elites have even in formally democratic societies if they command a great share of the country’s resources. In such cases, they can outbid other social groups in campaign financing and access to politicians. If media ownership is highly concentrated the owners’ interests will have more impact on how issues are framed than will other factors such as public opinion. On both issues, state regulation can serve an important role in mediating the negative effects of unequal income distribution on democratic politics. Hence the role of the state remains vital. Inequality certainly does not on its own explain the political processes on abortion and divorce, or on any other issues. Political access (parties, political institutions and informal channels, and the executive) and the external context are independent variables that influence these processes. However, the external environment is filtered through the domestic context, and political parties and institutions are embedded in the domestic socio-economic context. Most analyses have paid little attention to income inequality as an independent variable in explaining both democratic consolidation as well as policy reform in Latin America. Also, abortion and divorce have tended to be considered by scholars as quintessential ‘value issues,’ where culture and public opinion should have a significant impact on framing and political outcomes. I have sought in this study to bring income inequality into political analysis, and to empirically examine its effects, in combination


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with other factors, on a policy area where we would not intuitively expect it to have much, if any, effect. I have also sought to maintain culture as a constant to the extent possible, through case selection, and examined what other factors have led to variance in political processes and outcomes. I do not, however, deny the importance of culture, particularly when examining countries with different religious backgrounds. It simply should be examined critically, as often we tend to be attracted to cultural explanations before thoroughly examining all possible alternatives. Abortion and divorce are in several ways unique issues. They are noneconomic, regulatory issues, and while they do not require redistributive outlays, legalizing either confronts an organized opposition with an opposed moral discourse. Many other women’s rights issues do not meet these two characteristics. For instance, while domestic violence tends to have the worst impact on poor women (given their limited exit options), feminists who wish to bring it to the attention of politicians and to criminalize it are not confronted with an organized opposition with a moral discourse legitimating domestic violence. What feminists must convince society and politicians of is that it is a social and political problem, and that a state role is needed to solve it. Once the issue has been politicized, it has virtually always been criminalized: laws on domestic violence were passed across Latin America—and Western Europe—in the 1990s (Weldon 2002). However, laws on domestic violence mean little without adequate implementation, which requires resources. Finding such resources seems to be much more difficult in highly unequal societies than it is in more equal societies, where the state role in society already tends to be extensive. Indeed, the track record of Latin American countries is much weaker when it comes to providing adequate services to help victims. This, of course, addresses a larger issue. Most policies require more outlays on the part of the state. For instance, a broader reproductive health policy requires public investment. Also, public policies that support women’s choice to become a mother (such as daycare or cash transfers to low-income mothers) require even more extensive outlays from the state. On such issues, resource distribution is more obviously likely to affect political outcomes, as extensive state policies require significant revenues, most importantly through income taxation. Progressive income taxation, on the other hand, benefits the poor while the wealthy bear the costs and, as such, the wealthy are unlikely under normal circumstances to support it.2 More broadly, the framework I have proposed could be useful to understanding a broader range of social policy issues and conflicts. Many social services have recently been privatized across Latin America. This is


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likely to reduce social support—particularly among the middle classes—for funding remedial and targeted public services for those who cannot afford private services (as the middle classes will not be beneficiaries of these). The longer-term reduction of the role of the state in most Latin American countries, particularly in the area of education, health care and social services, is likely to structurally impede the development of a broader-based notion of social citizenship that is the cornerstone of European welfare states, Catholic and non-Catholic. This will have long-term implications for the viability of democratic consolidation on this continent.


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Appendix

Left-right ideology has some predictive power on attitudes toward abortion across the three countries. Table A.1 outlines these differences. Table A.1 reveals differences across the three countries according to ideological self-placement. In Spain those on the Left were much more likely to approve of abortion under distinct circumstances than were those on the Right. In Chile, these differences are minimal and, in fact, in the case of the proxy of ‘abortion on demand’ (“couple doesn’t want more children”) while those on the Left have the most liberal attitudes, those on the

Table A.1 Percent Approve Abortion by Ideological Self-placement. Spain, Argentina and Chile Mother’s health

Fetus handicapped

Couple doesn’t want child

1 (L)1

2

3 (R)

1 (L)

2

3 (R)

1 (L)

2

3 (R)

Spain 1981

92.9

78.9

57.4

80.5

55.7

29.4

41.7

12.8

6.8

Argentina 1981

92.2

86.4

88.2

78.1

74.4

57.9

53.1

22.4

25.5

Argentina 1990

81

80

78.6

69

62

57.1

58.6

25.9

19.3

Chile 1990

74.5

79

72.9

43.1

41.1

40.8

20.1

11.9

16.7

Source: World Values Survey. 1

The figures 1, 2 and 3 were collapsed from the ideological self-placement scale in the World Values Survey. The scale runs from one to ten, one being the most Left and ten being the most Right. I collapsed values 1,2 and 3 into 1; 4,5 and 6 into 2; and 7,8,9 and 10 into 3.

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Appendix

Right are more liberal than those in the Center. In Argentina, aside from the indicator on mother’s health in 1990, left-right self-placement has a clear impact on attitudes toward abortion: those on the Left are more liberal. Also, as mentioned above, there is a slight over-all decrease in support for abortion under the mother’s health and fetal handicap condition from 1981 to 1990, although support for abortion ‘on demand’ stays the same. Support for abortion in Chile in 1990 did not reside clearly on the Left, as it did in Argentina and Spain. As is discussed in Chapter Three on Spain, attitudes toward abortion liberalized quite dramatically during the early years of democracy in Spain (late 1970s), as feminists mobilized and influenced idea diffusion and public opinion on the Left in particular. In Chile, on the other hand, media concentration, a dominant rightwing agenda and a comparatively weak feminist movement have resulted in the absence of an open debate on moral issues and their socio-economic impact since democratization and during the democratic years. This is reflected in the differences in ideological selfplacement. Interestingly, the increasingly conservative agenda of the Right is not reflected in public opinion on those who identify themselves on the right. In this sense, I argue that public opinion is endogenous.


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Notes

NOTES TO THE PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 1. The bulk of the interviews were conducted in Argentina and Chile. There are two reasons for this: first, key events in Spain took place up to three decades ago, and hence feminist and conservative activists, as well as politicians and church officials were harder to locate (many have in fact passed away); second, easily accessible primary documents and more systematic secondary analyses have allowed me to re-create the political processes in Spain to very satisfactory detail.

NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION 1. Implementation does involve debate over redistributive outlays. 2. Alan Siaroff (1994) identifies four types of welfare states in relation to gender policies in OECD countries: Protestant social democratic, Protestant liberal, advanced Christian democratic welfare states (with Catholic majorities or significant minorities), and late female mobilization welfare states (Catholic and recently democratized). Siaroff shows variance in the outcomes through the clustering of the four different groups along three measures: family welfare orientation of the state, which parent receives benefits/transfer payments from the state, and a concept he denotes “female work desirability,” that is, how desirable it is for women to engage in paid labor. The last category—late female mobilization welfare states—tend to score lowest on all three measures. 3. For an overview of Liberation Theology, see Boff and Boff 1986 and Berryman 1987. 4. A term used by Renovación Nacional party politician and member of Opus Dei Fernanda Otero to describe Liberation Theology in Chile. Interview, 5 Jan. 2001, Santiago. Both John Paul II and former Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, have considered Liberation Theology misguided.

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Notes to Chapter One 5. A legacy of the Pinochet-designed 1980 constitution, this will be eliminated in 2006. 6. Argentine politics after the economic collapse of December 2001 is outside the scope of this analysis.

NOTES TO CHAPTER ONE 1. I discuss the Catholic Church as an external actor. Of course, the Church has a long domestic history of close church-state relations in most Catholic countries, it influences domestic politics, and is normally perceived as part of the domestic political spectrum. Conceptually, however, the relationship of the Vatican to the domestic Church hierarchy is not unlike the relationship between the headquarters and branch plant of a multi-national corporation (over a somewhat longer time horizon). Hence, for conceptual clarity, I discuss the Vatican and the domestic Church and Catholic organizations in the section on conservative external influences. 2. In countries where abortion is illegal rates tend to be estimated from the number of hospitalizations for complications, or extrapolated from the prevalence of contraceptive use and fertility rates. 3. The Supreme Court figure was 300,000 in 1974; other sources pegged the figure at 500,000 (El País, February 4, 1977, p.44). 4. CIS (Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas) survey in January 1978. 5. CIS, June 1980. 6. The wording of the 1990 question is: “Under which conditions would you approve of abortion?.” This does not take into account instances where a respondent may personally disapprove of abortion in a particular case but still support legalization on the grounds that others can decide for themselves. 7. For Argentina, 34.3% of the data was coded as missing, and the category ‘never’ was not included. Given other primary and secondary sources I have read on the low levels of church attendance of Argentines, I have taken the liberty to assume that this was a miscoding and, in fact, the 34.3% should have been coded in the ‘never’ category. See Blofield (1998) for an analysis of the World Values Survey. 8. It is also worth noting that legalization of abortion in the United States, with the highest levels of income inequality in the developed world (see Figures 6.8 and 6.9) did not take place through legislative channels but through the Supreme Court, which was less susceptible to interest group pressure. Also, the majority religion of the United States is not Catholicism. Finally, while abortion is legal in the United States, access is complicated for women with low economic resources or girls who may need parental consent. 9. Interviews with Chilean politicians by author. Santiago, September 2000January 2001. 10. The increasing international activism of the U.S. Christian Right—largely but not exclusively Protestant—in lobbying on U.S. foreign policy issues


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and at United Nations conferences has also become a powerful conservative force on a global level (see Buss and Herman 2003). 11. His successor, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI (2005–), was the intellectual force behind John Paul II’s theologically orthodox positions. He is considered to be even more orthodox than his predecessor. 12. Pope John Paul II named Opus Dei as his one and only Personal Prelature, and beatified the founder, José María Escrivá, in 1992. 13. Opus Dei is intellectually very active in Spain; it has a university and private schools. A great deal of the orthodox Catholic literature is published by Spanish presses and used by conservatives in both Chile and Argentina.

NOTES TO CHAPTER TWO 1. See Barbara Hobson’s (1990) analysis on the link (or lack thereof) between levels of inequality and women’s economic dependency, and Jacobs (1980), who analyzes the effects of inequality on state-level policies in the United States. 2. There is also a genre of cross-national statistical analyses with inequality as a dependent variable (see Chan 1989; Weede et.al.1981, for an overview). The literature tells us little about causal mechanisms, and the difficulties in validity and reliability regarding the cross-national data make the findings tentative. 3. Abortion in the United States specifically has elicited an exceptional amount of attention. 4. Of course, if evasion is rampant and people tend to underreport, the statistics may not be accurate. Moreover, share of income may not take into account, for instance, wealth in properties. Given these factors, these figures probably underreport actual resource concentration. In any case, the measures are the best that are available cross-regionally, and indicate general trends. 5. Hence, it appears from the data that the Socialist government actually had little direct effect on income inequality in Spain; it was in line with other Catholic West European countries already when the Socialist government assumed office in 1983. 6. The generality of this data is compromised given that it only applies to urban areas. However, since 89 percent of the Argentine population lives in urban areas and it is the only data available, I will assume that it is relatively representative. 7. I have called it world views (Blofield 2001). 8. I thank Liesl Haas for making this point. 9. State television in Spain has, however, tended to have a moderate bias in favor of the governing party. The current Socialist government (2004-) intends to institute complete autonomy for state television in Spain. 10. Catholic morality advocates “hate the sin, love the sinner.” Seeking increased penalties for those involved in abortion practices goes beyond the demands of Catholic doctrine.


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Notes to Chapter Three

11. The information is not public (given lack of laws) and the figures are estimates. 12. This does not mean all doctors were against legalization. 13. This may of course be an effect of state policy. 14. This is corroborated by empirical experience. In countries with lower levels of inequality and hence less relative poverty, even with high levels of absolute poverty, the poor are more likely to mobilize. A good example of this is the Indian state of Kerala, where per capita income is lower than in any Latin American country but where the population has high levels of mobilization, political participation, and human development indicators (See Franke and Chasin 1994). Of course, mobilization has to overcome inequalities at some point, if there is to be any change. 15. I would add Uruguay and Costa Rica to the group as well. 16. He was also tacitly supported in doing so by then-Cardinal Silva Henríquez’ explicit decision not to lobby the government against the proposal. This took place four years before the Pope’s encyclical Humanae Vitae, which prohibited all forms of contraception the Church considered artificial. 17. When correlated with class, the lower classes (unsurprisingly) were slightly less likely to blame the individual for being poor across the three countries. 18. Here as well, the lower classes are less likely to mobilize than the middle and upper classes. This is congruent with theories that the lack of time, skills, and resources has made it more difficult for the poor to organize collectively to make demands on the state (Bachrach and Baratz 1970; see Piven and Cloward 1977 for cases of mobilization in the United States). 19. Interestingly, the literature on the Spanish feminist movement tends to stress its weaknesses and lack of influence, partly because its point of reference is other European countries (see for instance Duran and Gallego 1986, Barreiro 2000).

NOTES TO CHAPTER THREE 1. The Supreme Court figure was 300 000 in 1974; other sources pegged the figure at 500 000 (El País, February 4, 1977, p.44). 2. Divorce had been legalized during Republican Spain in the 1930s, only to be re-prohibited by Franco in 1940. 3. Boletín Oficial, May 25, 1979. 4. Boletín Oficial, September 13, 1979. 5. Boletín Oficial, March 13, 1980. 6. El País, May 1980, p.17. 7. El País, September 9, 1980. 8. El País, September 27, 1980. 9. El País, November 28, 1980. 10. An interview by Richard Gunther of an AP politician who sought to recruit Christian Democrats from the UCD to the Right before the 1982 elections (Gunther 1989: 95).


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Notes to Chapter Three 11. 12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45. 46.

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Boletín Oficial, December 30, 1980. Diario de sesiones, June 21, 1979. pp.997–999. See El País, May 5 1979; May 1, 1980, p.20. As is discussed later in the chapter, it was the psychological health clause that allowed the post-1985 Spanish abortion ‘regime’ to resemble a more liberal abortion regime than ones where health is interpreted narrowly. El País, July 7, 1978, p.10. El País, February 4, 1978, pp.44. El Mundo Diario, November 1, 1979. El Noticiero Universal, February 11, 1982. El País, July 7, 1977, p.10. El País, May 17, 1980. Interview with Socialist Minister of Justice (during abortion reform) Fernando Ledesma, Madrid, June 21, 2000; interview with AP Legislator (1982–1986) and President of the National Health Commission of AP (during 1983) and vocal anti-abortion opponent Carlos Ruiz Soto. Madrid, June 23, 2000. Interview with Ruiz Soto. Interview with Ruiz Soto. As mentioned in Chapter Two, state television in Spain has, however, tended to have a moderate bias in favor of the governing party. See El Pais December 17, 1976, p.18; October 11, 1977; February 4, 1978, pp.44. El País, September 12, 1976, p.16. El País, June 13, 1978, p.30. El País, September 28, 1979. El País, November 1979, p.26. El País, January 20, 1977, p.26. El País, April 1, 1979. El País, October 20, 1979, p.7. El País, October 26, 1979, p.1. El País, October 21, p.15. See also El País, October 12, 1979, p.15. El País, October 6, 1979, p.15. El Mundo Diario, November 1, 1979. Interview with Ledesma. El País, October 27, 1979, p.17. El Correo Catalán, May 20, 1981. El País, February 13, 1981, p.9. El País, June 20, 1981, p.26. El País, June 28, 1982, p.13. These questions, while different from the questions in the World Values Survey taken in 1981, do tap into similar dynamics and provide a glimpse of abortion attitudes over time. Interview with Ledesma. Interview with Ledesma.


202 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78.

79.

80.

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Notes to Chapter Three Secretaría General del Episcopado. May 7, 1977; February 1979. Interview with Ruiz Soto. Interview with Ruiz Soto. During the Civil War of the 1930s the Left and the clergy had violently confronted each other. El País, June 24, 1978, p.24. Comision Permanente. 73a. February 8, 1979; Conferencia Episcopal Español 1981: 519. El País, June 2, 1979. El País, November 20, 1979, p.18. El País, June 2, 1979. Monseñor Setién in El País, November 22, 1979. El País, July 5, 1979, p.17. El País, November 25, 1979, p.16. L’Osservatore Romano, October 23, 1980. El País, October 16, 1980, p.27. El País, December 12, 1980, p.15. Interview with Ruiz Soto. El País, June 11, 1980, p.10. El País, October 4, 1974; El País, June 11, 1980, p.10. In fact, the Supreme Court figure they cite as 100,000 was actually 300,000. El País, November 30, 1979, p.17. El País, June 27, 1980, p.18; November 19, 1980, p.19. Interview with Ledesma. ABC, January 27, 1983. Diario de sesiones, June 25, 1983. El País, January 31, 1983. The Spanish reads as follows: “no se iban a producir re sistencias especiales por parte de la Iglesia.” ABC, January 20, 1983. Interviews with Ledesma and Ruiz Soto. Interview with Ruiz Soto. La Vanguardia, February 17, 1983. See La Vanguardia, January 24, 1982; El País, January 28, 1982; El Periodico, February 22 and 24, 1983 for statements by distinct medical associations. Interview with Ruiz Soto. Survey by the author of Transparency International rankings on corruption. Chile, with the lowest levels of corruption in Latin America, is a clear exception. Implementation cannot be similarly studied in the cases of Chile and Argentina given lack of abortion reform. A liberal divorce law passed in Argentina in 1987, before the creation of the National Council on Women in 1990. It will be interesting to see whether and how SERNAM influences implementation of the 2004 divorce law in Chile. For instance, in the United States the problem of abortion on a practical level since 1973 has largely revolved around access. Eighty percent of American


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81. 82. 83. 84. 85.

86. 87. 88.

89. 90.

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counties do not have abortion providers, and over the last years mergers and takeovers of large hospitals by Catholic consortia have eliminated abortion provision even in many urban centers and on many health insurance plans. El Noticiero Universal, November 23, 1982; Avui, February 4, 1983. Ya, August 8, 1987, p.5. Interview with Ruiz Soto. Mujeres, December 1983, p.6. The possible inclusion of the socio-economic clause did remain an issue within the PSOE through the 1980s and 1990s, and it was finally brought to a parliamentary vote in 1998. The legislation was rejected by a difference of one vote (173 votes against and 172 votes in favor) in the Right-controlled Chamber. El País, September 23, 1998. With the Socialist government elected in March 2004, abortion reform may be on the agenda again. ABC, April 26, 1988. El País, May 21, 1983, p.24. The number of abortions in Spain declined from an estimated 300,000–500,000 annual abortions in the 1970s down to just under 64,000 abortions in 2000, although some abortions most likely remain unregistered (Valiente 2001: 243). Most Spaniards today rely on modern contraception (see Klijzing 2000). Interview with Ruiz Soto. Interview with Ledesma.

NOTES TO CHAPTER FOUR 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

As discussed earlier, integralism is specifically Catholic fundamentalism. See Blofield 2001 for a detailed description of these postures in Chile. See Proposiciones 26, Aproximaciones a la Familia (Santiago, July 1995). Ibid. Servicio de Registro Civil e Identificación. La Tercera, October 2, 2000. In 1998, 14 maternal deaths were officially registered as caused by abortion (Ministerio de Salud 1998). Experts agree that abortion deaths are undercounted. 7. The most recent data is from 1995, during which the Ministry of Health recorded 23 024 hospitalizations for abortion, ten percent of which are estimated to be “spontaneous,” i.e. miscarriages (Ministerio de Salud 1995). Experts add about 10 000 more to the annual figure, given systematic undercounts, e.g. women are unlikely to voluntarily admit they have induced an abortion when they know they will be prosecuted for it (see Requena 1990: 26). The same logic applies to abortion deaths. 8. As mentioned earlier, the wording of the 1990 question is: “Under which conditions would you approve of abortion?” This does not take into account instances where a respondent may personally disapprove of abortion in a particular case but still support legalization on the grounds that others can decide for themselves.


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9. The number of evangelical Protestants in Chile has grown in the last twenty years and, depending on the estimate, number between 10 and 20 percent of the population. The Protestant churches, however, have little political power in Chile. 10. The party is secular on moral issues. 11. Source: Qué Pasa, July 1990, no.1012. The survey was conducted by Gemines. Unfortunately, the number of cases is unspecified, and the information is unavailable. However, an interview corroborates this data for at least UDI: an UDI legislator told me of a vote the party held in 1988 among the party core and those against legalization outnumbered those in favor by only one vote. Interview with UDI Deputy Julio Dittborn, 10 Jan. 2001, Valparaíso. 12. Concertación. Programa Electoral (Santiago, 1989). 13. La Nación, 18 Oct. 1990. Obtained from Moreno del Pablo (1992). 14. El Mercurio, 28 Sept. 1990. 15. Interview with Enrique Krauss, Ex-president of the PDC (1997–1999), 1 Dec. 2000, Santiago. 16. El Sur de Concepción, 2 June, 1991. 17. La Epoca, 23 July, 1991. 18. The 1980 constitution mandated a four-year term for the first elected president, and six-year terms thereafter. 19. In the PDC, two-thirds of the deputies voted in favor of divorce in a deeply divisive vote for the party. On the Right, all except four deputies (3 RN, one UDI) voted against divorce. On the Left, all except one voted in favor of divorce. 20. The executive controls the agenda during half of the legislative year. 21. Interview with UDI Deputy Julio Dittborn, 10 Jan. 2001, Valparaíso; see also Moreno del Pablo 1992: 64. 22. RN Senator Hugo Ortíz developed his own divorce project. See El Mercurio, 20 June 1991. 23. Interviews with RN Senator Sergio Diez, President of the Senate Commission of Justice, 29 Nov. 2000, Valparaíso; and RN political advisor Fernanda Otero, 4 Jan. 2001, Santiago. However, the sole RN sponsor of the divorce bill considered the issue a source of intra-party divisions, even if not a primary cause of tension in the party. Interview with RN Deputy Arturo Longton. 30 Nov. 2000, Valparaíso. 24. Interview with PDC Deputy Zarco Luksic, 29 Nov. 2000, Valparaíso. 25. Interview with RN Deputy Longton. 26. Interview with UDI Senator Hernan Larraín, who said the strategy allowed them to develop a more solid counterproposal to the Chamber bill. 14 Jan. 2001, Santiago. 27. Interview with RN Senator Diez, who was the sponsor of the counterproposal. 28. El Mercurio, 19 July, 1993. 29. Interview with Larraín. 30. Statement by the President of the PDC’s Frente de las Mujeres. La Tercera, 27 Sept., 1995.


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31. Interview with lawyer and abortion expert Lidia Casas, 21 Nov. 2000, Santiago. She assembled a team that worked day and night for three days straight, and her analysis is the direct base of the opposing senators’ arguments. 32. Interviews with politicians from the PS, PPD, PDC, and UDI, SeptemberDecember 2000, Santiago. 33. Interviews with Adriana Muñoz, author of the 1991 therapeutic abortion bill and PPD Deputy, 3 Oct. 2000, Valparaíso; PPD Deputy Maria Antonieta Saa, 27 Sept. 2000, Santiago; PS Deputy Carlos Montes, 20 Sept. 2000, Santiago. 34. Legionarie priest O’Reilly cited the decision as an indication of the Right’s ideological victory. Interview with Legionarie priest John O’Reilly, 17 Oct., 2000, Santiago. 35. This was also four years before the publication of the Papal Encyclical Humanae Vitae, which reiterated the Church’s condemnation of any form of contraception it deemed artificial. 36. One study also finds that between 1978 and 1995 over 50 percent of Latin American bishops were replaced by more conservative clergy (Daudelin and Hewitt 1995). 37. The Bishop of Punta Arenas, Tomás González, while he does not disagree with Church doctrine on divorce per se, has publicly maintained the position that “the Church should promote, not impose, its doctrine” (El Mercurio, July 7, 1994). The position elicited severe condemnation by the hierarchy. 38. A term used by several Left politicians I interviewed to describe their relationship with the Church. This is also noted by Haas (2000:185). 39. Interview with a public relations official at the Chilean Episcopate, 15 Oct. 2000, Santiago. 40. An official in the department of religion at the Vicariate for Education called these groups “ultra-rightists.” Interview at the Vicariate, 1 Feb. 2001, Santiago. 41. Interview with Hernán Corral, Director of the Law School at the University of Los Andes, 19 Jan. 2001, Santiago. 42. Interview with O’Reilly. 43. Interview with Marcela Cubillos, Legionarie supporter and UDI Vice-president, 16 Jan. 2001, Santiago. She has been a deputy for UDI since 2001. 44. Chileunido was formed in 1998 by a group of Legionarie supporters. ISFEM branched out from Chileunido and serves more specifically as a political lobby group for the same goals. 45. Interviews with RN political advisor Fernanda Otero, and with UDI VicePresident Cubillos. According to Cubillos, the Legionaries founded “thousands of social organizations” in the 1990s. 46. Interview with the President of ISFEM, Ismini Anastasiou, November 8, 2000, Santiago. 47. Interviews with leaders of conservative social organizations. November and December 2000, Santiago. 48. Interviews revealed tight personal ties and considerable overlap and moving among personnel in the organizations, think-tanks, and the political arena, indicating a tight social infrastructure.


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49. As mentioned earlier, politicians are not required to disclose the amount or source of their financing. The $US 60 million figure was widely reported in newspapers after the first round of the presidential elections in 1999, but there is no way of corroborating the figure. 50. The Right has been dependent on control over the media as well as unparallalled outlays to get its populist message effectively across to urban popular neighborhoods. 51. These arguments are drawn from studies done by analysts at Libertad y Desarrollo: Luis Larraín Arroyo, “¿Una ley de divorcio para Chile?,” Revista Libertad y Desarrollo, no.49 (Dec 1995); and Libertad y Desarrollo, “Conferencia de la Mujer Beijing+5: Implicancias para Nuestro País,” Temas Públicos, no.484 (16 June 2000). 52. In Spanish: “Crisis de la familia afecta posibilidades de superar la pobreza, señaló Allamand.” La Segunda, 30 May, 1996. 53. The following are newspaper quotes. The UDI Secretary-General sent out a “warning to public opinion on the gravest reaches that the project to establish therapeutic abortion in Chile has,” and argued that “[t]oday the medical need to permit therapeutic abortion to save the physical or psychological integrity of the mother does not exist . . . illnesses incompatible with pregnancy, in terms of justifying an abortion, no longer exist.” La Epoca, 7 Oct. 1991. Prominent RN leaders together declared that legalizing therapeutic abortion “would signify simplifying the death of the defenseless and the innocent.” El Mercurio, 5 Oct. 1991. Author’s translation. 54. ‘Adriana Muñoz: reponer el aborto terapéutico es posible,’ Revista Análisis, 29 July 1991, pp.6–7. Análisis went bankrupt in 1994. 55. Interview with Juan Carlos Eichholz, editorial director of La Segunda (a national afternoon newspaper) and one of the founding members of Chileunido, 11 Jan. 2001, Santiago. 56. Feminists said that the Minister apologized afterwards, arguing that a translational mistake had made her unaware of what she was saying. The UDI lobbyist told me that the Minister approached him beforehand and said “you win.” Interview with Jorge Reyes. 10 Nov. 2000, Santiago. 57. Interview with Reyes. 58. Interviews with politicians from the PS, PPD, PDC and UDI, SeptemberDecember 2000, Santiago. 59. Interviews with feminist leaders in the Foro. 2, 16, and 31 Oct., and 3 Nov. 2000, Santiago. 60. Politicians from all three tendencies contended in interviews that Chile is a “pro-life society” and that a strong social consensus against the liberalization of the status quo on abortion exists. 61. Interviews with Mireya Zuleta, Foro, 3 Nov., 2000, Santiago; Ximena Valdes, Centro de Estudios de la Mujer, 3 Jan., 2001, Santiago. 62. I thank Patricia Richards for making this observation. Borland (2005) also contrasts the cautiousness of the Chilean feminists on reproductive rights versus the more confrontational Argentines.


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63. Interview with the leader of the campaign, Lorena Fries, Co-director of La Morada, 7 Nov. 2000, Santiago. 64. Interviews with Saa, Muñoz and Montes. Htun (2003) makes a similar point. 65. Interview with a PS Senator, 13 Nov. 2000, Santiago. 66. A leading PDC Legislator called the feminist deputies in his coalition a “group of ugly, single women desperate to find a husband through the attention public relations initiatives involving women’s rights gives them.” Interview, December 1, 2000, Santiago. 67. PS Senator, 13 Nov. 2000.

NOTES TO CHAPTER FIVE 1. Grossman 1985; interview with Alberto Bovino, Lawyer at CELS (Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales), Buenos Aires, 8 May 2001. 2. Author’s interview with Diana Maffia, Director of Women’s Section of the Defensor del Pueblo, City of Buenos Aires, May 17, 2001. 3. Exponente. n° 715/00 , Supreme Court, Government of the City of Buenos Aires, December 2000. 4. Author’s interview with Adolfo Gass, former UCR Senator (in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s). Buenos Aires, June 4, 2001. 5. Página12 cover story, May 14, 2001. 6. Again, the wording of the 1981 and 1990 questions is: “Under which conditions would you approve of abortion?.” This does not take into account instances where a respondent may personally disapprove of abortion in a particular case but still support legalization on the grounds that others can decide for themselves. 7. Since these surveys are restricted to the greater Buenos Aires area we do not know much about the opinions of rural Argentines. The lack of data is problematic given that the excluded areas are politically over-represented, particularly in the Senate. It is unclear whether we should expect Argentines outside of Buenos Aires to be more conservative or not; in general, rural populations tend to be more conservative. 8. Clarín, December 8, 1983. 9. Given this, both Coppedge (1997) and Huber et.al. (2006) classify both parties as centrist in their data sets. 10. To avoid congressional obstacles to his neo-liberal reforms, Menem governed by executive decree, passing 336 “Decrees of Necessity and Urgency” between 1989 and 1994 (Levitsky 2000: 57). While this caused political opposition among legislators both within and outside his party, the experience of hyperinflation in the immediate past, and lack of a strong oppositional leader, allowed Menem more room for maneuver. Early in his term, he also added four sympathetic judges onto the Supreme Court—increasing the total from five to nine—in order to gain a favorable ruling on the constitutionality of his governing style as well as policies. Two judges resigned in protest, solidifying the pro-Menem majority (Larkins 1998: 27–28). Third,


208

11. 12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

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Notes to Chapter Five Menem institutionalized corruption at the executive level. He bought political support and undermined the opposition (see Manzetti 2003 for an overview of corruption in Menem’s Argentina). Argentine politics since 2001 is outside the scope of this analysis. Author’s interview with César Jaroslavsky, UCR Deputy in the 1980s. Buenos Aires, 7 April 2001. Clarín, January 2, 1986, p.10. Author’s interview with Cecilia Grosman, expert on divorce in Argentina. Grosman was involved in drafting the divorce law. Buenos Aires, May 23, 2001. This is also discussed by Htun 2003: 100. Clarín, August 20, 1986, pp. 1–4. Clarín, August 22, 1986, pp.1, 7–8. Clarín, December 1, 1986, p.9. Clarín, May 22, 1986, pp.1–3. La Prensa, August 20, 1987. Author’s interview with former UCR Deputy Florentina Gómez-Miranda. Buenos Aires, April 13, 2001. Author’s interview with Juan Claudio Sanauha, Opus Dei priest and member of the Academy for Life of the Vatican. Buenos Aires, April 12, 2001. Author’s interview with Carmen González, President of the Women’s Commission of the Buenos Aires Lawyers’ Association. Buenos Aires, June 12, 2001. See for instance La Nación, July 10, 1994. Author’s interview with Rodolfo Barra, ex-Minister of Justice, Buenos Aires, April 24, 2001. Clarín, April 15, 2000. The United Nations Women’s Conference held in Beijing in 1995. Since then, El Salvador has included one in its constitution. Clarín, July 15, 1994. Author’s interview with Virginia Franganillo, ex-President of the National Council for Women, Buenos Aires, May 25, 2001. Ibid. Clarín, August 19, 1994, p.5. Clarín, July 17, 1994, p.7. Clarín, August 28, 1994, p.5. Clarín, April 19, 2001. See also Htun 2003: 164. Clarín, November 23, 1999. Clarín, April 15, 2000. The other countries were Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, and three African countries. Página12, July 23, 1994. Cámara de Diputados de la Nación. Cámara de Diputados de la Nación. Author’s interview with Cecilia Lypsic, former Frepaso Constitutional Representative. Buenos Aires, May 15, 2001. Author’s interview with Martha Rosenberg, psychologist and feminist activist, Buenos Aires, March 30, 2001. Interview with Lypsic.


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43. Interview with Maffia. 44. “Non-punishable” abortion cases are not as rare as it may seem, and given executive inaction, several similar cases in the City of Buenos Aires have clogged up in the courts since 2001 because of the hospitals’ refusals to carry through such procedures without judicial authorization. 45. Interview with Maffia. 46. Author’s interview with Gaby Hirsch, Frepaso political aide, May 14, 2001, Buenos Aires. 47. This term is commonly used in public discourse. For a recent example, see Larry Rohter, “Once Secure, Argentines Now Lack Food and Hope,” New York Times, March 4th, 2003. 48. 1975 and 1981: Deininger and Squire 1996. 1990: Morley 2001. 2000: UN Human Development Index 2004. Urban Areas Only. 49. It should, however, be kept in mind that the classification “low” applies to countries with a gini coefficient of under .48, which is still higher than in any developed country. 50. Interview with Carmen González. 51. For excesses of political funding, see “Cuánto cuesta la política,” Prensa Económica, Year XXVI: no 247 (2001), pp.22–41. 52. Interview with Rosenberg. 53. Author’s interview with lawyer and feminist Leonor Vain, Buenos Aires, April 26, 2001. Vain had worked as a government official in the 1980s, and had helped draft divorce legislation. 54. Interview with Carmen González. 55. For an example of politicians taking social pressures into account, see Clarín, February 27, 1986, p.31. 56. Author’s interview with Roberto Bosca, Law Professor at Opus Dei’s Universidad Austral. Buenos Aires, March 15, 2001. 57. See La Voz, January 8, 1983; Clarín, March 8, 1988; Diario Popular, March 6, 1983, p.9. 58. Crónica, August 3, 1984. 59. Pueblo, September 11, 1985. 60. Interview with Carmen González. 61. Author’s interview with Silvia Chejter, Sociologist at the Universidad Nacional de Buenos Aires. 25 April, 2001. 62. Marta Fontenla, Brujas 16, November 1990, pp.42–43. 63. Interview with Lypsic. 64. Interview with Rosenberg. 65. Author’s interview with Silvina Ramos, Director of the Reproductive Rights Forum and scholar at CEDES. Buenos Aires, April 4, 2001. 66. Página12, May 14, 2001. 67. Author’s interview with Haydee Birgin, Comisión Nacional de la Mujer, May 15, 2001, Buenos Aires. 68. Interview with Lypsic. 69. Interview with Frepaso politician (anonymous), May 14, 2001, Buenos Aires.


210 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75.

76. 77.

78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88.

89.

90.

91. 92. 93. 94. 95.

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Notes to Chapter Five Interviews with Chejter and Lypsic. Interview with Ramos. Ibid. Author’s interview with UCR Senator Alberto Maglietti, May 22, 2001, Buenos Aires. Liberation Theology was most influential in Brazil and Peru. Research involved analysis of weekly newsletters of AICA (Agencia de Información Católica Argentina) from 1983 to 2000. In 1987, right after the divorce law was promulgated, the Church began to focus on abortion as a priority. Author’s interview with Guillermo Suárez, President of the Alliance for Life. Buenos Aires, April 3, 2001. Author’s interview with Nicolas Laferriere, Catholic University Professor and founder of Fundar, a pro-life network, Buenos Aires, May 24, 2001. Author’s interview with Auxiliary Archbishop of La Plata, Hector Agüer. La Plata, June 15, 2001. Ibid. Interview with Bosca. Interview with José María Ghio, Professor of Political Science at Universidad di Tella, Buenos Aires, March 20, 2001. Interview with Laferriere. Interview with Bosca. Author’s interview with Gerardo Ancarola, Buenos Aires, April 6, 2001. Interview with Gaby Hirsh. Clarín, June 23, 1986, p.5. Interview with Bosca. “Florentina, Florentina, es una asesina” constitutes a rhyme in Spanish. Interview with ex- UCR Deputy Florentina Gomez Miranda, Buenos Aires, June 24, 1998. The other two sources of organized opposition were unions, which were also largely neutralized through selective benefits, and Left politicians who, as discussed, coalesced into a viable opposition by 1995 but did not gain significant political representation. In the mid-1990s concern in AICA documents began to shift more toward the social and economic effects of Menem’s policies, although the hierarchy remained reluctant to criticize the pro-life President. La Nación, 1995. nd. Interview with Bosca. Interview with Sanauha. Interview with Sanauha. Author’s interview with María Elba de Muñiz, President of Pro-Familia, Buenos Aires, March 22, 2001.


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NOTES TO CHAPTER SIX 1. In some countries there have been several instances of legal reform as laws were gradually liberalized. As of yet, no instance of replacing liberal laws with more conservative laws on a national level has occurred. 2. This is in striking contrast to post-Soviet and Eastern European countries where women have used legal abortion as a method of birth control given the unavailability of contraceptives. The abortion rate in these countries has tended to be very high. 3. While the year 1980 does not exactly correlate with the timing of abortion reform in Western European countries, levels of urbanization do not dramatically change from year to year. 4. In addition, as mentioned earlier, one drawback of the World Values Survey data is that the questions do not distinguish between personal positions on abortion and what the respondent believes should be legally permitted. Hence, actual support for liberalization and legalization may in fact be higher than these percentages indicate. 5. See Figure 3.1 on the evolution of abortion attitudes after legalization in Spain. A social consensus can often emerge after legalization. 6. Interestingly, a comment by a Finnish politician during the parliamentary debates to liberalize abortion laws in that country in 1970 reveals the different way the initial debates in advanced Protestant countries were perceived and handled: “In Finland we view abortion as simply a termination of an unwanted pregnancy, while in Catholic countries the position of the Church has made feminists pick it up as an issue of women’s rights.” Helsingin Sanomat, March 20, 1970. Translation by author. 7. These were estimated at between 250,000 and 700,000 annually (Sanna 1989:36). 8. The Christian Democrats continued to form a minority coalition government but had to, for the first time in the postwar era, seek the support of the Communists in what is called the period of the historic compromise in Italy. While the Left did not have a majority, centrist secular parties tipped the balance of power in favor of the pro-choice position (Barreiro 2000: 199). 9. See for instance The Guardian, “Nurse who ran abortion clinic from home jailed,” January 19, 2002. 10. Hugo Carro, “Aborto podría ser legal,” BBC Mundo, December 13, 2002. 11. “La Iglesia Católica insta a apoyar a candidatos contrarios al aborto,” La República, April 7, 2004. 12. Mujereshoy, “De presidente a papa: No al aborto,” April 29, 2005. 13. Andrés Capelán, “Sigue polémica sobre aborto,” Indymedia Uruguay, April 19, 2005.


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NOTES TO THE CONCLUSION 1. Personal communication with Gerardo Reyes, journalist for Miami Herald. November 2002. 2. They also need to worry about it less nowadays given their ability to threaten capital flight when faced with potentially redistributive measures (Boix 2003).


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INTERVIEWS Spain Ledesma, Fernando. Socialist Minister of Justice (during abortion reform). 21 June 2000. Madrid. Ruiz Soto, Carlos. AP Legislator (1982–1986) and President of the National Health Commission of AP (during 1983). 23 June 2000. Madrid.

Chile Anastasiou, Ismini. President of ISFEM. 8 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Bitar, Sergio. PPD Senator. 4 January 2001. Santiago. Boeninger, Edgardo. Institutional Senator. 3 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Casas, Lidia. Lawyer and abortion expert. 21 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Corral, Hernán. Director of the Law School at the University of Los Andes. 19 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Correa, Enrique. Consultant. 21 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Cubillos, Marcela. UDI Vice-President and Legionarie supporter. 16 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Diez, Sergio. RN Senator and President of the Senate Commission of Justice. 29 Nov. 2000. Valparaíso. Dittborn, Julio. UDI Deputy. Valparaíso, 10 Jan. 2001. Eichholz, Juan Carlos. Editorial Director of La Segunda and one of the founding members of Chileunido. 11 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Elgüeta, Sergio. PDC Deputy. 3 October 2000. Valparaíso. Escudero, Pilar. Vicaría General de Pastoral del Arzobispado. 17 October 2001. Fries, Lorena. Co-Director of La Morada. 7 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Hurtado, Josefina. Anthropologist. 31 October 2000. Santiago. Krauss, Enrique. Ex-President of the PDC (1997–1999). 1 Dec. 2000. Santiago. Larraín, Catalina. Instituto Pastoral Familiar. 20 October 2000. Santiago.


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Larraín, Hernan. UDI Senator.14 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Longton, Arturo. RN Deputy. 30 Nov. 2000. Valparaíso. Luksic, Zarco. PDC Deputy. 29 Nov. 2000, Valparaíso. Montes, Carlos. PS Deputy 20 Sept. 2000. Santiago. Muñoz, Adriana. PPD Deputy. 3 Oct. 2000. Valparaíso. O’Reilly, John. Legionarie priest. 17 Oct. 2000. Santiago. Official in the Public Relations Department at the Chilean Episcopate. 15 Oct. 2000. Santiago. Official in the Department of Religion at the Vicariate for Education. 1 Feb. 2001. Santiago. Olea, Patricia. Foro Abierto de Derechos Sexuales y Reproductivos. 10 October 2001. Santiago. Ortíz, Ismay. Official at Sernam. 4 December 2000. Otero, Fernanda. RN political advisor and Opus Dei member. 5 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Pollarolo, Fanny. PS Deputy. 3 October 2000. Valparaíso. Reyes, Jorge. UDI Political Advisor. 10 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Saa, Maria Antonieta. PPD Deputy. 27 Sept. 2000. Santiago. Sepúlveda, Juan. Pentecostal Mission Church. 4 October 2000. Santiago. Valdes, Ximena. Centro de Estudios de la Mujer. 3 Jan. 2001. Santiago. Villagran, Paulina. Director of Studies at Chileunido. 9 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Viera-Gallo, José Antonio. PS Senator. 13 Nov. 2000. Santiago. Walker, Ignacio. PDC Deputy. 11 September 2000. Santiago. Zuleta, Mireya. Foro Abierto de Derechos Sexuales y Reproductivos. 3 Nov. 2000. Santiago.

Argentina Agüer. Hector.Auxiliary Archbishop of La Plata. 15 June 2001. La Plata. Ancarola, Gerardo. 6 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Barra, Rodolfo. Ex-Minister of Justice. 24 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Beliz, Gustavo. Professor at Universidad Austral and former president of the Nueva Dirigencia party. 11 May 2001. Birgin, Haydee. Comisión Nacional de la Mujer. 15 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Bosca, Roberto. Law Professor at the Universidad Austral. 15 March 2001. Buenos Aires. Bovino, Alberto. Lawyer at CELS (Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales). 8 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Cafiero, Mario. PJ Deputy. 7 June 2001. Buenos Aires. Chejter, Silvia. Sociologist at the Universidad Nacional de Buenos Aires. 25 April 2001. de Lazzari, Angela. President of Liga Amas de Casa. 26 March 2001. Buenos Aires. de Muñiz, María Elba. President of Pro-Familia. 22 March 2001. Buenos Aires. di Leo Bancora, Marta. UCR Deputy. 23 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Franganillo, Virginia. Ex-President of the National Commission for Women. 25 May 2001. Buenos Aires.


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Frepaso Politician (anonymous). Buenos Aires. 14 May 2001. Gass, Adolfo. Former UCR Senator (in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s). 10 June 2001. Buenos Aires. Ghio, José María. Professor of Political Science at Universidad di Tella. 20 March 2001. Buenos Aires. Gómez-Miranda, Florentina. Former UCR Deputy. 13 April 2001. Buenos Aires. González, Carmen. President of the Women’s Commission of the Buenos Aires Lawyers’ Association. 12 June 2001. Buenos Aires. Grosman, Cecilia. Lawyer and expert on divorce in Argentina. 23 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Hirsh, Gaby. Aide to Frepaso Deputy. 14 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Jaroslavsky, César. UCR Deputy and President of the UCR group in Congress in the 1980s. 7 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Laferriere, Nicolas. Catholic University Professor and founder of Fundar, a pro-life Network. 24May 2001. Buenos Aires. Lypsic, Cecilia. Official at CONADI (Comisión Nacional por el Derecho a la Identidad) and former Frepaso constitutional representative. 15 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Maffia, Diana. Director of Women’s Section of the Defensor del Pueblo, City of Buenos Aires. 17 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Maglietti, Alberto. UCR Senator. 22 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Martínez Almudevar, Enrique. PJ Senator. 8 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Pastori, Analia. Professor of Law at the Universidad Católica de Argentina. 8 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Pierini, Alicia. PJ Deputy and former sub-secretary for Human Rights (1998–2000). 27 April 2001. Ramos, Silvina. Director of the Reproductive Rights Forum and scholar at CEDES. 4 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Rosenberg, Martha. Psychologist and feminist activist. 30 March 2001. Buenos Aires. Sanauha, Juan Claudio. Opus Dei priest and member of the Academy for Life of the Vatican. 12 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Suárez, Guillermo. President of the Alliance for Life. 3 April 2001. Buenos Aires. Sverdlik, Rita. Co-ordinator of the Alliance for Life. 4 May 2001. Buenos Aires. Vain, Leonor. Lawyer and feminist. 26 April 2001. Buenos Aires.

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Bibliography El País El Noticiero Universal El Periódico L’Osservatore Romano (Vatican) La Vanguardia Mujeres Ya

Chile El Mercurio El Sur de Concepción La Epoca La Nación La Segunda La Tercera Qué Pasa Revista Análisis Revista Libertad y Desarrollo Temas Públicos

Argentina Agencia de Información Católica Argentina, AICA Brujas 16 Clarín Crónica Diario Popular La Nación La Voz New York Times (United States) Página12 Prensa Económica Pueblo

Cross-Regional Chapter (Six) BBC Mundo (United Kingdom) Helsingin Sanomat (Finland) Indymedia Uruguay (Uruguay) La República (Uruguay) Mujeres Hoy (ISIS/Latin America) The Guardian (United Kingdom)

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Index

A Abal Medina, Juan Manuel, 129 ABC, 73 Abortion, complications, 2–3, 4, 19; in Spain, 65, 73; in Chile, 96, 98, 203n7; in Argentina, 124–126, 142; comparatively, 160 Abortion, definition, 2 Abortion, framing, 9–10, 43–46 Abortion, laws, 4, 11; in Chile, 96; comparatively, 160–162 Abortion, literature, 35–36 Abortion, political process, 7, 13–16; in Spain, 69–72; in Chile, 103–106; in Argentina, 132–137; comparatively, 179–185; in Ireland, 180; in Italy, 180–181; in Uruguay, 182–183; in Portugal, 181–182; in Brazil, 183; in El Salvador, 183–184; in the United States, 198n8 Abortion, prosecutions, in Spain, 69–70, 77–78, 86; in Chile 99, 117; in Argentina, 124–126; in Portugal 182; in El Salvador 184 Abortion, public opinion on, 3–5, 11, 16, 19–20, 39, 195–196; in Spain, 65, 73, 78–79, 92–93; in Chile, 98–99, 105, 117–118; in Argentina, 126, 136, 141; in Portugal, 182; comparatively, 169–174 Abortion, rates, 4, 18–19, 198n2; in Spain, 65, 91–92, 203n88; in Chile, 98; in Argentina, 125; in Italy, 181; comparatively, 160

Abortion, reform outcomes, 2–5, 17–18, 202n79; in Spain, 88–94; in Italy, 181; in Portugal, 181–182; in the United States, 202–203n80 Abortion, signature collecting, 56; in Spain, 77–78; in Chile, 113, 118; in Argentina, 143–144; in Portugal 181–182 Abortion, social context, 18–19; in Spain, 65; in Chile, 96–98; in Argentina, 124–126; in Italy 180–181; in Portugal, 181–182; in Uruguay, 182; comparatively, 160 Abortion, timing of reform, 7, 12, 16, 26–28, 161–163 Abortion “tourism,” 19, 92 Abortion and conservative mobilization, in Spain, 86–89; in Chile, 113–114, 206n53; in Argentina 152–154; comparatively, 179–185 Abortion and feminist mobilization, in Spain, 73–79; in Chile, 117–119; in Argentina, 141–147; comparatively, 174, 179–185 Abortion and maternal mortality, 4, 19; in Chile, 98; in Argentina, 124–125 Agencia de Información Católica Argentina (AICA), 149, 210n75, 90 Alan Guttmacher Institute, 18, 98, 160 Alberdi, Cristina, 77 Alderson, Arthur, 34

237


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238 Alfonsín, Raúl, 40, 58, 128, 130–134, 137 Alianza, Argentina, 129 Alianza Popular (AP), 64–66, 68, 70–72, 79, 81–82, 85, 87–88, 93 Alianza por Chile; see Renovación Nacional, Unión Demócrata Independiente Alianza por la Vida, 149 Allende, Salvador, 42 Alvarez, Carlos, 129, 136 Alvarez, Sonia, 56, 115 Andalucía, 78 Annulments, 19, 51; in Spain, 65, 76; in Chile, 96–97, 103, 117; in Argentina, 124, 132; see also divorce Argentina, comparatively, 1–61, 158–160, 163–173, 175, 177–179; summary of 121–123, 154–155; process-tracing in, 121–155 Aristotle, 8, 33 “Arrepentimiento eficaz”/effective repentance, 104 Austria, 159, 161–169, 174, 177–179 Austral University, 150, 152 Aylwin, Patricio, 102

B Bachrach, Peter, 8, 50 Baldez, Lisa, 115, 116 Baratz, Morton, 8, 50 Barra, Rodolfo, 133–135, 150 Barreiro, Belén, 3, 35–36, 70–71, 74, 87, 89, 91–92, 169, 170, 180–181 Beckwith, Karen, 180–181 Beijing Conference on Women, 24, 114, 134 Belgium, 159, 161–172, 174, 177–180 Belize, 160, 161 Bellucci, Monica, 125–126 Berger, Suzanne, 37 Berlusconi, Silvio, 157 Bettio, Francesca, 158 Bilbao trials, 69–70, 77–78, 86 Birgin, Haydee, 145 Blanchard, Dallas, 27, 29 Blofield, Merike, 27, 36–38, 101, 106, 109, 115 Blough, Roger, 81 Boccuzzo, Giovanna, 181 Boetsch, Laurent, 66, 76, 81 Boix, Carles 8, 34, 35 Bolivia, 160

Index Borchorst, Annette, 2 Bordón, José Octavio, 129, 136 Borland, Elizabeth, 136–137, 148, 149 Bosca, Roberto, 141, 150, 153 Brazil, 37, 159–160, 163–169, 171–173, 175, 177–179, 183 Britain 92, 127 Brito, Eugenia, 107 Brodie, Janine, 35 Buenos Aires, 137, 141, 142, 150 Buratta, Victoria, 181 Bush, George W., 112 Buss, Doris, 27 Bustelo, Carlota, 89

C Calabresi, Ubaldo, 133 Calloni, Marina, 180–181 Campaign finance, 6, 10, 13, 46–48, 57; in Spain, 72–73; in Chile, 95, 107; in Argentina, 140 Canada, 5, 14, 29 Canal 13, 106 Capozza, Korey, 160 Carey, John, 59 Carmona, Pedro, 191 Carrillo, Santiago, 77 Cartagena, 134 Casas, Lidia, 98, 117 Caselli, Esteban, 133 Catholic Church, 1, 2, 9, 12, 17–18, 26–31, 36–40, 43–51, 61, 161, 179; in Spain, 64, 68,76, 79–88, 93–94; in Chile, 95–96; 101–103, 107–114, 119–120; in Argentina, 123–125, 129–137, 147–154; in Italy, 181; in Portugal, 182; in Uruguay, 182–183; in El Salvador, 183–184; see also Pope John Paul II, Vatican, Opus Dei, Legionaries of Christ, Liberation Theology, Episcopal Conference Catholic Church, framing, 43–46 Catholic Church, international, 17–18, 26–31, 198n1; see also Pope John Paul II, Vatican Catholic Church, organization, 3, 40, 198n1 Catholic Church and equality/inequality, 40; in Spain, 80–83; in Chile, 107–114; in Argentina, 148–155


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Index Catholic Church and the Right, 45 Catholic percentage of population, 166–167 Catholic University, Chile, 106, 108; Argentina, 150 Católicas por el Derecho a Decidir, 142 Cavero, Iñigo, 68, 70, 78 Cazzola, Alberto, 181 Celis, Karen, 161, 180 Center for Reproductive Law and Policy/ Center for Reproductive Rights, 125, 183–184 Centerleft coalition; for Chile, see Concertación; for Spain, see Unión de Centro Democrático Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas (CIS), 78–79 CEPAL, 34, 42, 139 Chalmers, Douglas, 45 Chamber; see Congress Chávez, Hugo, 191 Checa, Susana, 125 Chile, comparison, 1–61, 158–160, 162–173, 175–179, 185; summary of, 14–15, 95–96, 119–120; process-tracing in, 95–120 Chileunido, 111, 114, 117 Christian Democracy, 36–37; comparatively, 174–176; in Spain, 28, 67, 81–82, see also Unión de Centro Democrático; in Chile, see Partido Demócrata Cristiano; in Argentina, 128 see also Partido Justicialista; in Italy, 180–181 Christian Right, United States, 198–199n10 Church attendance, 5, 12 16, 21–22; in Chile, 109, 167–169 Cifra, 173 Clarín, 139 Claro, Ricardo, 106, 112; see also Grupo Claro Class divisions, 6, 25, 29, 49–58, 176–179; in Chile, 96, 110–112, 114–120; in Argentina, 138–139, 141, 146–147; see also upper classes, middle classes, inequality, solidarity Clinton, Bill, 133 Coalition of Women for Democracy, 115 Collective action, 49–58; see also solidarity, abortion, divorce

239 Colombia, 159, 162–169, 175, 177–179 Comisión por el Derecho al Aborto, 142 Conaghan, Catherine. 53 Concertación, 100–106, 112, 115 Congress, 59; in Spain, 65–72; in Chile, 100, 102–106; in Argentina, 127–138, 145, 151, comparatively, 174–176; see also political access, political institutions Consejo Nacional de la Mujer/National Advisory Council on Women, 133 Conservatives; see Catholic Church, abortion, divorce Contraceptives, 69, 73, 107, 113, 125–126, 128, 132, 135, 137, 145, 147, 198n2, 200n16, 203n88 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women/CEDAW, 132, 145 Cook, Elizabeth Adell, 29 Coppedge, Michael, 15 Costa Rica, 159–160, 162–168, 175, 177–179, 200n15 Council of Ministers (Spain), 67, 70, 76 Corruption, 48, 54, 88–89, 129, 140, 151, 153, 205–106n10; see also extortion Crisp, Brian, 162 Cristo Hoy, 139 Cuba, 5, 24, 160–161 Cuenca Toribio, José Manuel, 85

D D’Antonio, William, 21 Day for the Child-to-be-Born, 135 de la Rúa, Fernando, 129, 135 Deininger, Klaus, 40–42, 178 ‘delegative democracy,’ 128 Delpiano, Adriana, 114, 206n56 Democratization, 1, 3–5; and inequality, 40–43; and timing of reform, 7, 12, 16, 27–28, 161–163 Demonstrations; see collective action Desuc-Copesa, 97, 99 Díaz Merchán, Gabino, 80, 87 Díez, Sergio, 103 Dinardi, Graciela, 134 Divorce, conservative mobilization, in Spain, 83–86; in Chile, 110–113; in Argentina, 151–152


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240 Divorce, definition, 6–7; see also annulments Divorce, feminist mobilization, in Spain, 73–76; in Chile, 117–119; in Argentina, 141 Divorce, framing, 43–46 Divorce laws, 7, 11, 159–160 Divorce, literature, 35–36 Divorce, political process, 7, 13–16; in Spain, 66–68, 72, 83–86; in Chile, 101–103, 105–106; in Argentina, 130–132 Divorce, public opinion, 19; in Spain, 65, 73–76, 86; in Chile, 97–98, 102, 117; in Argentina, 124, 141 Divorce, social context, 18–19; in Spain, 65–73; in Chile, 96–97; in Argentina, 123–124 Doctors, doctors’ associations 49–50, 88–89, 137, 142 Dogan, Mattei, 36 “Double discourse,” 104 Dugas, John, 162 Dualism; see class divisions, solidarity Durán, M.A., 73, 74, 79

E Eastern European countries, 211n2 ECLAC; see CEPAL Economic development, 4–5, 12, 16, 22, 163–165 Edwards, Agustín, 106, 112 El Mercurio, 106 El País, 73, 75, 85–86 El Salvador, 160, 183–184 Elites; see upper classes England, 161, 180; see also Great Britain Enrique y Tarancón, Vicente, 64, 80–84, 86, 93 Episcopal Conference, in Spain, 76, 80–81, 84–87; in Chile, 113; in Argentina, 149, 153; in Uruguay, 183 Escobar, Jaime, 110 Escrivá, José María, 199n12 Esping-Andersen, Gøsta, 14 Euro-Communists, 25 European political integration, 4 European Union, 24 Evangelical Protestants, Chile, 99, 204n9 Executive; see political institutions, political access

Index Extortion, 125; see also corruption

F Falange, 80 Falklands/Malvinas War, 114, 127 Family planning; see contraceptives Family Secretariat, 149 Fazio, Hugo, 106 Federation of Feminist Organizations/FOE, 75 Feminism, 1 Feminist comparative policy literature, 12, 35–36; see also gender politics literature Feminist framing, 43–45 Feminist mobilization, 6, 10, 48–58, 60–61; in Spain, 73–79; in Chile, 114–120; in Argentina, 136–137, 140–147, 155 Feminists, international, 17–18, 23–26, 30–31 Feminists and the Instituto de la Mujer, 88–93 Feminists and Left parties, 57 Fernandez Meijíde, Graciela, 136 Fernandez Ordoñez, Francisco, 68, 70 Ferree, Myra Marx, 35 Ferrera, Mauricio, 158 Ferreira, Francisco, 106 Finis Térrae, 111 Finland, 211n6 Flacso-Chile, 19, 97, 98–99, 173 Fleet, Michael, 107, 109 Foro Abierto de Salud y Derechos Reproductivos, 117–118 Foro de Derechos Reproductivos, 142 Fox, Vicente, 162 Fraga, Manuel, 88 France, 23, 25, 74, 159, 161–171, 174, 177–179 Franco, Francisco, 13, 25, 29, 47, 63, 65–66, 72, 74, 80, 83 Franceschet, Susan, 116 Franganillo, Virginia, 133–134 Frei, Eduardo, 102, 107 Frente Grande, 128–129, 136 Frente Para el País Solidario (FREPASO), 58, 128–129, 136–138, 144, 146–147 Fresno, Francisco, 108 Friedman, Elisabeth, 8, 39


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Index Frohmann, Alicia, 116 Fuentes, Claudio, 47, 107, 141

G Gacitúa, Andrés, 97 Gallego, M.T., 73, 74, 79 Gallup, 97 Galperín, Hernán, 139 Gaudium et spes, 81 Gavigan, Shelley, 35 GDP per capita; see economic development Geoffroy, Esteban, 47, 106–107 Germany, 37, 81–82, 107, 159, 161–172, 174–175, 177–180 Gender politics literature, 8, 37–40; see also feminist comparative policy literature Ghio, José Maria, 28, 148, 149 Gibson, Edward, 9, 16 Giddens, Anthony, 97 Gill, Anthony, 149 Gini index, 40–41, 52, 138, 209n48; see also inequality Githens, Marianne, 35 Glendon, Mary Anne, 35, 158 Globalization, 17 Gogna, Mónica, 125, 134, 144 Gómez Miranda, Florentina, 132–133, 143, 152 González, Felipe, 82 González Cabañas, Tomás, 130 Graciela Rohmers & Asociados, 126 Grosman, Cecilia, 123 Grupo Clarín, 139 Grupo Claro, 47 Grupo Edwards, 47 Grupo Iniciativa, 116–117 Guatemala, 42, 106 Gunther, Richard, 47, 73, 80, 81, 82, 85, 87 Gutierrez, María Alicia, 144

H Haas, Liesl, 36, 37, 100, 101, 106, 109, 116, 183 Hartlyn, Jonathan, 162 Heritage Foundation, 111 Herman, Didi, 27 Heston, Alan, 22, 164 Hoffman, Kelly, 25, 176–178 Hogan, Michael, 88 Hooper, John, 73

241 Htun, Mala, 8, 19, 27, 33, 35, 36, 37–40, 43, 44, 116, 123, 124, 141, 149, 160, 161, 169, 183 Huber, Evelyne, 8, 14, 15, 22, 33, 52, 59, 165, 175 Humanae Vitae, 200n16, 205n35 ‘hyper-presidentialism,’ 128

I Ibarra, Aníbal, 136–137 Immergut, Ellen, 59 Independent Democratic Union; see Unión Demócrata Independiente Inequality, argument, 9–10, 12–13, 43–61 Inequality, levels, 16, 40–43, 176–179; in Spain, 72; in Chile, 106–107; in Argentina, 138–139 Inequality, literature, 8, 33–35 Inequality, measures, 40 Income distribution; see inequality Instituto de la Mujer, 14, 64, 72, 88–94 Instituto Libertad y Desarrollo (ILD), 111, 113 International Day for the Decriminalization of Abortion, 145 Inter-parliamentary Union, 23 Intra-uterine Device (IUD), 135 Ireland, 24, 26, 159–172, 177–180 Irigoyen, Hipólito, 123 Isfem, 205n44 Italy, 23, 35, 37, 49, 74, 81–82, 107, 109, 119, 157–159, 161–181, 184

J Jackman, Robert, 33 Jenson, Jane, 35, 49 Johnson, Diane, 137

K Kalyvas, Stathis, 36 Kamenitsa, Lynn, 161, 162, 180 Karl, Terry, 35, 51 Keohane, Robert, 8 Kerala, India, 200n14 King, Gary, 8 Kingdon, John, 43, 43 Kitschelt, Herbert, 14

L La Nación, 139, 151 La Prensa, 139


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242 La Tercera, 117–118 La Vanguardia, 73 Laboa, Juan Maria, 80, 81 Labor force, women’s participation; see women education Lagos, Ricardo, 60, 102, 105, 112 Larkins, Christopher, 207n10 Larraín, Hernán, 105 Lavín, Joaquín, 103, 112 Law of State Reform, 139 Lawyers’ associations, 75, 116 Ledesma, Fernando, 79, 93 Left; see Political Left Legionaries of Christ, 9, 29–30, 61; in Chile, 95, 110–114, 119–120; in Argentina, 147 Lehmann, Carla, 109 Lensk, Gregory, 21 Levine, Daniel, 162 Levitsky, Steven, 128, 207n10 Liberation Theology, 9, 27–28–31, 45, 197ns3,4; in Chile, 107, 110; in Argentina, 147 Lindblom, Charles, 46 Linz, Juan, 5, 28, 80, 82 Lipset, Seymour Martin, 59 Litchfield, Julie, 106 Lovenduski, Joni, 10, 35, 43 Luker, Kristin, 27, 49 Luxembourg Income Study (LIS), 178

M Madrid, 75, 86 Maffia, Diana, 137 Magalhaes, José, 182 Maglietti, Alberto, 147 Mahon, Evelyn, 161, 180 Mainwaring, Scott, 5 Manzetti, Luigi, 140, 207–208n10 Marriage; see divorce Martino, Renato, 133 Marx, Karl, 8, 33 Mass; see church attendance Maternal mortality; see abortion Matsaganis, Manos, 158 Matsell, Catherine, 65, 77 Mazur, Amy, 27, 35, 43 McDonough, Peter, 80, 82 Media ownership, 5–6, 10, 13, 44–48, 57; in Spain, 72–73, 83; in Chile, 95, 106, 114; in Argentina, 139

Index Menem, Carlos, 4, 7, 30, 42, 54, 58, 60, 128–129, 132–140, 144–145, 140, 152–154, 207–208n10 Mexico, 29, 30, 134, 159, 162–173, 175, 177–179 Middle classes, interests, 7, 10, 49–58; solidarity, 6, 10, 49–58, 176–179; in Spain, 68, 76–77, 93; in Chile, 114–120; in Argentina, 121–124, 138–142, 146–147, 149, 154 Midlarsky, Manus, 34 Mignone, Emilio, 148, 149 Ministry of Health, in Spain, 90–91; in Chile, 98; in Argentina, 137 Minors’ Court, Chile, 96 Modernization theory, 21 Morgenstern, Scott, 59 Morley, Samuel, 41, 139 Morning-after pill, 105, 113, 117 Movimiento Autoconvocada para Decidir en Libertad (MADEL), 144–145 Muller, Edward, 34 Mussolini, Benito, 181

N Nacif, Benito, 59 National Academy of Medicine, Argentina, 150 National Renovation; see Renovación Nacional Netherlands, 37, 159, 161–170, 174–175, 177–179 Newspapers; see media ownership NGO’ization, 56, 115 Nielsen, François, 34 Niño, Carlos, 128 Nueva Provincia, 139

O O’Connor, Julia, 27, 35, 49 O’Donnell, Guillermo, 35, 51, 52, 60, 128, 139 O’Reilly, John, 110 Olson, Mancur, 51 Onganía, General, 123 Opus Dei, 9, 29–30, 47, 61, 199ns12,13; in Spain, 64, 67–68, 83, 85, 88; in Chile, 95, 110–114, 119–120; in Argentina, 131–134, 147, 149–150, 152–154


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Index Outshoorn, Joyce, 10, 35, 43, 89 Oviedo, Carlos, 108, 109

P Página12, 139, 146 Panama, 42 Panning, William, 34 Panorama Católico, 139 Partido Comunista Español (PCE), 63, 66–67, 69–70, 72, 76–78, 80–83, 86 Partido Demócrata Cristiana (PDC), Chile, 52, 95, 100–106, 109, 112, 117, 119 Partido por la Democracia (PPD), 100–106, 109, 112–113, 117–120 Partido Justicialista (PJ), 127–138, 144, 149, 153–154 Partido Radical Social Demócrata (PRSD), 100–106 Partido Socialista (PS), Chile, 100–106, 109, 112–113, 117–120 Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE), 58, 60, 63, 65–72, 77–79, 81–83, 86–94 Patria potestad, 127 Paxman, John, 18 Pérez Díaz, Victor, 74 Perón, Juan, 123, 127, 138 Perón, Isabel, 126 Peru, 160 Petitions; see abortion, signature-collecting; collective action Philippines, 26 Pierson, Paul, 2 Pinochet, Augusto, 5, 7, 108–109 Plaza de Armas, 118 Plumb, David, 101 Pocar, Valerio, 180 Political access, 11, 59–60; in Chile, 99–101; in Argentina, 137–138; in Spain, 65–66, 72 Political institutions, 4–5, 7, 11, 59–60; in Spain, 65–66,72; in Chile, 96, 99–101, 106, 116, 119; in Argentina, 127–129, 137–138; see also Congress Political financing; see campaign finance Political Right, 9–11, 29–30, 36, 45–48; in Spain, see Alianza Popular; in

243 Chile, see Renovación Nacional and Unión Demócrata Independiente; in Argentina, 122, 151 Political Left, 10–12, 16, 174–176; in Spain, see Partido Comunista Español and Partido Socialista Obrero Español; in Chile, see Partido por la Democracia and Partido Socialista; in Italy, 180–181; in Portugal, 181–182; in Uruguay, 182–183; in Brazil, 183 Political Left, international, 17, 25, 30–31 Political Left, literature, 14, 36 Political Left, argument, 57–60 Political Left in the case studies, summary, 57–58 Pope Benedict XVI, 197n4, 199n11 Pope John Paul II, 9,12, 26–31, 39, 61, 64, 80, 81, 83–84, 108, 135–136, 161, 181, 197n4, 199ns11,12; see also Catholic Church, Vatican Pope Pius IX, 2 Portes, Alejandro, 25, 176–178 Portugal, 49, 158–184 Poverty; see class divisions, inequality, solidarity Primatesta, Raúl, 135 Pro-choice movement; see abortion, feminist mobilization Pro-família, 154 Pro-life movement; see abortion, conservative mobilization Protestant versus Catholic countries, 49–50 Provoste, Patriciam 96 Public Health Commission, Argentina, 138 Public opinion; see abortion, public opinion; divorce, public opinion Putnam, Robert, 34–35

Q Qualitative analysis, ix-x, 8–9, 197n1 Quarracino, Antonio, 135

R Radical Civic Union; see Unión Cívica Radical Radical Social Democratic Party; see Partido Radical Social Demócrata Ramos, Silvina, 125, 134, 144–145, 147 Religiosity; see church attendance Renovación Nacional (RN), 95–96, 100–107, 109, 112, 119–120


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244 Religious cleavage, literature, 36–37 Reproductive rights; see abortion, feminists Republican Party, United States, 191 Requena, Mariano, 98 Reyes, Jorge, 114 Rich; see upper classes Right; see Political Right Ríos, Marcela, 116 Roberts, Kenneth, 176 Rodríguez, Victoria, 8, 39 Rokkan, Stein, 59 Romero, Mariana, 125 Ronfani, Paola, 180 Rosenberg, Martha, 125 Rosenthal, Gert, 42 Rousseau, Stephanie, 160 Rueschemeyer, Dietrich, 8 Ruiz Soto, Carlos, 71, 82, 87–88, 90, 92–93 Ruspini, Elisabetta, 158

S Sabatier, Paul, 43 Sabsay, Daniel, 47, 140 Sachdev, Paul, 35 Sainsbury, Diane, 35 Same-sex marriage, 94 Sanna, Francesco, 181 Sanseviero, Rafael, 182 Santiago, 111, 118 Scanlon, Margaret, 74 Schild, Veronica, 116 Scully, Timothy, 36 Secularization, 1, 21 Seligson, Mitchell, 34 Senate; see Congress Senillosa, Antonio de, 77 Separations; see divorce, annulments Servicio Nacional de la Mujer (SERNAM), 98, 100–102, 114, 116–117 Sevilla, 78 Sex education; see contraceptives Shepard, Bonnie, 104 Shugart, Matthew Soberg, 5, 59 Siaroff, Alan, 5, 158, 197n2 Siavelis, Meter, 59, 100 Silva Henríquez, Raúl, 107, 200n16 Simon, Rita, 35 Smith, Brian, 107, 109 Sodano, Angelo, 133 Solana, Javier, 77

Index Solidarity, 6, 9–10, 13, 48–58, 60–61; in Spain, 73–75, 77–78; in Chile, 96, 115, 118–120; in Argentina, 140–141 Solidarity, measures and data, 53–54 Solt, Frederick, 35 Spain, comparison, 1–61, 158–179; summary of, 13–14, 63–65, 93–94; process-tracing in, 63–94 Squire, Lyn, 40–42, 178 Stack, Steven, 21 Stephens, John, 8, 14, 15, 22, 33, 52, 59, 165, 175 Stetson, Dorothy McBride, 27, 35, 36, 43, 49 Suárez, Adolfo, 68, 86–87 Sunkel, Guillermo, 47, 106–107 Supreme Court, 60; in Spain, 64, 70–71, 86–89, 91; in Chile, 101, 112; in Argentina, 124, 127, 129, 131, 150, 207n10 Swank, Duane, 174 Switzerland, 4, 159–169, 175, 177–180

T Tarancón; see Enrique y Tarancón Tarrow, Sidney, 43 Tavares, Manuela, 170, 181 Television; see media ownership Tocqueville, Louis de, 8, 33, 35 Top decile; see inequality Top quintile; see inequality Transparency International, 140, 202n78 Trujillo, Graciela, 74, 78–79

U UNECE, 91 Unión de Centro Democrático (UCD), 58, 60, 66–67, 75–78, 83–84, 93 Unión Cívica Radical (UCR), 58, 127–138, 141, 144, 147, 152 Unión Demócrata Independiente (UDI), 95–96, 100–107, 109, 112, 119–120 Unione delle Donne Italiani, 180–181 United Kingdom; see Britain, England United Nations Conferences on Women, 24, 114, 136 United Nations Human Development Report, 41, 41, 138, 178–179 United States, 5, 25, 29, 109–110, 113, 125, 131, 133, 191, 198n8,


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Index 198–199n10, 199ns1,3, 200n18, 202–203n80 The University of Los Andes, 110 Urbanization, 5, 22, 163–165 Upper classes, 7, 9–10, 13, 29–30, 45–53; in Spain, 67, 72–73, 83; in Chile, 95–96, 106–107, 110–112, 119–120; in Argentina, 122, 138–140, 147, 149, 150–152, 154 Uribe, Alvaro, 191 Uruguay, 5, 14, 24–25, 27–28, 44, 158–159, 163–169, 172–180, 182–183, 200n14

V Valdés, Teresa, 116 Valiente, Celia, 89–92 Vallier, Ivan, 148 Van Kersbergen, Kees, 36 Vatican, 3, 7, 9, 12, 24, 26–31, 39, 45, 161, 180,198n1; and Spain, 80–81, 84–85, 93; and Chile, 107–110, 119; and Argentina, 123, 133–136, 148–149, 153–154; see also Catholic Church, Pope John Paul II Vatican, Pontifical Council on the Family, 26–27 Vatican II Council, 28, 64, 80–81

245 Vázquez, Tabaré, 183 Venezuela, 159, 162–168, 175–179 Verba, Sidney, 8 Veto points; see political access, political institutions Vicaría de la Familia, 108 Viladrich, Anahi, 125 Vilar, Duarte, 181–182 Vilas, Carlos, 35, 51 Villa, Paola, 158

W Warner, Carolyn, 36 Weldon, Laurel, 22, 35, 36, 192 Wetstein, Matthew, 21 Weyland, Kurt, 45, 46, 177 Women, education, 5, 12, 16, 22–23; labor force participation, 5, 12, 16, 22–23, 165; political representation, 22–23; see also feminists Women’s Institute; see Instituto de la Mujer World Bank, 22, 23, 125, 164–165 World Health Organization, 124, 145 World Values Survey, 19–21, 53–56, 99, 109, 126, 167–174, 195–196

Y Ya, 73 Yishai, Yael, 35


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The Politics of Moral Sin: Abortion and Divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina (Latin American Studies (Routledge (Firm)).)

Politics in Argentina, 1890-1930: The Rise and Fall of Radicalism (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

The Politics of Freeing Markets in Latin America: Chile, Argentina, and Mexico

Peronism and Argentina (Latin American Silhouettes)

The Politics of Affect and Emotion in Contemporary Latin American Cinema: Argentina, Brazil, Cuba, and Mexico

Chile: The Making of a Republic, 1830-1865: Politics and Ideas (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Mobilizing Resources in Latin America: The Political Economy of Tax Reform in Chile and Argentina

The State of Democracy in Latin America: Post-Transitional Conflicts in Argentina and Chile

The State of Democracy in Latin America: Post-Transitional Conflicts in Argentina and Chile

A History of Chile, 1808-2002 (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Frommer's® Argentina & Chile

Revolution and Restoration: The Rearrangement of Power in Argentina, 1776-1860 (Latin American Studies)

The Literature of Spain and Latin America

Oil and Politics in Latin America: Nationalist Movements and State Companies (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Oil and Politics in Latin America: Nationalist Movements and State Companies (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

In the Name of Reason: Technocrats and Politics in Chile

Vargas Llosa and Latin American Politics

Sin and Evil: Moral Values in Literature

Bureaucratic Politics and Administration in Chile

Women, Feminism and Social Change in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, 1890-1940 (Engendering Latin America)

Spain and the Great Powers in the Twentieth Century (Routledge Canada Blanch Studies in Contemporary Spain)

The Censorship Files: Latin American Writers and Franco's Spain

Theatre, Performance, and Memory Politics in Argentina

The Political Economy of Argentina in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Odious Commerce: Britain, Spain and the Abolition of the Cuban Slave Trade (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Odious Commerce: Britain, Spain and the Abolition of the Cuban Slave Trade (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Latin American Writers and the Rise of Hollywood Cinema (Routledge Studies in Twentieth-Century Literature)

The Politics of Moral Sin: Abortion and Divorce in Spain, Chile and Argentina (Latin American Studies (Routledge (Firm)).)

Politics in Argentina, 1890-1930: The Rise and Fall of Radicalism (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

The Politics of Freeing Markets in Latin America: Chile, Argentina, and Mexico

Peronism and Argentina (Latin American Silhouettes)

The Politics of Affect and Emotion in Contemporary Latin American Cinema: Argentina, Brazil, Cuba, and Mexico

Chile: The Making of a Republic, 1830-1865: Politics and Ideas (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Mobilizing Resources in Latin America: The Political Economy of Tax Reform in Chile and Argentina

The State of Democracy in Latin America: Post-Transitional Conflicts in Argentina and Chile

The State of Democracy in Latin America: Post-Transitional Conflicts in Argentina and Chile

A History of Chile, 1808-2002 (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Frommer's® Argentina & Chile

Revolution and Restoration: The Rearrangement of Power in Argentina, 1776-1860 (Latin American Studies)

The Literature of Spain and Latin America

Oil and Politics in Latin America: Nationalist Movements and State Companies (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Oil and Politics in Latin America: Nationalist Movements and State Companies (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

In the Name of Reason: Technocrats and Politics in Chile

Vargas Llosa and Latin American Politics

Sin and Evil: Moral Values in Literature

Bureaucratic Politics and Administration in Chile

Women, Feminism and Social Change in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, 1890-1940 (Engendering Latin America)

Spain and the Great Powers in the Twentieth Century (Routledge Canada Blanch Studies in Contemporary Spain)

The Censorship Files: Latin American Writers and Franco's Spain

Theatre, Performance, and Memory Politics in Argentina

The Political Economy of Argentina in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Odious Commerce: Britain, Spain and the Abolition of the Cuban Slave Trade (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Odious Commerce: Britain, Spain and the Abolition of the Cuban Slave Trade (Cambridge Latin American Studies)

Latin American Writers and the Rise of Hollywood Cinema (Routledge Studies in Twentieth-Century Literature)

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