Revista Europea de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe 70, abril de 2001 앚
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Alberto Fujimori’s Peripeteia:
From ‘Re-Reelección’ to Regime Collapse
Lewis Taylor
When on 27 December 1999 close presidential adviser Absalón Vásquez entered the offices of the organisation charged with overseeing Peru’s electoral
process, the National Election Tribunal (JNE), to inscribe Alberto Fujimori’s
candidature for the April 2000 general election, the political prospects appeared bright for the incumbent. Boosted by his administration’s ability to
control hyperinflation, the waging of an effective counter-insurgency campaign
against Sendero Luminoso/MRTA guerrillas and benefiting from continued
public hostility towards the traditional political parties who voters held responsible for the escalating socio-economic chaos that afflicted Peru in the 1980s, in
1995 Fujimori had achieved a comfortable re-election with 64 per cent of valid
votes. Following this popular endorsement, the president proceeded (with the
aid of an acquiescent pro-government majority in Congress) to build on the
foundations laid by the palace coup (autogolpe) of April 1992 and implement
measures necessary to permit a successful ‘re-reelección’ in 2000. To this end,
the clause (Article 112) in the (fujimorista) 1993 Constitution prohibiting the
president from standing was rewritten (1996) and three members of the Constitutional Tribunal who ruled against Fujimori’s bid for a third term were dismissed (1997); later, legislation decreeing that a referendum had to be held on the
issue of re-election was annulled (1998) – all acts of dubious legality ratified by
an executive-dominated JNE.1
Once these obstacles to a third term had been overcome, the governing
clique moved to position itself advantageously on various fronts in the run-up
to the opening of the election campaign proper in January 2000. As the military
comprised one of Fujimori’s key power bases, December 1999 witnessed a
flurry of army promotions masterminded by the head of the National Intelligence Service (SIN), Vladimiro Montesinos, aimed at strengthening the regime’s control over the military. In order to project an image of renewal and
dynamism within the government, a ‘new’ movement named Frente Nacional
Perú 2000 was concocted in July 1999 to contest the April 2000 ballot, while
from mid-1999 the president embarked on a hectic schedule of provincial visits
to inaugurate public works and inspect the reconstruction of infrastructure
damaged by ‘El Niño’ induced flooding and landslides. Looking to capitalise
on one of the president’s strongest vote-winning issues – success in the struggle
against Sendero Luminoso and the MRTA – during the final quarter of 1999,
Fujimori and his ministers began to make frequent references to government
achievements in ‘pacifying’ Peru and reducing political violence.2
By the end of 1999 government strategy appeared to have borne fruit: a
recent survey by the respected Apoyo agency published in mid-December gave
Fujimori 46 per cent of voter preferences in Lima, more than 20 per cent ahead
4 앚 Lewis Taylor
of his nearest rival (El Comercio, 14 December 1999). The president’s position
had also been reinforced by the failure of opposition politicians to contain their
personal ambitions and unite behind a single candidate. Given these circumstances, in a televised address to the nation on 27 December 1999 the president
portrayed an upbeat demeanour and proclaimed that his ‘re-reelección’ was in
the best interests of Peru. Assuming a dismissive attitude towards his opponents, Fujimori declared that he had been forced to stand as there were ‘no real
alternatives’ to his candidacy, ‘because the political movements that have
emerged are unprepared neo-populists who could threaten the gains we have
made so far’ by returning the country to the chaos of the 1980s (El Comercio,
28 December 1999). Yet only six months later his regime was in crisis and
heading towards collapse in spectacular fashion. This article provides an account of the 2000 electoral process, traces the main factors that brought about
the demise of fujimorismo and assesses the implications of these tumultuous
events for Peruvian politics. What are the prospects for ‘democratic consolidation’ in one of Latin America’s most unpredictable polities?
The Campaign: First Round
Electoral procedures in Peru are extraordinarily complex, ridiculously so when
one considers that a not insignificant proportion of the population is illiterate
or semi-literate. Copying the French model, a simultaneous ballot is held to
select a president and members of a single chamber 120-strong Congress. If no
presidential candidate receives 50 per cent plus one of the valid votes cast in the
first round, a second poll between the two front-runners occurs. Election to
Congress is determined by proportional representation, with a preferential
vote deciding which contenders from the various party lists occupy the seats
allocated to a particular political group. Not surprisingly, when the number of
candidates is large, the ballot paper covers a whole page and regularly causes
confusion, even among literate voters. Nor is it surprising that in previous elections a high proportion of votes were declared invalid (15.4 per cent in 1990;
9.16 per cent in 1995). Last, but by no means least, the more convoluted the
voting procedures the greater the opportunity for unscrupulous operators to
engage in fraud – an issue that eventually played a significant part in Fujimori’s
denouement.
APRA: Alianza Popular Revolucionaria Americana
CLAE: Centro Latinoamericano de Asesorı́a Empresarial
CPI: Compañı́a Peruana de Investigación de Mercados
FARC: Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias Colombianas
FIM: Frente Independiente Moralizador
FREPAP: Frente Popular Agrı́cola del Perú
JNE: Jurado Nacional de Elecciones
MRTA: Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru
ONPE: Oficina Nacional de Procesos Electorales
PCP-SL: Partido Comunista del Perú-Sendero Luminoso
PRONAA: Programa Nacional de Asistencia Alimentaria
SIN: Servicio de Inteligencia Nacional
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Nine hopefuls put themselves forward for the presidency, with one alliance
(the Independent Anti-corruption Front – FIM) deciding to limit its participation to the congressional poll. Although the candidates on offer ranged from
the exotic (Ezequiel Ataucusi, the now deceased leader of an obscure religious
sect who headed the FREPAP slate), to representatives of the traditional political parties (Abel Salinas of APRA and Vı́ctor Garcı́a Belaunde of Acción
Popular), only three politicians were considered to be serious contenders: Fujimori; Alberto Andrade (mayor of Lima and leader of the Somos Perú alliance); and Luis Castañeda (ex-head of the Social Security Institute, who stood
for the Solidaridad Nacional grouping).
Faced with a clear lead in the polls and being intent on winning the presidential ballot in the first round (in addition to attaining as close as possible to a
working majority in Congress), Fujimori pursued an uncomplicated threepronged campaign strategy. On the positive side, emphasis was given to those
issues where the incumbent registered high levels of public approval (price
stabilisation, defeating the PCP-SL and pacification during his first term; the
implementation of public works during his second term), in an effort to consolidate core support and attract wavering voters. Second, the president eschewed televised debates with rival contenders – even after a decade in office
he remained an unaccomplished public speaker, while being far ahead in the
polls meant that an open debate represented a high-risk move that promised
few gains. As the official camp had devised no programme that detailed policy
proposals in specific areas (Fujimori merely offered more of the same), government strategists did not wish to open up this weakness to additional exposure.
Rather than serious debate, they opted for an avalanche of pro-Fujimori advertising on television allied to the holding of carefully stage-managed openair meetings. Third, Fujimori’s election strategy involved a large element of
negative campaigning, which varied from legitimate political point-scoring, to
vicious unsubstantiated personal attacks on opposition candidates, phone tapping and other underhand activities orchestrated by members of the intelligence services. The aim here was to discredit his opponents, so as to keep them
on the defensive and prevent a groundswell of support building up behind any
of the incumbent’s chief rivals. In terms of implementation, throughout the
first round the government’s dirty tricks campaign focused primarily on the
individual who happened to be standing second in the ratings.
Given that over 1999 through to February 2000 Alberto Andrade appeared
as the main threat, the president’s advisers had long been concentrating their
fire on Lima’s mayor.3 Apart from the usual ploy of restricting the flow of
central government funds in order to undermine Andrade’s ability to deliver
services and urban improvements, Fujimori’s campaign team headed by Absalón Vásquez, embarked upon a number of initiatives aimed at tarnishing the
mayor’s image. A strike by municipal workers over pay and conditions (AprilMay 1999) was instigated. Street traders that had been relocated by the municipality were encouraged to reoccupy thoroughfares around the central market
area close to the Congress building (July, November-December 1999). A series
of land invasions erupted at various points around the outskirts of the capital.
The violent clashes with the police that accompanied all of these events received a large amount of publicity in the government-influenced media.
6 앚 Lewis Taylor
Not content with instigating these manoeuvres designed to discredit Andrade’s performance as a municipal administrator (which is generally considered to be positive), a string of attacks aimed at highlighting the mayor’s political weaknesses were launched: inexperience in high office; a lack of charisma/
poor public speaker; past connections with the right-wing Partido Popular
Cristiano; and his membership of the ‘white’ business elite, with the concomitant accusation that he would only govern in favour of Lima and the rich. A
concerted campaign was also launched to denigrate members of Andrade’s
political group. This propaganda was pushed particularly hard on governmentcontrolled television and in the sensationalist tabloid press, known as ‘la prensa
chicha’, whose titles (former employees claimed) received financial subventions and editorial instructions directly from the SIN (La República, 9 June
2000). The sustained effort to discredit Andrade and other members of Somos
Perú produced the desired effect. Backing for his candidacy halved between
mid-January and March – an Apoyo poll published on 21 March 2000 gave him
9 per cent support in Lima (El Comercio, 21 March 2000). Once it became clear
that Andrade’s campaign was in serious trouble and unlikely to gather the
momentum necessary to challenge Fujimori, government strategists switched
their fire to the candidate they considered to be the alternative potential threat
– Luis Castañeda and his Solidaridad Nacional alliance. Anti-Castañeda propaganda became especially intense during February through to early March and
followed a familiar pattern: it ranged from raising legitimate doubts about Castañeda’s ability to govern and the qualities of his team, to less savoury allegations of a personal nature promoted in the ‘prensa chicha’. As with Andrade,
Castañeda’s support tumbled under this onslaught. After standing at 14
per cent in an Apoyo poll published on 23 January 2000, he had been reduced
to a mere 5 per cent by 21 March (El Comercio, 23 January 2000; 21 March
2000).
The efficacy of this negative campaigning was enhanced significantly by unequal media access, which was particularly notable vis-à-vis terrestrial television.4 Disproportionality between the official candidate and his rivals in television and (to a lesser extent) newspaper access, was accentuated by the former’s
ability to (mis)use state resources. Military aircraft transported Fujimori to
political meetings around the country and army conscripts were mobilised to
paint over opposition propaganda with Perú 2000 slogans. In rural Andean
districts where the conflict with Sendero Luminoso had been intense and the
military still exercised considerable authority, army officers threatened the local population with reprisals if they did not vote for Fujimori.5 Teams of government supporters paid from state coffers were sent into peripheral urban
neighbourhoods and the countryside to proselytise on behalf of the government, activities that were backed up by the National Food Aid Programme’s
(PRONAA) food distribution schemes – as well as handing out sacks of foreign
food donations or food coupons on an individual basis, the government used
the extensive network of comedores populares (soup kitchens) and Comités del
Vaso de Leche to cajole needy people into participating in Fujimori’s meetings,
regularly providing fleets of buses to facilitate their attendance. They were also
forced to display Perú 2000 election material. If members of a particular comedor or comité voiced their opposition to being manipulated, it was made clear
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to them that food supplies could be curtailed and a robust audit of accounts
undertaken.6
Finally, a common tactic employed by local Perú 2000 campaign managers
was to gift items useful to impoverished electors with the aim of influencing
their vote. Inducements ranged from cooking equipment distributed at Fujimori’s own meetings, to the ploy of bestowing products such as tin sheeting for
roofs and exercise books for schoolchildren at the very time a rival candidate
was holding a rally in a particular district. This barely-concealed exploitation of
the poor for electoral ends was epitomised by one Perú 2000 congressional
candidate’s propaganda in the highland town of Bambamarca: voters were
urged to give him their support in return for ‘more soup kitchens’.7 Such an
extensive mobilisation of the state’s financial and human resources meant that
the pro-government campaign was able to far eclipse the efforts of its cashstrapped opponents, both in terms of breadth and intensity.
Despite the clear advantages Fujimori enjoyed over the opposition, to the
chagrin of Perú 2000 campaign strategists, the hoped-for increase in support to
the magical figure of 50 per cent failed to materialise. On the contrary, in the
month prior to election day the president’s standing in the polls started to slide:
according to the Apoyo agency, from attaining 46 per cent in December 1999,
backing had declined to 39 per cent by 12 February and 37 per cent in a survey
published in mid-March 2000 (El Comercio, 19 March 2000). Other polling
organisations registered a similar trend. Several factors help explain this development. First, the government’s practice of hounding the opposition (organising counter-demonstrations, a suspicious spate of blackouts disrupting their
night-time rallies, etc.), the partisan utilisation of taxpayers money to boost the
official candidate, the over-zealous plastering of Ministry of Defense property
with Perú 2000 propaganda and the obvious bias in television coverage, produced a deepening in voter alienation towards Fujimori.
Growing public misgiving that the election was not being conducted fairly in
turn brought to the fore questions about the nature of the regime, particularly
its authoritarian tendencies. Voter disquiet on this issue was not only fuelled by
Fujimori’s own demeanour during interviews; the overbearing and unnecessarily aggressive attitude of certain prominent pro-government candidates
seeking re-election to Congress reinforced these perceptions. Here the negative image projected by fujimorista parliamentarians such as Martha Chávez,
who dismissed out of hand suggestions that the election process was flawed and
lost no opportunity to defame the opposition, did the president no favours.
Their interventions became distinctly unhelpful once they launched crude attacks against the activities of the only state institution possessing a measure of
independence from the ruling Fujimori-Montesinos-military clique, the Defensorı́a del Pueblo (ombudsman’s office).8 The error was compounded when progovernment politicians attempted to discredit Transparencia (Transparency), a
non-partisan organisation of ordinary citizens established in 1994 to inform the
public about their democratic rights, help voters understand the complex ballot paper and train observers to monitor events on polling day. Public concern
regarding the undemocratic side of the Fujimori government was also pushed
to the fore via a succession of highly ventilated reports by the Carter Center
and other international bodies (as well as statements issued by the OAS team
8 앚 Lewis Taylor
detailed to observer the election), all of whom voiced hard-hitting criticisms of
the whole process.9
One scandal that broke with the campaign in full swing and whose impact
was to crystallise voter concerns about the legitimacy of the process and government authoritarianism (over these weeks the label ‘chino-chet’ became
fashionable), involved the mass falsification of signatures by Perú 2000 activists. Under Peruvian law each new political group wishing to register officially
and those that failed to garner 5 per cent of the vote in previous ballots, was
required to obtain the signatures of nearly 500,000 electors. To hasten the registration of the Perú 2000 alliance, in August 1999 compadres of Absalón Vásquez hired a team to complete the necessary lists. This proved to be a significant operation, involving over 400 people working around the clock at 15
tables on three floors of a house belonging to a member of Lima city council
elected on the pro-government ticket. Armed with an array of different coloured pens, each individual forged up to two hundred signatures per day,
choosing the names of voters who had participated in the 1998 local elections.
After 27 days they had accumulated 503,807 signatures to enable the registration of Perú 2000, but unfortunately for the ringleaders, the fraud was exposed and gained extensive coverage in El Comercio, which on the basis of
interviews undertaken with a number of participants, provided a detailed account about the scam. Over the following weeks as more information surfaced,
the issue expanded into a major furore receiving widespread publicity from the
independent media in Peru and internationally.10
The political consequences of the commotion surrounding the signatures
affair, was to heighten public distrust vis-à-vis the government’s role in the
election process and harden anti-Fujimori opinion. It seemed to confirm suspicions that the ruling clique was prepared to go to any lengths to retain power.
The resultant shift in support away from the government had a marked class
character to it. Within social groups A and B, backing for Fujimori collapsed
from 43.2 per cent in December 1999 to 18.6 per cent by mid-March 2000,
although over the same period the president’s rating among C-D-E voters rose
from 43.4 per cent to 49 per cent.11 Fatally for the regime, however, the haemorrhaging in pro-Fujimori sentiment in the upper- and middle-classes demonstrated a ‘cascading’ effect, as from mid-February pivotal strata C electors
(skilled workers, lower ranking white collar employees, schoolteachers and
similar occupations) became more solidly anti-Fujimori. Factors such as levels
of education and information, political awareness and degree of autonomy
from official pressure, influenced changing voter preferences at this juncture.
Citizens enjoying greater access to the media were less disposed to back the
attempted ‘re-reelección’: only 25 per cent possessing cable television favoured
Fujimori, as did 37 per cent who read a newspaper; a much higher proportion
(54 per cent) of individuals with no media access voiced a preference for the
incumbent (Caretas, 16 March 2000).
The chief beneficiary of deepening antagonism towards the regime by an
important sector of the electorate during February-March 2000, proved to be
Alejandro Toledo and his Perú Posible grouping. Toledo’s position in the polls
began an upward surge in February, partly because he was ignored by the government propaganda machine, whose negative campaigning focused on Andrade and Castañeda. Having been a marginal candidate in the 1995 poll, Tole-
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do had learnt from past experience and succeeded in positioning himself astutely, emphasising those aspects that resonated favourably with voters while
trying to ensure that he did not become an easy target to attack. Consequently,
he tended to eschew personal snipes at Fujimori, instead underlining the need
for a return to good governance, less corruption, as well as the rebuilding of
Peru’s democratic institutions and state organisations ‘subverted’ by the regime. Calls for a government of ‘national unity’ and fair treatment of rival
political groups also played well with those electors alienated by the regime’s
domineering sectarianism.
Stress was given to his social and ethnic roots. A ‘cholo’/‘serrano’ originating
from a poor rural community in the Andean department of Ancash, Toledo
had overcome many difficulties to progress successfully through university, undertake postgraduate studies in the USA and establish a professional career as
a respected economist. This personal trajectory mirrored perfectly the aspirations of millions of migrants, who in the latter half of the twentieth century had
flocked to the cities in search of a better standard of living and upward social
mobility. To add to his appeal, the ‘cholo’ had married a blue-eyed ‘gringa’
(Eliane Karp), an anthropologist who felt great affinity for Peru, spoke Quechua, was well acquainted with the Andean world and had the advantage of
dancing huaynos better than the wooden-legged Fujimori and his vice-presidential candidate Francisco Tudela! This popular dimension to Toledo’s background and image (from shoeshine boy to presidential candidate) meant that
he possessed the capacity to appeal to a wider section of the population than
Andrade or Castañeda, and could compete effectively with the president for
votes among the most disadvantaged social groups. Travelling around poor
neighbourhoods in his ‘cholomóvil’, Toledo proved a relaxed street campaigner able to relate to ordinary voters, despite the unwelcome attentions of hostile
bands mobilised by Perú 2000 activists. When these assets were combined with
calls for a modification in government policy to provide a solution to the two
issues voters identified as the most serious confronting the country – the lack of
jobs and undermining of democracy – Toledo was able to capture a groundswell of support among all sectors of the populace. According to Apoyo polls,
this had crept up almost imperceptibly to 10 per cent by mid-February, before
climbing to 27 per cent by 19 March and 35 per cent in the last survey published
before election day (El Comercio, 2 April 2000).
Three key factors explain this late surge. First, Toledo succeeded in attracting many undecided voters who were anti-Fujimori but unenthusiastic about
the other opposition candidates. Second, once Toledo emerged as the figure
most likely to defeat Fujimori, electors previously intending to cast their ballot
for Andrade, Castañeda and the alphabet-soup of non-party presidential hopefuls, switched in their thousands to the Perú Posible candidate. Over the last
three weeks of the campaign, their ratings plummeted as the contest turned
increasingly into a two-horse race. Third, individuals who still remained loyal
to one or other of the established political parties decided to vote tactically.
Realising that supporting the APRA, Acción Popular or the centre-left Unión
Por el Perú presidential candidate represented a ‘lost vote’, many gave backing
to Toledo while maintaining their customary voting behaviour for the election
to Congress.
Toledo also benefited from the slow response by Fujimori’s campaign strate-
10 앚 Lewis Taylor
gists to his advance in the polls. This situation changed in early March, when he
became the chief target of negative campaigning, which became especially virulent in the tabloid press. Initially, efforts were made to implicate him in the
CLAE financial scandal that caused thousands of citizens to lose their life savings. Headlines alleged he had been a partner of the unscrupulous company
head who fled to Miami with investors’ money (‘Toledo Turns Out to be Super
Crook’ – La Yuca, 6 March 2000), and that he felt no sympathy for the victims
(‘Toledo Took Five Million from CLAE: he didn’t care about the savings of the
aged and sick’ – Chuchi, 5 March 2000). When he suggested that the population
needed more than government welfare handouts and that jobs provided the
best solution to low household incomes, Fujimori’s spin doctors spread the
message that Toledo wanted to close down all the ‘comedores populares’. In a
new departure in Peruvian politics, a popular talk show hostess (Laura Bozzo),
whose programme was very dependent on state advertising revenue, put out a
programme alleging that Toledo had an illegitimate daughter, who he refused
to recognise and provide with material support.
Interestingly, these attacks failed to torpedo Toledo’s growing popularity, as
had occurred with Andrade and Castañeda. In the first place, his rapid accumulation of middle class votes was threatened minimally by scare-mongering in
the gutter press. Second, Toledo’s greater personal appeal to C and D voters
(approximately 70 per cent of the electorate), reduced their harmful impact
vis-à-vis a sector of the populace where the two other main opposition candidates had been particularly vulnerable. Furthermore, as the character assassination ploy was being utilised for the third time, electors were more aware,
cynical and blasé regarding the veracity of the tabloid’s claims, so reducing
their effectiveness.
Once it became clear that the barrage of anti-Toledo propaganda was not
working and that his rising position in the polls represented a serious threat to
Fujimori’s ambitions, rather than changing tack and adopting a more subtle
approach, the president’s aides intensified the smear campaign. Particularly
alarming were poll findings indicating that Toledo had every possibility of
overcoming Fujimori in a second round contest.12 The panic caused within Fujimori’s campaign team by this prediction meant that the calumny became particularly venomous during the week leading up to election day. A perusal of
one edition of El Chato (7 April 2000) illustrates the tone adopted by the
tabloids at this juncture. Toledo was labelled ‘corrupt’, ‘immoral’, a ‘mafioso’, a
‘coward, liar and a cheat’, who financed his campaign with money from prostitution. His economic programme was akin to that of Alan Garcı́a and election
success would ‘increase violence’; the opposition candidate and ‘la Francesa’
(Eliane Karp) planned to ‘defraud the country’. If Toledo became president, El
Chato alleged, his first act would be to close down the comedores populares and
throw ‘las sufridas mujeres que trabajan en estos locales’ destitute onto the
street.
Hand in hand with the anti-Toledo message, over this period the tabloids
announced a series of promises aimed at boosting Fujimori’s vote – the president was being driven into further pursuing the very ‘neo-populist’ practices
with which he accused the ‘irresponsible’ opposition.13 Thus, children were
going to receive a free school lunch (‘Chino quiere que estén bien papeados’
stated the headline of El Chato on 7 April), and the price of gas ‘will not rise’,
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claimed El Men in its election special (9 April 2000). According to El Chino (8
April), pension payments were to be doubled, readers being informed that this
was to be one of a raft of initiatives aimed ‘to pay the social debt’, apparently a
major policy objective for a future Fujimori administration. Not to be outdone,
on 8 April Expreso reported a plan to implement small-scale development
projects aimed at improving living standards for 120,000 peasants settled in
high-altitude communities.14
Instead of destroying Toledo’s electoral prospects, the underdog was able to
turn these attacks to his own advantage by presenting himself as a ‘victim’ of a
Fujimori-Montesinos inspired defamation campaign, a ploy that reaped a
‘sympathy vote’. In other respects, the tactical decision by Fujimori’s campaign
team to concentrate their fire on Toledo rebounded. As political opinion polarised, the high profile given to Toledo by the (albeit hostile) media attention
helped consolidate his position as leader of the opposition. Anti-Fujimori electors holding reservations about Toledo’s suitability for office put aside their
misgivings and became more determined to give him their support. Toledo also
benefited from the intense level of political debate that swept Peru during the
fortnight prior to polling day. Realising that they were not being well served by
the government-constrained terrestrial television stations, voters started to attend live political rallies in far greater numbers than in 1995. Having assumed
the mantle of leader of the opposition, Toledo’s meetings in particular began to
attract large enthusiastic crowds, which enabled him to partly offset the disadvantage of being excluded from a significant slice of the media.
Another difference between the 2000 campaign and 1995 was the role of the
internet. In the wake of the faked signatures affair, messages began to circulate
around the net lamenting the regime’s trickery, criticising its human rights
abuses and calling for popular mobilisation to prevent a probable fraud. The
call of ‘Ayúdanos a combatir el fraude’ attracted widespread backing, particularly among students (many of whom come from poor households and access
the web via public cabins charging less than a dollar an hour), leading to the
establishment of the ‘Antimegafraude’ network. In February and March, the
movement extended its activities from the screen to the street. Under the slogan of ‘Trafa 2000’ (‘Fraud 2000’), activists distributed leaflets to the public,
collected signatures for petitions, organised marches and rock concerts. Alternative theatre groups staged works lampooning Fujimori, Montesinos, Absalón Vásquez and other eminence grise allied to the regime. By providing a
forum for critical political discussion outside official control, these initiatives
during the last phase of the first round (made more effective via the ‘cholo
telegraph’ that operates in every neighbourhood) helped maintain the forward
momentum of Toledo’s campaign. Unfortunately the fears of Antimegafraude
activists came to be realised, as the most dirty election campaign in Peru since
1931 ended with accusations of vote rigging on a massive scale. Even so, the
network they had built up over the preceding months was to play an important
role in shaping political developments following the first round poll.
12 앚 Lewis Taylor
First Round Results: the Vote for President
Despite a certain air of tension the 9 April ballot passed off largely without
incident.15 Although Sendero Luminoso blocked several roads and disrupted
proceedings in a few jungle locations, the real pyrotechnics started later that
evening. Shortly after voting ended (4.00 p.m.), the main polling agencies released exit poll figures suggesting that the two key contenders were about level
and that a second round was inevitable. According to Apoyo, Toledo had obtained 45.2 per cent to Fujimori’s 43.6 per cent, while the CPI organisation gave
Toledo 46.2 per cent and Fujimori 44.6 per cent. Somewhat out of line were
statistics published by the Datum agency. These placed Toledo on 48.5 per cent,
seemingly comfortably ahead of Fujimori’s 42.7 per cent, findings that led to
many a champagne bottled being cracked open in Lima’s wealthier suburbs.
This situation was to change dramatically over the next four hours. Public
suspicion became aroused when most terrestrial television channels abandoned their usual practice of transmitting programmes analysing the election
results. Instead, an expectant audience was treated to a mixture of B-movies,
folk music and ‘El Chavo del Ocho’. Incredibly, only the independent Canal N
cable station put out live political debate and coverage of events unfolding on
the street. Following difficulties with the National Office of Electoral Procedures (ONPE) computers, at 5.50 p.m. the system had to be ‘reset’ and after
7.00 p.m. this supposedly ‘independent’ body charged with administering the
count started to issue results that inverted Datum’s exit poll figures.16 According to an ONPE press release issued at 8.00 p.m., Fujimori had garnered over
48 per cent, with Toledo trailing on 41 per cent – a situation similar to that
published by Transparencia, who after a rapid count based on returns from 739
of the 88,787 voting tables, calculated that the incumbent stood on 48.73 per
cent to Toledo’s 41.04 per cent (with a margin of error of 0.50 per cent).
Such was the level of mistrust in ONPE (polls indicated that seven out of ten
electors had no confidence in the organisation), however, that a large swath of
the population immediately cried ‘fraud’. Led by university students involved
in the Antimegafraude network, thousands poured into the streets of Peru’s
major cities. A large-scale demonstration in downtown Lima, led by Toledo
and other members of the opposition, marched on the night of 9 April to the
presidential palace, where they were met with tear gas and truncheons. Over
the following three days the street protests grew in size and intensity (in some
provincial cities two per day occurred), while diplomats voiced concern at the
unprecedented turnaround in electoral fortunes in favour of Fujimori. When
referring to the ONPE’s official returns, on Monday 10 April the head of the
OAS mission (Eduardo Stein), declared that ‘something sinister is afoot’.17
Taking their lead from the US and British ambassadors, Lima’s diplomatic
corps expressed concern about the manner in which the campaign had been
conducted and the way the count was progressing. They also gave strong endorsement to the verification activities of Transparencia and proclaimed that a
second-round contest between Fujimori and Toledo was inevitable.18
Under intense pressure from levels of street protest unseen in Peru since the
early 1980s, as well as on the diplomatic front (via unambiguous public statements and discussions behind closed doors), on Wednesday 12 April the ruling
clique was forced to jettison its plan for a first round victory. The strategy of
European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 70, April 2001 앚
13
Montesinos and his ‘SIN boys’ (as the intelligence service was fondly referred
to in opposition circles) had been to take advantage of the slow pace at which
counting advanced to gradually ratchet up Fujimori’s vote to 50 per cent, hoping that spirits would have calmed sufficiently several days after the ballot to
allow the outcome to be accepted by an acquiescent electorate. Accordingly,
on Monday 10 April ONPE gave the incumbent 49.63 per cent of valid votes,
rising to 49.96 per cent by the following day, only around 15,000 votes away
from 50 per cent plus one vote. Beleaguered from all sides, however, on
Wednesday 12 April the government’s nerve broke. José Portillo, ONPE’s
much criticised head (after the election he acquired the nickname of ‘Porkyllo’), announced at 7.00 p.m. that Fujimori had accumulated 49.84 per cent of
the ballot, followed by Toledo on 40.31 per cent. Therefore, a second round
poll would take place – news met with rejoicing by around 60,000 demonstrators assembled in central Lima, along with relief by many citizens worried at
the degree of polarisation that had gripped the country and the possible consequences of a Fujimori first round ‘victory’.19
Due to its gross inefficiency (itself a source of suspicion among a sceptical
electorate), ONPE only released complete voting figures for the presidential
poll six weeks after the 9 April ballot. These gave Fujimori a clear lead (9.63
per cent) over Toledo and illustrated the collapse in support for other presidential candidates.
Table 1:
First Round Presidential Election Results
Candidate
No. Votes
% Valid Votes
Alberto Fujimori (Perú 2000)
Alejandro Toledo (Perú Posible)
Alberto Andrade (Somos Perú)
Federico Salas (Avancemos)
Luis Castañeda (Solidaridad Nac.)
Abel Salinas (APRA)
Ezequiel Ataucusi (FREPAP)
Vı́ctor Garcı́a Belaunde (AP)
Máximo San Román (UPP)
5,528,394
4,460,812
333,049
246,781
199,813
152,519
80,099
46,509
36,541
49.87
40.24
3.00
2.23
1.80
1.38
0.72
0.42
0.33
Blank votes
Null and void votes
708,603
271,308
Source: ONPE, ‘Resultados Votación Presidencial Primera Vuelta’.
http://www.onpe.gob.pe/res5. June 2000.
These national results disguise clear regional differences in backing for Fujimori’s ‘re-reelección’. The president achieved sizeable majorities in most of the
departments of northern and central Peru, as well as the Lima/Callao conurbation, which houses approximately one-third of the electorate. On the other
hand, Toledo notched up first round victories throughout southern Peru, where
apart from the ever present concerns about recession, unemployment and the
regime’s authoritarian tendencies, a key factor behind the president’s poor
showing involved the existence of a strong regional anti-Lima sentiment
among the populace, which clashed with the centralised decision-making and
spending practices of Fujimori’s government. Significant variations occurred
via-à-vis the Amazon departments. After signing an unpopular peace treaty
14 앚 Lewis Taylor
with Ecuador and failing to placate a local desire for more autonomy from
Lima, Fujimori’s standing in Loreto plummeted. Consequently, he suffered a
heavy first round defeat (here Toledo garnered 54 per cent of the ballot to
Fujimori’s 30 per cent) and lost by a narrower margin in Madre de Dı́os (48 per
cent to 45 per cent) where the Cusco-influenced anti-Lima vote came into play.
Alternatively, in jungle departments where guerrilla activity was concentrated,
Fujimori polled particularly well: in San Martı́n he obtained 61 per cent per
cent to Toledo’s 29 per cent; in Ucayali he won by 55 per cent to 36 per cent.20
Apart from regional differences in voting behaviour, within particular departments specific voting patterns could be detected. For example, in the department of Piura that formed part of Fujimori’s ‘sólido norte’, the district of
Talara with its economy built around oil refining and fishing possesses a long
history of trade union organisation. Here the population registered what in
regional terms was a strong anti-Fujimori vote (Toledo 47 per cent, Fujimori 48
per cent), as did smallholders in the district of Tambo Grande, who are locked
in a bitter struggle with the authorities and a foreign mining enterprise over
exploitation rights (Toledo 52 per cent, Fujimori 43 per cent). Coastal peasant
communities with a history of militancy in the Confederación Campesina del
Perú, who have in the past been involved in land conflicts with neighbouring
co-operatives and are opposed to the government’s land and water legislation,
also voted for Toledo. By contrast, the rural population inhabiting the Andean
provinces of Ayabaca (Fujimori 59 per cent, Toledo 26 per cent), Huancabamba (Fujimori 56 per cent, Toledo 20 per cent) and Morropón (Fujimori 50 per
cent, Toledo 34 per cent), zones in receipt of considerable food handouts via
PRONAA and where the Ministry of the Presidency has implemented villagelevel development projects, cast their ballots overwhelmingly for Fujimori.21
Throughout the highlands in those departments where Fujimori attained
substantial support (Cajamarca, La Libertad, Huánuco, Junı́n and Ayacucho),
an identifiable electoral map emerged from the April poll. A majority of urban
professionals, merchants, artisans, workers in full-time jobs and students
backed opposition candidates, with many participating in the protest rallies
that followed the first round election. Over the past two decades Andean towns
have experienced rapid growth due to migration from the countryside (many
fleeing political violence), resulting in the creation of new shanty towns and a
mushrooming of households that have acquired no more than a precarious
foothold in the urban informal economy. This sector of the populace, with only
their wits to keep them warm, reliant on uncertain incomes, more dependent
on food handouts and the comedores populares than better established townspeople, voted for Fujimori by a large margin.22
A similar tendency for risk aversion existed among a large segment of the
rural population, who reasoned that the ‘taita presidente’ had reduced political
violence, built/promised roads to facilitate access to markets and repaired the
roof of the local school. Again Perú 2000 propaganda teams dispatched into
the countryside were able to convince many rural voters that these gains would
be threatened if Fujimori was not returned to office – all the other candidates,
they preached, were not on the peasants’ side. One particularly forceful argument that influenced voting attitudes among peasant women grouped in the
numerous ‘clubes de madres’, was the claim that food aid would be halted if
Toledo won the election.23
Revista Europea de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe 70, abril de 2001 앚
15
Another important factor explaining the large-scale support Fujimori received among sections of the rural population in the highlands (and some jungle areas) has to do with the military: zones where the civil war was intense and
were/are under army control housed 10,662 voting tables accounting for 1.4
million electors. Here independent polling officers and observers were a rarity,
the military edict ruled and voters came under strong pressure from local commanders to back Fujimori, with the result that many returns registered 100 per
cent support for the government. This is incredible considering the level of
illiteracy, with no blank or null and void ballot papers! (La República, 15 June
2000).24
First Round Results: the Vote for Congress
Analysis of the ballots cast in the congressional poll indicates the magnitude of
tactical voting engaged in by those electors opposed to Fujimori. Although
Table 2.
Congressional Election Results
Party/Group
Votes
% Valid Votes
Seats
Perú 2000
Perú Posible
FIM
Somos Perú
APRA
Solidaridad Nacional
Avancemos
Unión Por el Perú
Acción Popular
FREPAP
Blank votes
Null and void votes
4,189,018
2,308,635
751,323
715,396
546,930
399,985
307,188
254,582
245,115
216,953
703,345
1,304,340
42.16
23.24
7.56
7.20
5.51
4.03
3.09
2.56
2.47
2.18
52
29
9
8
6
5
3
3
3
2
Source: ONPE, ‘Resultados de las elecciones generales por el Congreso’.
http://www.onpe.gob.pe/2000/resultado 2000/congreso. June 2000.
Toledo garnered over 40 per cent of valid ballots cast in the presidential poll,
his Perú Posible grouping only received 23 per cent in the election for Congress. The large numbers of split votes signified that although the Somos Perú
presidential candidate saw his support drain away to Toledo during the last
weeks of the campaign (Andrade received a derisory 3 per cent), backing for
Somos Perú congressional hopefuls stood markedly higher (7 per cent). A similar pattern emerged vis-à-vis Peru’s traditional political parties: APRA (1 per
cent for president, 5.5 per cent for Congress), Acción Popular (0.4 per cent and
2.5 per cent respectively); and the remnants of the left grouped in Unión Por el
Perú (0.33 per cent rising to 2.5 per cent). These extremely poor performances
indicate that the collapse of the party system that occurred during the early
1990s has still to be reversed.
Another feature of the vote for Congress was the relatively strong showing
of the FIM, led by the eccentric Fernando Olivera. The 7.5 per cent attained by
the FIM reflects the low regard (verging on outright hostility) with which a
considerable proportion of the electorate still view politicians: the FIM gained
16 앚 Lewis Taylor
political kudos for not fielding a presidential candidate (this intimated to voters that its candidates were not hungry for power or desperate to access state
patronage). Second, Olivera (who received a massive personal vote and is
largely responsible for the FIM’s level of support), as a result of his obsessive
campaign to bring ex-president Alan Garcı́a to book for embezzlement on a
grand scale and his habit of regularly accusing government officials of corruption, has acquired a deserved reputation as something of a loose cannon who
cannot be easily bought. For many electors, his presence in Congress guaranteed an independent voice prepared to denounce the shenanigans of the opportunistic old-style politician and the government-subservient toady. Mischievously, voters also elected Susana Higuchi on the FIM slate, providing a
platform for another representative who could be counted on to criticise her
ex-husband at every opportunity.
Official ONPE returns indicate that pro-Fujimori electors also practised tactical voting, albeit to a much lesser degree than opposition supporters (Fujimori was awarded 49.87 per cent in the presidential ballot, Perú 2000 congressional hopefuls garnered 42.16 per cent). One reason for this was that a minority of
electors who backed Fujimori remained unenthusiastic about the largely mediocre selection of parliamentary candidates on the official slate and registered
a split vote. A dispersed vote was also encouraged by the large number of
people putting themselves forward (1,200), each with their own personal and
local following. Additionally, a section of the electorate reasoned that while
they were prepared to give Fujimori a third term, they did not want him to
dominate Congress.
The crucial outcome of such calculations was that the government obtained
52 seats and therefore fell nine short of a parliamentary majority, a situation
that threatened its monopolisation of power. Given that another autogolpe
along April 1992 lines would be impossible to sustain politically, the regime
embarked upon a strategy of suborning parliamentarians elected on rival
slates. The techniques employed by Montesinos ranged from the offering of
straightforward cash payments, promises of acquiring valuable building plots
in Lima, to threats that pending legal cases would be ‘accelerated’ through the
(regime controlled) judicial system with adverse consequences.25 Assisted
through the demise of ideologically cemented political parties and the prevalence of amorphous coalitions whose members possess weak loyalties, by late
June the Fujimori-Montesinos clique had succeeded in obtaining the support
of nine people elected on the Avancemos, Frepap, Solidaridad Nacional and
Perú Posible tickets. Three months later, such horse trading was to provoke a
major political scandal, accentuate divisions in the heart of the regime and
trigger a bizarre sequence of events that eventually brought about its disintegration.
Second Round ‘Victory’ Leads to Regime Collapse
When acceding to a second round fujimorista loyalists hoped that political
passions would subside, the street protests would diminish in intensity and that
a third term would be secured successfully, albeit with some delay vis-à-vis
their original timetable. This wish remained unfulfilled as the degree of politi-
European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 70, April 2001 앚
17
cal polarisation within Peru deepened, a development encouraged by the numerous allegations of electoral fraud made in the weeks after the 9 April poll.26
To this backdrop, anti-Fujimori voters hardened their position, while many
electors who had been prepared to give the president the benefit of the doubt
began to express concern about the fairness of the whole process and became
more critical of the regime. A clear majority of the electorate hoped for a
cleaner second round campaign free from scandal. Reflecting this sentiment,
Toledo (backed by the rest of the opposition) called on the president to ensure
equitable media coverage, curtail the misuse of state resources for partisan
political ends, cease personal attacks and agree to a public debate between the
candidates on programmatical issues. A final key demand was for independent
observers to be granted access to ONPE’s computing system – a set of recommendations aimed to improve the electoral process that had been proposed in
Eduardo Stein’s report to the OAS, by Transparencia, US and EU diplomats,
as well as autonomous monitoring agencies such as the Carter Center.
By the time the JNE declared 28 May as the date for holding the second
round ballot (this announcement was delayed until the 30 April), however, the
executive had not responded positively to any of these proposals. Indeed, the
SIN-orchestrated campaign against Toledo in the ‘prensa chicha’ continued
unabated, its basic message being to instill fear of change into C, D and E
electors: Toledo was a puppet of Alan Garcı́a and the ‘partidocracia’, whose
election would bring hyper-inflation, economic chaos and a resurgence of
Sendero Luminoso.27 Neither did the television stations change their policy
and allow equal transmission time. High-ranking Perú 2000 figures made it
clear that a debate between the candidates would not take place. For its part,
ONPE refused to allow Transparencia to observe the count. Instead, the regime opted for its usual tactic, which at this stage in the proceedings fooled
nobody: Fujimori would issue conciliatory public statements criticising the excesses of his ‘ayayeros’ (acolytes) and make calls for more balanced coverage in
the media; meanwhile behind the scenes, Montesinos and his associates
worked to ensure that nothing of the kind happened.28
Faced with this lack of movement, on 5 May Toledo’s representatives broke
off their protracted negotiations with Perú 2000. On 18 May, after attempting
unsuccessfully to get the vote postponed until 18 June in order to allow reforms
to be implemented (a request supported by the OAS mission), the opposition
candidate announced his withdrawal from the election, arguing that conditions
were not in place to conduct a fair poll. Fujimori consequently ended up presenting himself for ‘re-reelección’ without a rival candidate, although Toledo’s
name still figured on the ballot paper. Under these circumstances, when second
round voting occurred, the incumbent (to a backdrop of widespread protest)
garnered 74.33 per cent of valid votes – some 51.2 per cent of total votes cast.
Despite his call for a void or blank vote, Toledo managed to poll 25.67 per cent
of valid votes, with a considerable 29.93 per cent of electors returning a void
ballot. Blank votes totalled 1.9 per cent.29
This result represented a pyrrhic victory attained at great cost to the government’s credibility and legitimacy. Its high-handed behaviour and unwillingness
to compromise throughout the first and second rounds produced a growing
sense of indignation among the populace. After 9 April this spread from social
groups A and B to C, D and E, as the attitude of numerous working class voters
18 앚 Lewis Taylor
changed from ‘Más vale chino conocido que cholo por conocer’ to ‘Más vale
cholo por conocer que chino bien conocido’. Fuelled by regular news leaks
about the suborning of parliamentarians, two high profile scandals surrounding torture by SIN agents and the publication of additional information about
fraud committed during the 9 April ballot, large-scale popular protests occurred in 40 cities on 29 May and continued over the following days. Reacting
to this situation (and mindful of the regime’s diplomatic isolation) in a spin of
Orwellian proportions, on 2 June Fujimori announced the formation of a ‘Presidential Commission for the Strengthening of Democratic Institutions’ staffed
by Tudela and other fujimorista stalwarts – a manoeuvre that failed to hoodwink the opposition, who responded by organising ‘La Marcha de los Cuatro
Suyos’ to coincide with Fujimori’s inauguration on 28 July.
Thereafter the regime began to implode under a combination of continued
internal pressure for new elections and growing US disillusion with the ruling
cabal. After a stage-managed press conference in which Fujimori and Montesinos announced the uncovering of a band of international arms traffickers channelling weapons to FARC guerrillas (21 August), an operation that had in fact
been mounted by associates of Montesinos, the CIA ditched their erstwhile
employee and via an agent planted in the SIN, facilitated the transmission of a
video showing the security chief bribing an opposition member of Congress (14
September). The scandal surrounding this disclosure marked the end of the
regime by triggering a succession of well-publicised events: Fujimori declaring
the reduction of his third-term to one year and the holding of new elections (20
September); amid rumours of a coup, Montesinos negotiating his safe exit to
Panama (23 September) as Fujimori breaks with his security chief to save his
own skin and announced the deactivation of the SIN; Montesinos’ clandestine
flight back to Peru (22 October) and disclosures about his $48 million Swiss
bank accounts, a development that provoked the resignation of vice-president
Tudela; the opéra bouffe of Fujimori’s hunt for his former ally around the
streets of Lima accompanied by a caravan of journalists (25-26 October); the
quixotic rebellion of a small group of army personnel headed by lieutenant
colonel Ollanta Humala (29 October); culminating in the ousting of the fujimorista leader of Congress and Fujimori’s resignation from the safety of Japan (20
November). The denouement was completed by the appointment of Valentı́n
Paniagua as president and the formation of an interim government headed by
Javier Pérez de Cuéllar (22 November), the forced retirement of leading proMontesinos generals and the acrimonious disintegration of the fujimorista political alliance Perú 2000 (31 November).
Conclusion
At first sight the shattering of the Fujimori-Montesinos power structure and
the appointment of a transitional administration staffed by individuals with
impeccable credentials gives the appearance that Peru has turned its back on
authoritarian governance and is enjoying a ‘democratic spring’ that presents an
opportunity to put an end to personalistic rule, establish a more even balance
between the executive and legislature, install an independent judicial system,
remove political control over institutions charged with administering elections
Revista Europea de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe 70, abril de 2001 앚
19
and give greater respect to human rights as part of a wider reordering of relations in favour of citizens vis-à-vis the state. Optimism is understandable amid
the euphoria following Fujimori’s ousting, but it would be premature to believe
that a ‘democratic consolidation’ is underway or that ‘guardian democracy’ has
been banished to the dustbin of history.
On the positive side, a lengthy struggle for fair elections, which was more
urban than rural, initially more middle class than working class, and mobilised
more of the young than the old, has spawned a plethora of groups that have
reinvigorated organs of civil society and reversed the depoliticisation of the
1990s. Today, larger numbers of citizens are aware of their democratic rights
and have demonstrated a willingness to occupy the streets to defend their vote.30
However, these movements (Colectivo Sociedad Civil, Alameda, Re-Generación, Amauta, Asociación de Mujeres por la Dignidad, Juventud Popular, etc.),
remain ‘inorganic’ and can be expected to gradually decline in activity as their
raison d’être – antifujimorismo – gets pushed down the political agenda.
Grounds for a Gramscian ‘pessimism of the intellect’ are provided by the
serious obstacles to democratic institution building and the installation of good
governance that persist. Peru possesses a long history of military interference
in the ‘political’, a weak democratic tradition and an enduring proclivity for
political bossism (gamonalismo) at the national and local level. It would be
naı̈ve to believe that these deep-seated traits will be eroded significantly by the
current administration or the one scheduled to assume office on 28 July 2001.
Although figures with a trajectory of participation in party politics occupy key
positions in Paniagua’s interim government, political parties remain weak and
(despite regular claims to the contrary) exhibit no signs of rejuvenation. Based
on Spanish, Portuguese and Third World models, the literature holds that a
small number of legitimate parties whose leaders are able to negotiate compromise agreements and ensure their followers respect the new ‘rules of the game’,
are essential for a successful ‘transition’ and subsequent democratic ‘consolidation’.31 None of these conditions are found in contemporary Peru. Not only
do traditional parties remain in the doldrums, political fragmentation has reached extreme proportions: no less than 17 presidential candidates have registered for the April 2001 election, the majority backed by loose coalitions of
‘supporters’ of doubtful loyalty whose main motive for attaining elected office
is personal economic gain.
Under these circumstances, the incoming Congress is likely to contain a surfeit of small groups headed by leaders possessing a limited capacity to discipline ‘followers’, most of whom (as in April 2000) will have campaigned as
individuals, not party members. The tendency towards fragmentation has been
accentuated by a lowering of the number of signatures required to register (this
now stands at 120,000 electors), as well as a decision to move from election to
Congress on the basis of nation-wide proportional representation, to department-based constituencies – a change aimed at overcoming a deficiency in the
present system (the weak link between parliamentarians and constituents), but
one that encourages the formation of regional groupings headed by unscrupulous populist gamonales, such as the Cáceres brothers from Puno/Arequipa.
The atomisation of political forces encourages instability in other respects. It
is unlikely that whoever wins the presidency in 2001 will enjoy a majority in
Congress. This has negative repercussions for a ‘deepening’ of democracy at
20 앚 Lewis Taylor
various levels. First, legislators already possessing weak party loyalties will
become a target for the sort of underhand shenanigans and Italian-style trasformismo that produced the downfall of Montesinos. It is therefore difficult to
predict that corruption within the political class might be reduced on the back
of the rising tide of civic consciousness created during the anti-Fujimori struggle – especially as by April 2001 many congressmen and women will have
fought two elections inside a year and be keen to recoup their financial outlays.
The return of Alan Garcı́a, unpunished and seemingly unrepentant, is symptomatic of the lack of will among an important swath of the political class to
tackle wrongdoing. What the Peruvian system requires if democracy is to be
‘deepened’ is a recovery of the left backed up by legitimate and robust social
movements, so that pressure can be exerted on the current hotchpotch of venal
bourgeois politicians who make extravagant promises to the electorate, but fail
consistently to deliver once ensconced comfortably in Congress.
Second, the ability to forge lasting alliances and reach functional compromises in Congress, so necessary for ‘consolidation’ to occur, has been undermined by the intense political environment of the last eighteen months. Enmity
along pro- and anti-Fujimori lines is to be expected, but within the opposition
personal animosities and mutual suspicions between individuals and groups
have heightened. As a result, attaining agreement and adherence to a new set
of ground rules for political practice (as, for example, the Bolivian settlement
of 1990-1991) faces important obstacles. Additionally, while a working majority in Congress might be contrived in the short-term, it will be fragile and liable
to suffer desertions when the government’s popularity wanes. A president
holding office with a brittle power base brings into play other factors that complicate ‘consolidation’: Fujimori came to rely on the ‘cúpula militar’ and Montesinos to compensate for this weakness; the logic of holding onto power makes
such an accommodation tempting for any future leader.32
Real problems also exist in the sphere of institution building. Following recent scandals, electoral bodies such as ONPE and the JNE are being ‘cleansed’
to widespread popular acclaim. Furthermore, the current Minister of Justice
(Diego Garcı́a-Sayán) is highly regarded and can be relied upon to do his utmost to eradicate corruption within the judicial system. However, graft is endemic at all levels and it is to be expected that while progress in curbing malpractice might be made at the centre (i.e. the Supreme Court and other Limabased tribunals), it will be a hard task to improve the administration of justice
in the provinces. In the past three decades several attempts to expurgate the
legal system have been launched – none met with success. Prospects for a decline in the pervasive clientelism and political interference that afflicts Peru’s
public administration are also bleak. In the wake of Fujimori’s fall, political
appointment and influence-peddling is already underway throughout the public sector, while significant changes in personnel are even programmed to take
place within Peru’s most independent and highly regarded government department – the Defensorı́a del Pueblo – after the April 2001 ballot.
Given the difficulties posed by an undemocratic political culture, weak parties, a congressional minefield, systemic corruption, as well as an uncertain
economic outlook, whoever becomes president in July 2001 is going to require
considerable political skill (virtù) and good luck when handling unforeseen
crises (fortuna) if her/his administration is to provide effective government and
European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 70, April 2001 앚
21
strengthen Peru’s chronically weak institutions. At the time of writing, Alejandro Toledo heads the opinion polls with 35 per cent of preferences, a level of
support achieved in recognition of his role as leader of the anti-Fujimori opposition during 2000 (El Comercio, 14 January 2001). Toledo, although forced to
hone his political skills quickly, remains inexperienced in government and
many voters who through anti-Fujimori sentiment backed Perú Posible in
April-May 2000 remain sceptical about his suitability for office. Consequently,
there is no clear favourite to win the forthcoming election and the political
situation remains extremely fluid. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that
another ‘independent’ outsider could emerge to snatch victory from Toledo in
a second round ballot. Here it is apt to recall the observation made over a
century ago by the English revolutionary socialist nowadays more commonly
billed as a wallpaper designer, William Morris, who ‘pondered all these things,
and how men fight and lose the battle, and the thing they fought for comes
about in spite of their defeat, and when it comes it turns out not to be what they
meant’. Is this to be the fate of Alejandro Toledo in a post-Fujimori Peru?
* * *
Lewis Taylor is Lecturer at the Institute of Latin American Studies, University
of Liverpool. Major research interests encompass socio-economic change in
rural Peru, Peruvian guerrilla movements and contemporary politics. One recent publication is ‘The Origins of APRA in Cajamarca, 1928-1935’ (Bulletin
of Latin American Research, 2000).⬍[email protected]⬎
Notes
1. For background details on the construction of what in the 1990s emerged as Latin America’s
leading ‘militarised’ or ‘guardian’ democracy, see Crabtree (1995); Mauceri (1996); Kay
(1997); and Crabtree and Thomas (1998). For a general discussion on this regime type, see
McSherry (1997, 1998) and Markhoff (1997).
2. When addressing this issue, the state’s propaganda machine was able to take advantage of the
detention of Abimael Guzmán’s successor, Oscar Ramı́rez Durand (‘comrade Feliciano’), on
14 July 1999 and a number of other important captures over these months.
3. The first Apoyo poll published after the cut-off date for registering candidates gave Fujimori
45 per cent of voter preferences in Lima, followed by Andrade and Castañeda on 19 per cent
and 14 per cent respectively (El Comercio, 18 January 2000).
4. For an analysis of government influence over the media during the election campaign, see
Defensorı́a del Pueblo (2000).
5. Further details on this issue can be found in Instituto de Defensa Legal (2000).
6. This dependent relationship between the government and the poor had considerable electoral
significance. In greater Lima around one million children receive their breakfast at school via
the Comités del Vaso de Leche, a further estimated million adults are provided with a daily
meal by the comedores populares; approximately 2.5 million Peruvians living in rural areas
(particularly in the Andes) receive food aid channeled through the state (Cox 2000).
7. Personal observation, Bambamarca 14 April 2000.
8. One of the main outlets for attacking Fujimori’s rivals was the ‘Contrapunto’ programme
transmitted by Canal 2. For the presenter, Lilian Zapata, receiving instructions from the owners to undertake an hour long broadcast denouncing the Defensor del Pueblo (Jorge Santistevan) as a ‘conspirator’ and ‘defender of the opposition’, proved to be the last straw. She
resigned on 5 March, protesting that the programme had lost all objectivity.
9. See Carter Center (2000); Cox (2000); and Youngers (2000).
10. See the extensive reports in El Comercio (29 February 2000, 1 March 2000).
22 앚 Lewis Taylor
11. Data published in El Comercio, 24 March 2000.
12. According to soundings conducted by the Universidad Nacional de Ingenierı́a, voting intentions for an eventual run-off gave Toledo 48.8 per cent of preferences to Fujimori’s 40.2 per
cent, with Toledo seemingly better placed to pick up votes among the 6.7 per cent who remained undecided – 34.6 per cent of those questioned stated that they would not cast a ballot
for Fujimori under any circumstances, whereas only 5.9 per cent registered a similar degree of
hostility towards his main opponent. El Comercio, 22 March 2000.
13. See Crabtree (2000) for an analysis of Fujimori’s brand of ‘neo-populism’.
14. Conveniently ignoring the large number of sweeteners he made to electors over the three
weeks prior to polling day, during the meeting held in Lima to close the Perú 2000 campaign,
Fujimori criticised opposition candidates for engaging in ‘a carnival of bribes’ (‘un carnaval de
ofrecimientos’), stating that they had made ‘populist promises that would destabilise’ Peru.
Unabashed, he then proceeded to reiterate pledges to establish a mother and child benefit
programme, in addition to providing free school meals, computers for schools, the allocation
of building plots and a doubling of pensions for the retired. The president argued that although ‘Este gobierno liderado por el Chino ha tenido bien puesto los pantalones’ and had
delivered ‘hechos concretos’, ten years in power ‘no han sido suficientes’ to solve Peru’s problems. Therefore, over the next five years he was going to deliver ‘more schools, medical posts,
more roads and more infrastructure, so that you can better yourselves’. Expreso (7 April
2000).
15. One politically motivated assassination was recorded. This occurred in the northern highland
province of Santa Cruz, where the rural population has a deserved reputation for engaging in
banditry, political violence and sorting out their differences in a direct manner. The victim
happened to be a Perú 2000 activist who was transporting campesinos to vote in his truck.
When he stopped at a roadside shop to purchase a drink, a heated exchange ensued with the
shopkeeper, who accused him of trying to influence votes and treating the peasants ‘like
sheep’. To settle the matter, the truck driver pulled out his revolver and attempted to shoot the
shopkeeper, but forgot to release the safety catch, whereupon the shopkeeper drew a knife
with fatal consequences. Personal communication from the local observer of the Defensorı́a
del Pueblo, Cajamarca 20 April 2000.
16. In previous elections exit polls proved to be reasonably accurate, the usual margin of error
being 2-3 per cent. Statisticians working for the main polling agencies voiced astonishment at
the degree of discrepancy, which was unique in twenty years experience. Two explanations
were advanced to account for the difference. Interviewing ceased at 2.00 p.m. to allow the
pollsters time to process their data in order to give a ‘flash’ prediction as soon as possible after
voting ceased at 4.00 p.m. It was suggested that a disproportionate number of Fujimori supporters voted between 2.00 and 4.00 in the afternoon. It was also speculated that certain
pro-Fujimori electors had been ashamed to admit their preference when questioned, either
refusing to disclose their vote or stating that they had backed a different candidate. The pollsters did not find these explanations convincing. See El Comercio, 11 April 2000; Liberación,
11 April 2000.
17. El Comercio, 11 April 2000.
18. See El Comercio, 11 and 12 April 2000.
19. Earlier that afternoon, Toledo told the crowd filling the Plaza San Martı́n that ‘They want to
win by tiring us out, but we will not allow it to happen’. When news broke that a second round
was to be held, he opined that the government had been ‘forced to buckle due to popular
mobilisations occurring throughout the country… it has been a collective victory’. The opposition leader also made the following claim: ‘We have been informed by reliable sources that at
7.30 p.m. on 9 April, Perú Posible had obtained 56.8 per cent of the vote, despite the large
number of irregularities committed’. It was also alleged that SIN operatives had hacked into
the computing system of Transparencia, intercepting and changing voting returns in favour of
the official candidate. See the reports in El Comercio and La República, 13 April 2000.
20. All figures taken from the ONPE website, ‘Resultados Votación Presidencial’ http://
www.onpe.gob.pe/res//res5. June 2000.
21. Figures taken from the ONPE website, ‘Resumen de los Resultados Elecciones Generales
2000 por Jurisdicción’. http://www.onpe.gob.pe/res//res5.resumen. June 2000.
22. When conversing with electors from this sector of the population in the town of Cajamarca in
April 2000, time and time again the reasons given for backing Fujimori were: prices are stable;
he defeated terrorism; he has promised street lights, piped water, proper roads and pavements
Revista Europea de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe 70, abril de 2001 앚
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
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– improvements many voters believed would not materialise if a different government was
elected.
Personal communication, employee of the Defensorı́a del Pueblo, Cajamarca, 22 April 2000.
This distorted perception regarding government and opposition was encapsulated nicely by a
comment made by a campesino observing an anti-fraud protest taking place in the main square
of Cajamarca on Wednesday 12 April, a department where in some districts Fujimori garnered
over 80 per cent of the rural vote. The peasant voiced the opinion that the students, artisans,
manual workers and professionals demonstrating were ‘In favour of the millionaires’. Personal observation, Cajamarca, 12 April 2000.
The Director of the respected and independent Instituto de Defensa Legal, which works
closely with Transparencia, noted in a post-election interview that: ‘There are a million more
votes than electors…. It has always been recognised that vote-rigging was possible, because
polling in remote areas where no scrutineers exist lay open to fraud, which would be very
difficult to detect. These votes accumulate in each district. In all the zones that have been
under a state of emergency, where the army holds sway, Fujimori has won with 94 per cent and
Toledo stands on 3 per cent. This is extremely suspect. Today ballot-rigging is not committed
by stealing ballot boxes, those days have passed’. Interview with Ernesto de la Jara, La República, 23 April 2000. In the province of Cajabamba, for example, once regarded as a ‘zona
roja’ due to significant PCP-SL activity, Fujimori polled 77 per cent of valid votes to Toledo’s
18 per cent.
One deputy (the ex-mayor of Iquitos elected on the Somos Perú ticket, Jorge Chávez) denounced publicly that he had been offered a bribe by no less a figure that the Defense Minister,
general José Villanueva. Caretas (1624), 22 June 2000.
For a discussion of this issue, see Taylor (2000).
In the tabloid press Toledo was compared to Abimael Guzmán and Vı́ctor Polay. See El
Chino, 15 May 2000.
Aware that the regime’s authoritarian image was extremely damaging both internally and
externally, Perú 2000 activists attempted to deflect the wave of criticism directed at the government. Thus, official congressman Vı́ctor Becerril (one of Absalón Vásquez’s placemen)
claimed that: ‘We are entering the democratic phase of fujimorismo’ – unintentionally suggesting that what had gone on before was something different! Expreso (1 May 2000).
ONPE, ‘Resultados Votación Presidencial Segunda Vuelta’, http://www.onpe.gob.pe/res//
res5. June 2000.
Events in Peru between March-November 2000 give credence to the importance placed by
Domı́nguez (unlike many other authors) on ‘the role of ordinary citizens in explaining democratic transitions in Latin America’ (1998: 207).
On this see O’Donnell et al. (1988); Diamond, Linz and Lipset (1989); Ethier (1990); and
Higley and Gunther (1992).
On the other hand, a future government’s reliance on the military may be reduced due to the
defeat of the PCP-SL and a considerable scaling down of the civil war.
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