I~. % LQ SS —auks — Ys DEMOGRAGY Stories from the Long Road to Freedom CONDOLEEZZA RICEChapter 6 CoLomstA: THE ERA OF DEMOCRATIC SECURITY This is where Pablo Escobar was killed,” my colleague Carolina Barco, now Colombian ambassador to the United States, said flatly. There wasn’t much drama in her voice as we stood on the rooftop looking out over the city of Medellin. But there had been excitement and relief throughout Colombia when the notorious drug lord was eliminated in 1993. He had been the most wanted man in Latin America, responsible for thousands of assassinations and orchestrating an international drug empire that earned him more than $420 million per week at its height. In many ways, his life—a violent cocktail of drugs, money, and power— personified his country’s troubled existence. And for many Colombians, his demise signaled the beginning of the end of the chaos. But it was just a beginning. A lot of work remained to be done. Now, fourteen years later, we were in Medellin, a place that for decades had been synonymous with unspeakable violence. On the lovely summer afternoon, the city was dotted with green spaces and children playing on jungle gyms and swings. “It seems so normal,” I blurted out to no one in particular. “It is normal now,” Carolina responded, For so long in Colombia, normal meant something very different.The revered leader Sim6n Bolivar defeated the Spanish in 1821, establishing an independent republic of Gran Colombia that encompassed modern-day Colombia, Ecuador, Panama, and Venezuela. By 1830, only Colombia and Panama remained, and the country’s political structures began to take shape. Contested presidential and parliamentary elections, functioning courts, powerful business and agricultural groups, and a largely free press did exist. The Conservative and the Liberal political parties formed in 1849 and traded electoral victories for almost a hundred years. Yet that obligation. Under the 1991 constitution, the Colombian president was barred from a second term. In 2004, at Uribe’s urging, the Colombian legislature lifted that restriction and permitted the president to run again. The law survived eighteen challenges and was finally upheld by the Supreme Court, though not unanimously. Uribe argued that he needed to continue his fight against the FARC and complete the demobilization of right-wing armed groups. He was reelected with over 60 percent of the vote. But when, in 2008, Uribe’s supporters gathered five million signatures to call for a referendum on a third term, there was greater ‘opposition. A bill cleared the lower house, but it would have required Uribe to sit out a term before running again in 2014. Many of the president's supporters persisted, committed in their belief that he should be allowed to stand for office in 2010. Eventually, a second bill passed in September 2009 calling for a referendum on the question of amending the constitution. The approval of the Constitutional Court was required for the referendum to proceed. In a decision that could not be appealed, it refused to give its consent. The court’s rationale cited substantial violations of democratic principles, irregularities in the financing of the campaign in support of the referendum, and its difficult passage through the legislature. Many Colombians simply felt that a third term would place too much power in the presidency. A legislator summed up that position by saying, “In 2001, voters agreed Alvaro Uribe was the most qualified person for the job. But, like any other democracy, there are plenty of capable people for the job. And those people should get their chance.”2 Though the two parties dominated the political system, there were a number of interesting arrangements meant to prevent abuse of power.For instance, so that the ruling party could not pass laws favorable only to itself, a supermajority was required to pass legislation. A civil service was created to “eliminate the concept that the political winner has the right to the spoils of office,” according to the agreement that established the National Front.2 Economic reforms were far-reaching and partially successful in the industrial sphere. But the effort to improve agricultural efficiency by bundling small plots into larger ones displaced 40 percent of the farmers, ultimately exacerbating tensions between large landholders and rural peoples.2 And so the respite would be short-lived. As conflict between various interests grew, insurgents emerged willing to represent those factions through the barrel of a gun. One of the first of these, the ELN, formed in July 1964. Its leader, Fabio Vasquez Castafio, was inspired by Marxist- Leninist ideology, mobilizing peasants, college students, and priests who espoused liberation theology. They were inspired too by Fidel Castro’s Cuban Revolution and opposition to business interests labeled as capitalist oppressors. Forming “independent republics” in the territories of their supporters, they organized these forces and armed them. In response, the government launched Operation Sovereignty and regained control of the areas. This pattern of insurgents taking and holding territory would be repeated several times in the next decades. Despite the government assault, the rebel movement survived, pulling in new adherents with a narrative of armed struggle against the government. But the ELN would find itself outflanked by an even more violent and capable insurgent group. The FARC, or Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, was born in 1966 with bigger ambitions than control of a few rural enclaves. They wanted to overthrow the Colombian government and replace it with a Marxist state. And they grew powerful quite quickly. By 1970, the president of Colombia was forced to declare that the country was in a state of siege. The FARC was fueled not just by ideology but increasingly by the drug trade too. Over the years, the guerrilla movement slowly became intimately intertwined with the cocaine wade until it was finally indistinguishable from the drug cartel that it ran. The profits allowed the FARC to be financially self-sustaining. And though other Marxist groups would emerge, the FARC was clearly the vanguard of the revolution. It was admired in Havana and Moscow as well as in leftist corners of the West. The Castro regime offered more than inspiration. It providedmaterial support, and FARC leaders repeatedly sought refuge on the island nation. The group had Soviet connections from the time of its founding and it traded weapons and cocaine with the Russian mafia. Support cells raised money and even recruits from Marxist sympathizers across Europe and the Americas. In Colombia, FARC was becoming a dominant force in political life. In the 1980s, its bombings, assassinations, and kidnappings became commonplace. Not surprisingly, a right-wing counterpart soon emerged. Landowners who did not trust the government to protect them began to buy security from armed groups. The United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC) now filled the void from the other side of the political spectrum. Brutal and uncompromising, the death squads terrorized rural areas and murdered people suspected of sympathizing with the insurgents. Moreover, the overmatched police and army were more than willing to look the other way. The right-wing paramilitaries had friends in high places, allowing them to act with impunity. The government grew desperate, trying everything to stem the violence. Peace talks were launched, leading to the demobilization of some groups but doing nothing about either the FARC or the AUC. Thus the reign of terror continued. In the elections of 1990, three presidential candidates were assassinated. Seeking to strengthen the hand of the government, a constitutional convention was held in 1991, granting the president greater powers but to little effect. The government continued to waver in its resolve, alternately confronting the insurgents and trying to make peace with them. When in 1998 President Andrés Pastrana decided to withdraw government forces from five municipalities, the FARC celebrated with a stepped-up campaign of terror in major population centers. Pastrana had inherited a mess from his predecessor, whose tenure was marred by corruption scandals, and likely felt that he had no choice. But he underestimated the FARC’s growing strength and the degree to which his decision would boost the power of the insurgency. By the end of the twentieth century, the Colombian military and police were unable to enter approximately 30 percent of the country. The weakened state could defend neither its people nor its territory. Right- wing paramilitaries and left-wing insurgents controlled the means of violence and had the will to use it. Colombia resembled a failed state.9/11, questions about the state of Plan Colombia (and many other foreign policy issues) received less attention as we grappled with the urgent need to defend the country. Inconsistency in Bogoté’s approach to the problem also complicated American policy. On June 2, 2001, Pastrana signed a “humanitarian exchange accord” with the FARC, swapping prisoners for soldiers. Then, in October, the government and the FARC signed the accord of San Francisco de la Sombra, committing to negotiate a cease-fire. Pastrana agreed for the ninth time to continue the demilitarized safe zones, this time until January 2002. The zones had become havens for the FARC to train its forces and launch attacks with impunity. The government checkpoints around the zones were wholly ineffective and frequently the site of kidnappings for ransom. Upon agreeing to extend the safe havens, though, Pastrana tried this time to use muscle as well as negotiation to send a message to the FARC. He increased the number of military checkpoints and surveillance flights around the demilitarized zones. The FARC responded by refusing to continue the peace talks. Pastrana then mobilized twelve thousand troops with air support. Before the government could act, diplomats from ten other countries and the Catholic Church negotiated a last-minute deal. Peace talks commenced. With Pastrana’s latest attempt at a peaceful solution backed by military might, President Bush decided to revisit the issue of military assistance in the winter of 2002. He wanted to give the Colombian government a stronger hand. The Bush administration had already classified the FARC, ELN, and AUC as terrorist groups. Now it wanted the flexibility to use counternarcotic funding against the insurgents as well. There was also a need to protect vital oil pipelines that had repeatedly been attacked by leftist guerrillas. Still, as the New York Times noted, this was a “sharp departure” from U.S. policy that had focused solely on the drug war.4 From the administration’s point of view, the two tasks—eliminating the drug trade and eliminating the insurgency—were inextricably linked. This gave clarity to U.S. policy. Subsequent events would change the thinking of the Colombian government as well. A few days after that news report in the New York Times, four Colombian rebels hijacked a domestic flight carrying senior Senator Jorge Eduardo Gechém Turbay. This was the last straw for Pastrana, who21, two months before he was sworn in. The national security adviser often meets with political leaders who are not heads of state, or in this case not yet inaugurated. Toward the end of these meetings, the president usually stops by. This is partly a matter of protocol, but it also gives the president a little distance from the moment—a chance to size up the visitor without the expectation of commitments. As Uribe entered my office, | was immediately taken with the Colombian, who was short in stature but walked with unmistakable confidence. He impressed me as steely, determined, and serious, even slightly lacking in humor. I asked him what he meant by “democratic security.” Uribe explained that “security” in Latin America had long been associated with right-wing dictators, and he wanted to differentiate himself. By democratic security he said he meant security for all Colombians, his political allies and adversaries alike. We talked about the troubles in his country and about Plan Colombia. He emphasized the need for military assistance. “We can’t fight them with economic assistance,” he said. | demurred and started to explain that there were congressional limitations on what we could do. While I was in midsentence, my door flew open, startling the Colombians. The president doesn’t have to knock. Uribe jumped up and remained standing while he talked about his hopes for peace in his country. President Bush listened and then asked him if he was serious about defeating the FARC. “Yes!” the president-elect shouted. After his inauguration about two months later, Uribe returned to Washington. This time he was received in the Oval Office. Foreign leaders who enter this small but elegant bastion of democratic governance seem to sense the authority that dwells within it. They usually come trying to convince its occupant that the United States should support their cause—no matter how daunting the challenge. Uribe accomplished that feat in a matter of minutes. He told the president that he would not waver in his fight against the terrorists, the FARG, invoking the language that President Bush had himself used after September 11. Admitting that the paramilitaries were also responsible for the chaos in the country, he pledged to demobilize the AUC and other groups or fight them too. And when the president gently raised the question of collaboration between the right-wing paramilitaries and Colombian authorities, Uribe didn’t flinch. He promised to use the full weight of the judicial system to bring them to justice no matter howhigh-ranking they might be. This, he said, was the only way to restore confidence in the judiciary, the legislature, and ultimately the presidency. President Bush had one final question, and, frankly, it made me squirm a bit. “Are you tough enough to kill their leaders? It is the only way to shut them down.” Sitting on the sofa across from the Colombian foreign minister, I wondered if she and the other members of the delegation thought the president’s question presumptuous. You had to be tough to survive Colombia’s violent politics. And Carolina’s own father had been president of the country, surviving multiple assassination attempts, trying to bring reform, and ultimately failing to do so due to violence. She was the embodiment of the Colombian experience. Who were we Americans to question their resolve so baldly? Uribe didn’t blink. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said. “I give you my word.” As the Colombians walked out, I knew that a real bond had been forged between the two men. The president-elect had convinced George Bush that he was the man to save his country, no matter how long the odds. It didn’t take long for those of us in government to see how long the odds really were, even if we had a new and determined partner. Underscoring the depth of Uribe’s challenge, the FARC launched mortar attacks during his August inauguration, killing fourteen people in the capital. The Colombian president did not mention the violence in his speech but canceled public celebrations afterward, fearing assassination. In the following days, the right-wing paramilitaries killed more than a hundred people in retaliation. Uribe did not back down. He declared a state of emergency but not a state of siege in the country. The distinction was important, since the latter would have allowed the suspension of civil liberties. The new president would tell his people and anyone else who would listen that he meant to bring security through democratic institutions: He would not subvert them. This was, for us, confirmation that he was committed to the democratic part of “democratic security.” Uribe found other ways to signal his determination. A few weeks after he took office, the government issued a declaration taxing the richest 300,000 Colombians and 120,000 companies to raise $800 million. The goal was to train and equip thousands of additional soldiers and police officers, and to create a new part-time security force of up to 100,000 recruits.He was a serious man and he knew that he had little time to change the direction of his country. But he was determined to do it by rebuilding Colombia’s political institutions and exercising power through them. Ina sense, by helping the Colombian state regain its footing at this time of crisis, he was launching a transition to a new democratic future for the country. Uribe’s “Democratic Security” ‘As we have seen, Colombia had the institutions that form the basic infrastructure of democracy for decades. The presidency was constrained by Latin American standards, with a strong opposition party that was often just a few seats short of a majority in the legislature. Elections were held regularly and resulted in leadership changes. There was an independent judiciary. There were non-governmental organizations that could check the power of the executive, particularly business and agricultural groups. The army had been out of politics for five decades and the press was relatively free—though journalists were often targeted by violence from both sides. Colombia’s problem was not, then, the absence of institutions, but the weakness of them. The state had lost the monopoly on the use of force. Right-wing militias targeted labor leaders, and left-wing insurgents kidnapped and assassinated businessmen and government officials. The police and the army were viewed as worthless or, worse, complicit in political violence. The judiciary was seen as a tool to shield high-ranking officials from justice, not as an impartial arbiter of truth. And the presidency seemed unable to govern and protect the country. This institutional landscape that Uribe inherited makes it all the more remarkable that he succeeded in addressing Colombia's challenges through existing institutions. First, the Colombian government had to provide security for its people, No state can thrive without a monopoly on the use of force. This meant that paramilitary and insurgent groups had to either disarm through negotiation or be disarmed by force. Bolstered by greater military assistance from the United States, the Colombian administration set out to do exactly that. During a visit toColombia in December 2002, Secretary of State Colin Powell announced that the United States would provide $537 million in annual aid, an increase of $125 million, The new American commitment put aid to Colombia at roughly the same level as aid to Afghanistan and Pakistan. But Colin also put the United States squarely on the side of eliminating the security threat to the country by military means. He stated that ‘America viewed the war on leftist guerrillas and rightist paramilitary groups as a part of the Bush administration’s war on terror. It was not just a counternarcotics mission; it was a counterterrorism mission as well. I told the president that day that we had finally resolved the long- standing reluctance to take sides in the conflict. “We’re taking a risk in saying that Colombia can gain the upper hand in the insurgency by military means,” I said. “But it’s the right thing to do,” the president replied. The government’s task was easier regarding the right-wing paramilitaries. Some would argue that the close connections between Colombian officials, the army, and these groups helped to explain the almost immediate response of the AUC to Uribe’s election. On November 30, 2002, the AUC declared a unilateral cease-fire. “The government,” the group declared, “is demonstrating its capacity and political will” against the insurgents. The AUC reserved the right to respond to opportunistic attacks by the FARC. As a first step, eight hundred fighters from Medellin laid down their weapons. Over the next few years, larger blocs of paramilitaries would be demobilized: fourteen hundred fighters from Norte de Santander; two thousand from Antioquia, eleven hundred from Casanare, and so on In the end, some thirty thousand paramilitaries would lay down their arms after 2003. For the most part, the fighters were transferred to halfway houses and put into job training programs. The terms of demobilization essentially constituted amnesty. The decision to forgo jail time for those who disarmed was of course controversial. International human rights groups, European governments, and more than sixty members of the U.S. Congress criticized the program as too lenient, allowing those with blood on their hands to go free. Some AUC leaders had been involved in the drug trade. Several had outstanding U.S. extradition warrants or trafficking charges. Some drug lords who had only tangential connection to the AUC used the opportunity to negotiate with the government andBy far the most sensitive issue was the continuing claim that members of the president’s own cabinet, indeed, even the president himself, had been complicit in the right-wing violence that crippled the country. And the charges had an ideological tinge, many of the claims originating with organized labor and human rights groups that were sympathetic to the FARC. The most serious and far-reaching allegations emerged in what would come to be known as the “parapolitics” scandal. The laptop of a former paramilitary warlord, “Jorge 40,” contained evidence of collusion between Colombian politicians and right-wing death squads. When the story broke in October 2006, it was a national and international sensation. The Colombian Supreme Court acted a month later, ordering the arrests of Senators Alvaro Garcia and Jairo Merlano; a member of the lower house, Deputy Erik Morris; and two other former politicians on charges ranging from supporting paramilitary groups to receiving campaign funds from them. All were strong supporters of Uribe. Over the next few weeks, a steady stream of politicians were arrested or investigated. The Colombian inspector general charged Jorge Noguera, the former head of the Police Intelligence Service, with leaking operational information to the paramilitaries. The scandal would ultimately lead to the resignation of the foreign minister, Marfa Consuelo Aratijo, who resigned after her brother, a senator, was arrested. The scandal failed to engulf the president, however. There was certainly a lot of smoke around him. Salvatore Mancuso, a notorious former paramilitary commander, had made a sensational claim. He said that during the 2002 election, Uribe enlisted his militia to engage in voter intimidation. Uribe denied the claim and openly defended himself in the press, leaving the judgment to his people. In the end, the Colombians supported him. He was reelected in May 2006 with 62 percent of the vote, the largest margin of victory in the country’s history. At the height of the scandal his approval ratings never dropped below 60 percent. Uribe was popular because he had returned Colombia to stability and a modicum of security. But he did not rule with an iron fist. He had done so through his presidential powers and his supporters’ majority in the legislature. Right before his reelection, pro-Uribe coalition parties won 61 percent of the 102-seat Senate and 57 percent of the 166-seat lower house. The people were voting for his platform of keeping the pressure on the FARC. And his popularity was greatly enhanced by hiscase for George W. Bush, who speaks Spanish, but sometimes a bit of a problem in less familiar languages. Standing in the courtyard of the Presidential Palace while all of this transpired, I remember thinking, I hope this ends soon. There had been multiple reports of terrorist threats against us and it was easy to see that there was a heavy security presence. I was anxious to get inside where it seemed a little safer. I’m pretty sure the Secret Service shared my view. Colombia was safer but not yet safe. Uribe was determined to parlay the relationship with the United States into economic benefits for his country. After years of civil conflict, the Colombian economy needed growth. In the late 1990s, per capita GDP was in decline, falling from $2,814 in 1997 to $2,197 in 1999.8 Meanwhile, the slowing economy started to shrink, contracting by 4.2 percent in 1999. Uribe’s emphasis on security was part and parcel of a broader agenda that included promoting economic development and private investment. And it delivered on that front too. As the Colombian government regained control of its country, the economy boomed. GDP. per capita increased during his time in office, from $2,376 in 2002 to $6,180 in 2010. There was a larger hemispheric goal as well. Uribe was the most important bulwark against Hugo Chavez. and his effort to remake Latin America in the image of his “Bolivarian Revolution.” In his own bombastic and over-the-top way, Chavez promised and often delivered largesse to Latin American governments. Buoyed by high oil prices ($147 a barrel in 2008), he bought the election in Nicaragua, tried to do so and failed in Mexico, and gave concessionary oil deals to countries in the Caribbean. Uribe and other friends of the United States, like Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva in Brazil, implored us to, as one put it, “steal away the social justice card from Chavez.” So as we sought to rewrite the narrative of the United States in the region, and to center it on democracy, that became part of our language as well. It was not just about elections, free trade, macroeconomic soundness, and economic growth; it was also about making sure that democracies are accountable for something else. Are they delivering for their people? Are lives actually getting better? Are there improvements in education, health care, housing, and transparency in government? It was not about the language of the left or the right, but about the language of democracy.The U.S.-Colombian Free Trade Agreement became the centerpiece of this economic strategy with Bogotéd, and I visited Colombia in January 2008 with a U.S. congressional delegation. This trip was intended to generate bipartisan support for the agreement. We wanted to give members of Congress a chance to see the transformation of Colombia firsthand. We found ourselves in Medellin, a city once associated with violence and chaos. Now there were glorious parks and a boom in construction. One moment seemed to sum up everything Uribe had tried to do. We visited a horticultural center where flowers were being grown to ship overseas. The FTA would greatly enhance access to our market for these products. Our guide was a woman, a demobilized paramilitary fighter, who could not have been more than thirty-five years old. She explained that she had joined the AUC when she was fifteen to “protect her village.” Her unit had taken advantage of the chance to lay down arms in 2003. Now she was learning to read and had a job packing the flowers for shipment. Her teenage children came and helped out after school for a small wage. I'm sure she was handpicked to impress us. But she did not look like a fighter to me, demobilized or not. She looked like a young woman whose life was almost ruined by civil conflict and who had a chance for a future because her country had been rescued from chaos. If that was the message the Colombians meant to send, it came through loud and clear. We were unable to pass the FTA during our time in office, but President Obama succeeded in doing so in 2012. It cemented nearly thirty years of bipartisan American support for Colombia’s journey from civil war to democratic security. “Mr. President, It Is Time to Step Away” One of the strengths of democracy is that it constrains even the most powerful and popular personalities. Legislatures, civil society, and the press all conspire to keep executive authority in check. So too do term limits. Those who govern democratically accept those constraints and act accordingly. Alvaro Uribe, who played such an important role in rebuilding faith in Colombia’s democratic institutions, almost ignoredthat obligation. Under the 1991 constitution, the Colombian president was barred from a second term. In 2004, at Uribe’s urging, the Colombian legislature lifted that restriction and permitted the president to run again. ‘The law survived eighteen challenges and was finally upheld by the Supreme Court, though not unanimously. Uribe argued that he needed to continue his fight against the FARC and complete the demobilization of right-wing armed groups. He was reelected with over 60 percent of the vote. But when, in 2008, Uribe’s supporters gathered five million signatures to call for a referendum on a third term, there was greater opposition. A bill cleared the lower house, but it would have required Uribe to sit out a term before running again in 2014. Many of the president’s supporters persisted, committed in their belief that he should be allowed to stand for office in 2010. Eventually, a second bill passed in September 2009 calling for a referendum on the question of amending the constitution. The approval of the Constitutional Court was required for the referendum to proceed. In a decision that could not be appealed, it refused to give its consent. The court’s rationale cited substantial violations of democratic principles, irregularities in the financing of the campaign in support of the referendum, and its difficult passage through the legislature. Many Colombians simply felt that a third term would place too much power in the presidency. A legislator summed up that position by saying, “In 2001, voters agreed Alvaro Uribe was the most qualified person for the job. But, like any other democracy, there are plenty of capable people for the job. And those people should get their chance.”2 President Uribe was bitterly disappointed. He felt that he had delivered for his country—greater security, economic benefits, and stronger democratic institutions. In the end, it was ironically those democratic constraints that denied his dream of continuing to lead his country. “I accept and I respect the decision of the Constitutional Court,” he said. Uribe was a strong leader but not a traditional Latin American strongman. He was seen as a president who cared for all citizens and who governed with firsthand knowledge of the issues. During the height of the “democratic security” campaign, he and his cabinet members went to all corners of the country each week. They visited areas with the greatestsecurity, economic, and social problems and held town meetings and discussions. In the end, his people appreciated what he had done. He left office with a 70 percent approval rating, after being elected twice. But it was really his success in rejuvenating Colombia’s democratic institutions that should be remembered. And when those institutions told him that it ‘was time to go, he accepted the verdict and vowed to continue in politics from a parliamentary seat instead. All Wars Must End Uribe’s party did well in the legislative elections a month after the Supreme Court ruling. But it took his former defense minister, Juan Manuel Santos, two rounds of voting to win the presidency. Santos had been with President Uribe at that first meeting in the Oval Office. More than any other official, he was associated with the tough line against the FARC and the largely successful military campaign against the group. The new president sounded very much like his mentor and predecessor in his victory speech. Declaring that “time had run out” on the FARC, he said there would not be the “slightest chance of negotiations.” This buoyed Uribe, who thought that his legacy would be preserved. But within a few months, Santos started to move in a different direction. The Colombian press reported that he had initiated secret contacts with the FARC through a businessman. The FARC reciprocated by releasing a series of hostages, describing its move as a “gesture of peace” to the Santos administration. Early in his term, Santos essentially followed a two-track policy: ready to negotiate but continuing the military campaign. But the blended approach was hard to sustain. The military dimension took a backseat to the political track of negotiations unfolding in Havana. The levels of violence fluctuated but never increased to the point of threatening Colombia’s stability as in times past. Slowly, the FARC and the government worked step by step toward an end to the conflict. The hardest issues were those of justice for past violence and the role of the FARC in the political process going forward. The two sides finally reached an agreement on transitional justice indemocratic instincts proved to be strong. The Poles were lucky too. And though it took awhile, successive Kenyan presidents have since stepped down when rejected by the voters, and constitutional reforms have given the prime minister real power. Ellen Johnson Sirleaf has proved to be an indefatigable champion of democracy for the Liberian people. The Russians have not been so fortunate. Boris Yeltsin had enormous credibility and authority after the collapse of the Soviet Union. But he did not use it to create a strong presidency within a balanced government. The other institutions—the parliament, the judiciary—were no match for this bull in a china shop. He ruled by decree and even took the army into the streets against them. The presidency was just too strong and unchecked: That was a problem under Yeltsin that became the death knell for freedom when Vladimir Putin inherited the mantle. The executive has to be constrained to limit human beings—those with good intentions and those with bad ones. Lesson Three: Wei-ji The Chinese characters for “crisis” describe well one of the key lessons in building democracy. It is said that wei means “danger” and ji means “opportunity.” There is both danger and opportunity in a crisis. And young democracies are bound to have plenty of crises; each is a chance to strengthen the institutional infrastructure of the country. But the catch is this—leaders have to be willing to actually use the institutions to solve problems. Colombia's “democratic security” under Alvaro Uribe is a very good example of exactly this. The decades of civil war had effectively turned Colombia into a failed state. Its institutions were compromised—the judiciary, the army; and the police were ineffective and viewed as corrupt and complicit in the violence. The government did not own a monopoly on force—paramilitaries and the FARC could outgun them in large parts of the country. Defeating the insurgency and ending the civil war were accomplished simultaneously by rebuilding those institutions. In this regard, the rebuilding of the judiciary’s credibility was especially important. Citizens have to know that justice is blind and that all will be subject to the rule of law. The Constitutional Court alsoAfter decades of battling a narco-terrorist insurgency, Colombia has turned the ‘comer toward peace. Former president Alvaro Uribe promised “democratic security” and worked tirelessly to strengthen the institutions of the state. He is pictured here in 2005 with Carolina Barco, former foreign minister and ambassador to the United States.